Atros paused for a second, examining the spell, tasting it. Experimentally he tried moving a hand slowly and found it moved normally. The resistance built higher the faster he tried to move. The southern wizard smiled slightly and spoke a counter-incantation. Then he strode on unhindered.
His next step was nearly his last. His foot landed on a patch of something as slippery as the slickest ice over polished marble. He could get no purchase and his feet shot out from under him. Instinctively Atros used a spell to stay upright. Again a pause while he analyzed the magic and again Wiz’s best effort was nullified by a counterspell.
Atros assayed a transformation spell. But Wiz just stood there, unchanged and unharmed. A disorientation spell, a sleep spell and an earthquake spell followed in quick succession. Still his slender opponent stood unscathed.
Atros was baffled. He had never seen its like before. Normally a barrage of spells had some effect, but this was as if they weren’t even reaching their target. A bit tentatively, Atros hurled a bolt of lightning down the corridor. It reached the worm and vanished.
Aha!
The worm had grown noticeably larger. The thing was actually soaking up magic. Again Atros smiled and shaped a spell carefully.
The Southern wizard raised his staff, an inky blob of darkness formed on the end of it and wobbled down the corridor. It was black beyond black, blacker than night and it floated toward Wiz like a balloon wafted on a breeze.
Wiz watched as the sphere of darkness passed over the now-fattened worm. The worm reached out greedily for the magic just as the sphere bobbed to the floor of the corridor to meet it, bending toward the worm like a lover bending toward a kiss.
The pair touched. Suddenly the worm faded and shrunk as the black sphere of negation drained the magic it had hoarded. As the worm grew smaller so did the sphere, until at last there was again a tiny writhing grub and the sphere closed in on itself and vanished.
Atros ground the worm under his heel as he stepped forward to confront Wiz.
Wiz hit Atros with everything but the kitchen sink. A hundred lightning bolts flashed toward him so fast the corridor was lit by a constant blinding glare and the air reeked of ozone. The tunnel roof caved in with a roar and a huge cloud of dust. Thirty sharp knives flew at Atros from all directions. His bearskin tried to crawl off his back. A hurricane swept down the corridor blowing with a force no man could withstand.
Still Atros came on. The lightning struck all about him but never touched him. The falling rocks bounced off an invisible shield over his head. His skin garment convulsed and lay still. The wind did not move a hair on his head.
Wiz’s spells had raw power, but they lacked the carefully crafted subtlety of a truly great wizard. And Atros, for all his braggadocio, was one of the great wizards of the World. More, he had the hard-won experience that comes from fighting and winning a score of magical duels. But most of all, Atros was a killer. Wiz simply was not.
Now Atros raised his staff and it was Wiz’s turn to endure.
“New magic in the City of Night, Lord. Strong and strange.”
Bal-Simba rushed to the Watcher’s side. “Is it Sparrow? Can you locate him?”
“It appears to be and, yes Lord, we have it very precisely. He is in the dungeons beneath the city.” The Watcher peered deeply into the crystal again. “There is other magic close by, Lord. Very strong and . . . Atros! Lord, your Sparrow is locked in a magical duel with Atros!”
“Fortuna!” Bal-Simba swore. “How is the Sparrow doing?”
“I can’t tell, Lord. His spells are so peculiar. But there is a lot of magic loose in those tunnels.” Another pause and the Watcher tore his eyes from the crystal to face Bal-Simba. “He seems to be holding his own, but I don’t think he is winning, Lord.”
“A Sparrow against a bear. That is not an even match.
“I fear not, Lord.”