Read Online The Spell-Bound Scholar by Christopher Stasheff - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christopher Stasheff
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bandits, may I not know your name?"
"Why .. . surely, sir." Hope sprang in her eyes. "I am called Peregrine. But how can you, one man alone, stop twenty?"
"By magic," Gregory answered. "I am a wizard."
The spark of hope flared alive in Peregrine's eyes and she clung to his hand, staring up at him, lips parting in wonder
Gregory wondered, too. What kind of magic could give him, a slender and peaceful man, victory over twenty hardened robbers?
Any, the remote part of his mind answered, for it remembered that Peregrine was, after all, really Finister.
The disease hadn't been much, as epidemics went—only an old virus that had mutated into a new one—but the peasants of that village had had no immunity to it. Left to itself, it could have spread into a plague that swept the whole island. Gwen reflected on the episode as she flew home, amazed to realize that fifteen years ago she would have had no idea how to cope with the outbreak. Her sojourn in the interstellar civilization of the twenty-second century had given her the opportunity to learn advanced physics, chemistry, and a host of other sciences, including microbiology—all direct from the minds of scientists and engineers themselves. Not that she had eavesdropped—she had simply asked questions and really listened to the answers.
Fortunately it had been a relatively simple virus, and she had retailored a few specimens into antigens. They had propagated at the usual speed, neutralizing all the rest. She had left the epidemic well on its way to curing.
She idly noticed the hawk circling above her, as she noticed everything in the air when she was flying, but paid it no particular attention until it folded its wings and pounced on her.
With a cry of anger, she batted it away. The bird went spinning head over heels, and her broomstick, ignored for the moment, slipped to the left and started to dive. That saved her life, for the blaster bolt sizzled by a foot over her head.
Fear seared through her, but anger came hot in its wake. She spared a thought for the broomstick, bringing it up and around in an erratic zigzag as her mind probed for the gunner below. Instead she found another telepath, and the disorder and chaos in his mind sent a wave of dizziness through her. For a few seconds earth and sky reeled about her; for a few seconds, she was cut off from the outside world.
The broomstick, left to itself, promptly fell, and her with it.
Two blaster bolts sizzled overhead.
Then the enemy telepath's mind cleared with elation and Gwen's mind cleared with it. She saw treetops rushing up before her—but she saw her hands, too, clutching the broomstick white-knuckled as though they could pull it up and out of its tailspin by sheer strength. She poured the power of her mind into them, and the broomstick sheered off at the last second, though her shoes clipped leaves from the branches as she passed.
Then the hawk pounced again. She saw it coming a second before it struck and swerved to avoid it. A blaster bolt sizzled past and the hawk squawked in protest, sheering off. Smoke curled from the tips of its tail feathers.
Gwen threw her broomstick into a dance, erratic, chaotic. The enemy telepath's mind swept hers with a wave of hatred that made her recoil in shock—but she used the energy of the recoil to strike back, filling the foe's mind with an anger so hot that she felt the other lose consciousness. She withdrew from that mind immediately, rolled aside as a blaster bolt snarled past her, and sought for the minds of the gunners.
There were three of them. She struck with a sudden wave of self-hatred, and the first turned her own rifle on herself. Gwen withdrew the self-contempt quickly, and the gunner realized what she was doing. With a cry of terror, she threw the rifle from her.
But Gwen's mind was already moving to the second, making the rifle buck in his hands, twisting and turning. The man wrestled with it, and Gwen pulled hard, trying to yank the gun out of
"Why .. . surely, sir." Hope sprang in her eyes. "I am called Peregrine. But how can you, one man alone, stop twenty?"
"By magic," Gregory answered. "I am a wizard."
The spark of hope flared alive in Peregrine's eyes and she clung to his hand, staring up at him, lips parting in wonder
Gregory wondered, too. What kind of magic could give him, a slender and peaceful man, victory over twenty hardened robbers?
Any, the remote part of his mind answered, for it remembered that Peregrine was, after all, really Finister.
The disease hadn't been much, as epidemics went—only an old virus that had mutated into a new one—but the peasants of that village had had no immunity to it. Left to itself, it could have spread into a plague that swept the whole island. Gwen reflected on the episode as she flew home, amazed to realize that fifteen years ago she would have had no idea how to cope with the outbreak. Her sojourn in the interstellar civilization of the twenty-second century had given her the opportunity to learn advanced physics, chemistry, and a host of other sciences, including microbiology—all direct from the minds of scientists and engineers themselves. Not that she had eavesdropped—she had simply asked questions and really listened to the answers.
Fortunately it had been a relatively simple virus, and she had retailored a few specimens into antigens. They had propagated at the usual speed, neutralizing all the rest. She had left the epidemic well on its way to curing.
She idly noticed the hawk circling above her, as she noticed everything in the air when she was flying, but paid it no particular attention until it folded its wings and pounced on her.
With a cry of anger, she batted it away. The bird went spinning head over heels, and her broomstick, ignored for the moment, slipped to the left and started to dive. That saved her life, for the blaster bolt sizzled by a foot over her head.
Fear seared through her, but anger came hot in its wake. She spared a thought for the broomstick, bringing it up and around in an erratic zigzag as her mind probed for the gunner below. Instead she found another telepath, and the disorder and chaos in his mind sent a wave of dizziness through her. For a few seconds earth and sky reeled about her; for a few seconds, she was cut off from the outside world.
The broomstick, left to itself, promptly fell, and her with it.
Two blaster bolts sizzled overhead.
Then the enemy telepath's mind cleared with elation and Gwen's mind cleared with it. She saw treetops rushing up before her—but she saw her hands, too, clutching the broomstick white-knuckled as though they could pull it up and out of its tailspin by sheer strength. She poured the power of her mind into them, and the broomstick sheered off at the last second, though her shoes clipped leaves from the branches as she passed.
Then the hawk pounced again. She saw it coming a second before it struck and swerved to avoid it. A blaster bolt sizzled past and the hawk squawked in protest, sheering off. Smoke curled from the tips of its tail feathers.
Gwen threw her broomstick into a dance, erratic, chaotic. The enemy telepath's mind swept hers with a wave of hatred that made her recoil in shock—but she used the energy of the recoil to strike back, filling the foe's mind with an anger so hot that she felt the other lose consciousness. She withdrew from that mind immediately, rolled aside as a blaster bolt snarled past her, and sought for the minds of the gunners.
There were three of them. She struck with a sudden wave of self-hatred, and the first turned her own rifle on herself. Gwen withdrew the self-contempt quickly, and the gunner realized what she was doing. With a cry of terror, she threw the rifle from her.
But Gwen's mind was already moving to the second, making the rifle buck in his hands, twisting and turning. The man wrestled with it, and Gwen pulled hard, trying to yank the gun out of
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