Realms of Magic - Brian Thomsen King [31]
I was sitting in a comfortable chair, sipping a glass of ruby wine, when the study's door opened.
"Good evening, Zeth," I said smoothly.
He had clad himself in my best gray robe trimmed with silver thread. For a moment, his gaunt face paled in shock, then grew crimson with anger.
"Good evening, gelding," he spat. "I should have known you would find a way to follow me. But you have come too late." He gestured to the window. "Look. Even as we speak, the moon sets."
As I turned my head to gaze at the window, he thrust an outstretched finger in my direction. That was exactly what I had expected. I dived to the floor and rolled away as a bolt of green magic struck the chair, blasting a smoking hole in its back. I lunged forward, reaching out with my left hand-the hand that bore the sigil of the gor-kethal.
However, before I could touch him, he shouted a fearful word of magic and rose into the air. Floating swiftly across the room, he landed and turned to me. I tried to scramble to my feet, slipped, and fell back to the floor. He splayed his fingers in my direction. My plan had failed.
"You didn't have to come here, you know," he said, his voice almost sad. "You could have lived your life."
"As a gelding?" I said quietly. "No, Zeth. It would have driven me mad. Just as it has you."
His sadness gave way to renewed rage. "I need you no longer, Morhion Gen'dahar. There is no magic you possessed that I cannot now wield." Crimson sparks crackled around his outstretched fingers.
I gazed at Zeth in dread, knowing that this time there was no escaping his magic. Framed by the window behind him, the pale orb of the moon began to slip beneath the distant horizon. Instinctively I reached into the pocket of my doublet, as if to find the catalyst needed to cast a spell. But I knew no spells. All my hand found was a small, crumpled tube of straw…
"You're wrong, Zeth," I said suddenly. "There is one magic of mine you have not mastered." From my pocket I pulled the woven straw tube I had bought from the street urchin. I tossed it at his feet. "Unlock the riddle of this magic, wizard!"
Zeth's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but it was clear my words had pricked his arrogance. Like a starving man presented with a banquet, this onetime gelding could not resist even the smallest morsel of magic. Banishing the deadly crimson sparks with a careless wave, he bent to pick up the straw tube. Frowning, he studied it. He inserted a finger in one end, probing within, then stuck a second finger into the other end of the tube. He snorted in disgust. "There is nothing to master in this."
I nodded solemnly. "If that is what you believe, Zeth, then it is indeed time to kill me."
A cruel sneer crossed his face. "As you wish."
Zeth lifted a hand to cast a spell. Caught as it was in the straw tube, the other hand followed. With a puzzled look, he tried to pull his fingers free. They did not budge. With a look of growing panic, he tugged harder. It was no use. He could not free his fingers from the trap. Staring at me in sudden terror, he tried to cast a spell. However, without the use of his fingers to trace the arcane patterns necessary, working magic was impossible.
Now was my chance. I leapt to my feet. Zeth tried to lunge away but stumbled, crashing into a bookcase. I grabbed his collar. Before he could squirm away, I pressed my left palm against his sweating forehead.
Again came a flash, and this time a vast rushing sound as bright energy flowed into me. I stumbled backward, gasping. Every fiber of my body tingled with power. My magic had returned. Groaning, Zeth slumped to the floor. Branded now across his forehead was the sigil of the gor-kethal.
He raised his hands weakly,