Read Online Magic Zero by Christopher Golden, Thomas E. Sniegoski - Free Book Online
Authors: Christopher Golden, Thomas E. Sniegoski
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The creature thrust the blade at him with a savage grunt, but Ivar had taught Timothy well and he easily sidestepped this attack. There were beasts on the Island of Patience, some of them ferocious, and Timothy Cade had learned how tosurvive. Yet even as he dodged, the assassin’s blade seemed to extend beyond its limit, as if suddenly elastic, stretching out to find its target. Timothy held his breath. No matter how often he saw it, magic always astonished him.
The creature’s chatter had become a high, piercing screech, and his attacker slashed at him frantically with the elongating weapon. Again Timothy avoided the blade, jumping two steps farther up the stairs. Ivar’s training again asserted itself as Timothy spotted an opportunity and shot a hard kick at the would-be killer’s face.
It was as though the assassin had never even contemplated a physical attack, and had no idea how to counter it. Timothy’s heel connected with the rough flesh of the creature’s face, crushing its nose with a sharp snap. The killer cried out in shock and pain as it tumbled backward down the remainder of the stairs to lie in a broken heap at Leander’s feet. The mage immediately dispatched the stunned creature with a blast of bluish flame from his outstretched hands.
Timothy had no idea how the tiny invaders had gotten into the house. He had been working on some new designs when they had erupted from the shadows, seemingly attacking from out of nowhere. He wanted to explain this to Leander, but he didn’t get the chance. The tinkling of the crystal chandelier above alerted him, and he spun to see one of the assassins dangling there, ready to pounce.
“Back off, little man!” squawked Edgar. The rook was a black streak as he darted toward the invader clinging to the ornate light fixture. The ugly creature hissed, flecking its thin beardwith bits of its last meal, and lashed out with another of those mystic blades, narrowly missing the fluttering, cawing bird.
Timothy heard Leander below him, barking a litany of guttural, unfamiliar sounds. A blast of blue light sizzled past the boy’s face, struck one of the Cuzcotec, and turned it to stone. Timothy tore his gaze away from this breathtaking sight just in time to watch Leander lift one of his large hands and point at the chandelier. The big mage uttered several more snarling sounds and blasts of ruby fire erupted from his fingertips. The torrent of magical energy roared upward, struck the chandelier, and engulfed the distracted assassin.
The creature cried out pathetically as it toppled from the chandelier and landed with a crack and a thump upon the stairs, unmoving, petrified by Leander’s spell.
There was further commotion from behind, and Timothy turned, half expecting to see more of the ugly little killers coming at him. And no doubt they would have been, if Ivar had not been there to stop them. The Asura warrior had positioned himself on the stairs to block their access to Timothy and was in the midst of fierce combat with a trio of the swift assassins. They shrieked and spat at Ivar in their ear-piercing dialect, and the Asura responded in kind. There seemed to be a connection between the two primitive tribes. Perhaps an ancient rivalry, Timothy thought, overwhelmed with awe as he watched Ivar fight. He knew that Ivar’s people were great hunters and fierce warriors, for his father had spoken of the Asura people on numerous occasions, but nothing had prepared him for this.
There was a simplicity in the Asura’s movements, every action seeming to come as a natural reaction. It reminded the boy of a dance, a dance with violent and bloody results, but a dance nonetheless. Ivar fought on the stairs with only the knife that Timothy had made for him in his workshop back on Patience. The Asura used the blade as an extension of his body, dipping and weaving from stair to stair, striking at his enemies with what seemed to be very little effort. The expression on
The creature thrust the blade at him with a savage grunt, but Ivar had taught Timothy well and he easily sidestepped this attack. There were beasts on the Island of Patience, some of them ferocious, and Timothy Cade had learned how tosurvive. Yet even as he dodged, the assassin’s blade seemed to extend beyond its limit, as if suddenly elastic, stretching out to find its target. Timothy held his breath. No matter how often he saw it, magic always astonished him.
The creature’s chatter had become a high, piercing screech, and his attacker slashed at him frantically with the elongating weapon. Again Timothy avoided the blade, jumping two steps farther up the stairs. Ivar’s training again asserted itself as Timothy spotted an opportunity and shot a hard kick at the would-be killer’s face.
It was as though the assassin had never even contemplated a physical attack, and had no idea how to counter it. Timothy’s heel connected with the rough flesh of the creature’s face, crushing its nose with a sharp snap. The killer cried out in shock and pain as it tumbled backward down the remainder of the stairs to lie in a broken heap at Leander’s feet. The mage immediately dispatched the stunned creature with a blast of bluish flame from his outstretched hands.
Timothy had no idea how the tiny invaders had gotten into the house. He had been working on some new designs when they had erupted from the shadows, seemingly attacking from out of nowhere. He wanted to explain this to Leander, but he didn’t get the chance. The tinkling of the crystal chandelier above alerted him, and he spun to see one of the assassins dangling there, ready to pounce.
“Back off, little man!” squawked Edgar. The rook was a black streak as he darted toward the invader clinging to the ornate light fixture. The ugly creature hissed, flecking its thin beardwith bits of its last meal, and lashed out with another of those mystic blades, narrowly missing the fluttering, cawing bird.
Timothy heard Leander below him, barking a litany of guttural, unfamiliar sounds. A blast of blue light sizzled past the boy’s face, struck one of the Cuzcotec, and turned it to stone. Timothy tore his gaze away from this breathtaking sight just in time to watch Leander lift one of his large hands and point at the chandelier. The big mage uttered several more snarling sounds and blasts of ruby fire erupted from his fingertips. The torrent of magical energy roared upward, struck the chandelier, and engulfed the distracted assassin.
The creature cried out pathetically as it toppled from the chandelier and landed with a crack and a thump upon the stairs, unmoving, petrified by Leander’s spell.
There was further commotion from behind, and Timothy turned, half expecting to see more of the ugly little killers coming at him. And no doubt they would have been, if Ivar had not been there to stop them. The Asura warrior had positioned himself on the stairs to block their access to Timothy and was in the midst of fierce combat with a trio of the swift assassins. They shrieked and spat at Ivar in their ear-piercing dialect, and the Asura responded in kind. There seemed to be a connection between the two primitive tribes. Perhaps an ancient rivalry, Timothy thought, overwhelmed with awe as he watched Ivar fight. He knew that Ivar’s people were great hunters and fierce warriors, for his father had spoken of the Asura people on numerous occasions, but nothing had prepared him for this.
There was a simplicity in the Asura’s movements, every action seeming to come as a natural reaction. It reminded the boy of a dance, a dance with violent and bloody results, but a dance nonetheless. Ivar fought on the stairs with only the knife that Timothy had made for him in his workshop back on Patience. The Asura used the blade as an extension of his body, dipping and weaving from stair to stair, striking at his enemies with what seemed to be very little effort. The expression on
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