“Go!” I screamed at it, waving my sword. “Run!”
Giving an unholy wail, the horse fled. It dragged the hell-creature down the streets, his helm and armor banging and rattling on the cobbles.
I chuckled to myself. If he lived, he certainly wouldn’t be fighting for a long, long time.
I enjoyed a second’s break as the remaining hell-creatures jockeyed for position to get at me. When I glanced over at Dworkin, I saw with some surprise that he had already dispatched no fewer than six of his opponents. He fought two now, his sword and knife a darting blur as he darted between their horses to parry and stab. I had never seen such speed or swordsmanship before, and it made my own more-than-able defense seem clumsy and amateurish.
No sense letting the break go to waste, I thought. Bending, I pulled a small knife from my boot sheath and flipped it underhand. The tip nicked one of Dworkin’s opponents on the chin, just below the helm. I don’t think it did more than scratch him, but that was the distraction Dworkin needed to run him through. Then, whirling and with a magnificent double-feint, Dworkin beheaded the other. The body slowly toppled from the saddle, and then both of the horses raced off.
A horn sounded from the end of the street, and distant voices began crying an alarm. The town watch must have finally noticed something amiss, I realized with a snort of amusement. Hundred-foot-tall sheets of green flame and roving bands of hell-creatures with fire-breathing horses battling in the streets hadn’t escaped them. Undoubtedly they would show up just in time to claim credit for saving us.
As if realizing they hadn’t much time left, the hell-creatures pressed their attack. Dworkin killed another, and I killed two more in quick succession. Six remained. They fell back for a second, steadying their horses and preparing to rush us all at once. This would be the decisive moment in the fight, I realized. Strong as I was, my muscles had begun to tire, and these last six hell-creatures and their mounts were still fresh for battle.
I drifted closer to Dworkin, keeping my sword up.
“Help will be here soon,” I said. Not that he needed it. He wasn’t even panting. “We just have to hold them off for a few more minutes.”
“Wait. I have something here…”
He tucked his long knife under one arm and rummaged around in a pouch with his free hand, muttering softly to himself. Then, just as the six hell-creatures spurred their mounts toward us for their final attack, he pulled out a small crystal that glinted with an inner fire.
“Aha!” he said.
He raised the crystal to eye level, and a beam of dazzling white light shot from the tip, brighter than the sun, brighter than anything I had ever seen before. It sliced through the four closest riders and their mounts like a scythe through wheat. Horses and hell-creatures alike fell, screaming in pain, blood spraying, their various parts flopping on the cobbles like fish out of water. They had been sliced in half, I realized, numbly taking in the horrible scene. Then they lay still, dark blood pooling rapidly.
Cursing, Dworkin dropped the crystal. It had turned black, I saw, and a sharp, unpleasant smoke rose from it. It shattered on the cobblestones, then the bits seemed to turn to dust and disappear like evaporating water. Little remained but a faint black smudge.
“What was
“A parlor trick.”
“Magic!”
“I suppose you could call it that.”
Horns sounded again, much closer now. The two remaining hell-creatures reined in their hissing, spark- spitting horses, hesitated a second, then wheeled, kicked their mounts to a gallop, and fled back the way they had come.
I wasn’t surprised. Between us, Dworkin and I had killed fourteen of their band in a handful of minutes. We could easily have dispatched two more. Better to report failure and live to attack another day, especially with the town watch at hand.
Suddenly exhausted, I lowered my sword and stared at the carnage before us, then I stared at Dworkin. By the light of Helda’s burning house, he had seemed younger and stronger than I remembered. And now, nursing burnt fingers, blowing on them and shaking them in the air, he seemed almost comical.
“Where did you get that crystal?” I asked in a quiet voice. If I could get more like it for King Elnar, I knew without a doubt that it would turn the tide of war in our favor.
“Never ask a magician his secrets.”
“So I’m supposed to believe you’re a magician now?”
“Do you have a better explanation?”
“Actually, I do. You’re a spy for one of the neighboring kingdoms, one with a wizard. The wizard gave you that”—I indicated the remains of the crystal with my chin—“and your horseless carriage. Other spies warned you about the hell-creatures’ coming attack, and you came here to save me either for old times’ sake or for reasons I don’t yet know.”
Throwing back his head, he howled with uncontrollable laughter.
I frowned. Clearly he had no intention of telling me the truth.
“Yes! Yes!” he finally gasped. “Your explanation is much better than mine! Much more believable!”
This wasn’t the solemn, serious Dworkin I remembered of old.
“You’ve gone mad,” I said, half believing it.
That sent him howling again.
With the hell-creatures gone, the few remaining townspeople in this neighborhood began to venture from their houses. They stood in small clusters, talking in low voices and pointing at the carnage, Helda’s burning house, the odd horseless carriage, and Dworkin and me. The green flames in particular seemed to frighten them; they made no move to form a bucket brigade to try to put out the fire.
I didn’t blame them; I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near it, either. Luckily the fire didn’t seem to be spreading, or all of Kingstown might have been in jeopardy.
Ignoring Dworkin, I bent and cleaned both my sword and my knife on a dead hell-creature’s cloak, then sheathed them. A soldier’s first duty after a battle is to take care of his weapons, after all. Next I retrieved my throwing knife, cleaned it, and returned it to my right boot.
My movements felt almost mechanical. The whole night’s adventure had taken on an air of unreality, as though it had happened to someone else. The townspeople, the fire, my long-lost mentor… I found myself just standing there, staring into the green flames, remembering. And most of all I remembered Helda, my Helda, who was gone…
Horns sounded again, very close now, perhaps one street over. The town watch would be here soon.
Dworkin touched my shoulder. “We must go.”
I focused on him. “I’m not going anywhere until I get the truth.”
“Fine. I am a spy. That is as good an explanation as any, for the moment. Come on, we must go before the hell-creatures return in greater numbers. Do not be stubborn about it.”
“You think they’re coming back?” I demanded, startled. I gazed up the street in the direction the two surviving hell-creatures had fled. “Tonight? After the way you cut them in half with that crystal?”
“Of course they are coming back, and I have just about run out of tricks. Now that they have found you, they will not rest until you are dead. They will mount an all-out assault instead of a methodical search.”
I shook my head. “That doesn’t make sense. Why
“It is more complicated than that… and this war means nothing to them. They do not want land or slaves. They are searching for you.”
“Me? Why?”
“It is a long story. I will tell you everything when we are safely away, I promise.”
He started for his horseless carriage, then paused and looked back expectantly.
“You had best come, my boy.”
I took a deep breath, glanced one last time at the burning house, at the corpse-littered street, then at him. He seemed strong and sure and confident now. Despite all that had happened—or perhaps because of it—my long-
