myself off the table and snatched at a heavy wooden chair, swinging it up
and over and down into the tabletop. The chair shattered; the table split in
half and collapsed. Books and papers poured across the floor – and a bag
full of rotting gray ears spilled with them. Some of the ears were gnawed.
I stepped back. The Theiwar had vanished.
“Garith!” roared Orun, his axe high. “You a dead boy, too, now!
You a dead little white rat, you hear me!”
I caught something from the comer of my eye. The Theiwar had
reappeared in a comer of the room, far from Orun and me. His hands
leaped out of hidden pockets in his black clothing.
“ORKISKA SHAKATAN SEKIS!” he called out in a hoarse, high
voice, holding something like a cloth and a glass rod and rubbing them
together. He was aiming them at me.
“Reorx damn us!” shouted Orun, as I leaped for the Theiwar.
“Evredd, he’s – ”
There was more light then than I’d ever seen in my life or
afterwards. My body was suspended in the air, buoyed up by a writhing
white ribbon of power that poured from the Theiwar’s hands. For the first
time since I’d died, I felt true pain. It was unearthly, burning into every
muscle, every nerve, every inch of skin, and I couldn’t even scream.
Then it was gone. I crashed to the floor. Smoke billowed from the
smoldering rags I wore. My soot-stained limbs jerked madly as if I were
the marionette of a bad puppeteer.
I flopped over on my stomach. The Theiwar was climbing a free-
standing wall cabinet like a spider. Orun threw his axe. The weapon
struck something in the air just before it reached the Theiwar and
bounced away with a clanging noise, falling next to my head.
“Damn you, Garith!” Orun cried, snatching his axe up. “Damn you
and your magic! You a DEAD boy!”
My limbs began to move the way I wanted them to
go, and I staggered to my feet. The Theiwar was on top of
the cabinet. He pointed a short white finger down at us.
“N’ZKOOL AKREK GRAFKUN – MIWARSH!” he shrieked, in triumph.
Greenish yellow fog blasted from his finger. A
windstorm filled the room. The overhead lights were
dimmed by the thick mist.
Orun started to shout, but his voice ended abruptly
with a shocked gasp, then a loud, hacking cough. I could
barely see him through the green fog. He clutched at his
throat with both hands, the axe thumping into the floor.
He gave a strangled cry, teeth clenched shut, his lungs
filling with poisoned air.
I went for the cabinet. My hands gripped a shelf at the
height of my head, and I pulled back hard. The dish-filled
cabinet rocked; plates clattered flat. The Theiwar cursed
and dropped to his knees, fingers grabbing for purchase
on the top. I heaved against the shelf again and saw the
cabinet lean toward me, then continue coming. I shoved it
aside. It slammed into the floor away from the choking
dwarf.
As suddenly as it had appeared, the greenish fog blew
away as if caught by a high wind. Orun’s hacking cough
and hoarse cries echoed in the now silent room.
The Theiwar fell to the floor across the room. Rolling,
he came up on his feet. He saw me coming around the
fallen cabinet, and he tried to flee for the closed door. He
jerked a long crystal vial from his belt. His bulging eyes
were as big as moons when I tackled him.
My dead hands locked around his little body. You
could hear him for miles, screaming like a spitted rodent
with a giant’s lung power. He punched and kicked in
hysteria. I jabbed one hand through the hail of blows and
got my long, cold fingers into the flesh at his throat,
sinking in the grip. Gasping, he stabbed at my arm with
the vial, shattering it with the first blow and opening up
bloodless gashes that went down to the dull white bone.
Abruptly, he stiffened. I grabbed his arm with my free
one and held it steady for an instant. I had seen it coming.