Authors: Roger Zelazny
A fiery blade appeared in Mask’s right hand.
I did not stir, but waited a second longer before speaking the guide words to my Fantasia-for-Six-Acetylene-Torches spell as I snapped my forearm back to cover my eyes and rolled to the side.
The stroke missed me, passing through broken stone.
Mask’s left arm fell across my chest, however, elbow connecting with my lower ribs.
I did not stop to assess damages, though, as I heard the sword of fire crackle and come free of the stone.
And so, turning, I struck with my own more mundane dagger of steel, driving its full length up into Mask’s left kidney.
There followed a scream as the sorcerer stiffened and slumped beside me.
Almost immediately thereafter I was kicked with considerable force behind my right hip.
I twisted away and another blow landed upon my right shoulder.
I am sure it was aimed for my head.
As I covered my neck and temples and rolled away, I heard Jurt’s voice, cursing.
Drawing my longer blade, I rose to my feet, and my gaze met Jurt’s.
He was rising at the same time, and he held Mask cradled in his arms.
“Later,” he said to me, and he vanished, bearing the body away with him.
The blue mask remained on the floor, near to a long smear of blood.
Jasra and Sharu were still facing each other from kneeling positions, panting, bodies completely drenched, their life forces twisting about each other like mating serpents.
Then, like a surfacing fish, Jurt appeared within the tower of forces beyond the Fount.
Even as Mandor hurled two of his spheres-which seemed to grow in size as they fled down the chamber, to crash into the Fount and reduce it to rubble-I saw what I believed I would never see again.
As the reverberation of the Fount’s collapse spread and the groaning and grinding within the walls was replaced by a snapping and swaying, and dust, gravel and timbers fell about me, I was moving forward, skirting the wreckage, sidestepping new geysers and rivulets of glowing forces, cloak raised to protect my face, black extended.
Jurt cursed me roundly as I came on.
Then, “Pleased; brother? Pleased?” he said.
“May death be the only peace between us.”
But I ignored the predictable sentiment, for I had to get a better look at what I thought I had seen moments before.
I leaped over a piece of broken masonry and beheld the fallen sorcerer’s face within the flames, head cradled against his shoulder.
“Julia! “ I cried.
But they vanished even as I moved forward, and I knew it was time for me to do the same.
Turning, I fled through the fire.