The Magehound

But Tzigone took inspiration from the necromancer's attack. She snatched up handfuls of eels from the fishmonger's baskets and hurled them at the wizard. The snakelike fish tangled about his ankles, stopping his advance and distracting him from his spell. He nearly tripped, and his bobbling attempt to regain his balance would have been comical in less grim circumstances.

The necromancer ripped the entangling eels away and flung them aside. The touch of his hand turned them a glowing green and left them as rigid as sticks. One of the eels shattered against a tree trunk with a sound like breaking crockery. Shards of eel flew like a volley of arrows, bespeckling the necromancer's robes with glowing green.

"Hey, dragon snot! Over here!" hooted Tzigone, waving her arms and attempting to draw the wizard's attention from Matteo.

This affront to the wizard's dignity enraged him as much as the theft of his spellbook. Crimson light began to gather in his colorless eyes, and he kicked aside the last of the eels and lunged at her.

Matteo felt the rush of cold as the necromancer closed in, and he understood the nature of the spell. A rare few necromancers could summon a lich's touch, a dangerous spell that copied the paralysis of limb and spirit caused by the touch of an undead wizard. But Matteo stepped between the wizard and Tzigone and seized the glowing hand that reached out to seize her.

He accepted the terrible numbing chill, an attack that would have frozen most men in place as surely as the blast of an ice dragon's breath. Forcing aside the icy pain, he tightened his grip on the wizard's hand and gave it a hard, quick twist. The delicate bones gave way with a sickening crunch.

It was a cruel defense, one Matteo hated using, but he knew of no other way to stop the wizard's magical offensive short of killing him.

The necromancer howled in pain and fury, a lingering sound that rose in pitch to become an eerie wail. He fell away, backing off from the jordain and quite literally shrinking as he retreated.

He also began to change. Bones creaked and popped as they took new form. His nose bulged, then snapped outward into a long muzzle. His robes fell away, and white hair sprouted from his pallid skin. In moments the wizard's human shape was entirely gone, replaced by that of a lean and ghostly wolf.

It was a reasonable strategy, one that Matteo had anticipated. Although the wizard's spellcasting was finished for quite some time by the injury to his hand, any necromancer of power kept several spells at the ready, magic that could be activated without word or gesture. And now, as a wolf, the wizard would not need magic to attack.

Apparently he'd also had the foresight to unleash magic designed to leave Matteo vulnerable to fang and claw. As the jordain raised his daggers into guard position, he noted that the tips were beginning to glow with heat. He quickly tossed them aside, steeling himself to do what he would have to do.

The ghostly wolf's lips curled, baring preternaturally long, sharp fangs and an expanse of blackened gums. The creature snarled and crouched for the spring.

Matteo timed his defense, then leaped forward to meet the wolf-wizard. He spun on one foot and kicked out high and hard with the other as the creature rose to the apex of its leap.

His booted foot caught the creature squarely in the chest. He danced back as the wolf dropped to the ground, a look of human surprise on its pale face. But no breath stirred the great white chest, and the wolf-wizard never uttered another sound. The heart stopped on impact and would never beat again.

Numbly Matteo watched as the wolf slowly melted back into human form. If possible, the waxen, white body of the wizard seemed even more inhuman than the abandoned wolf shape.

He was aware of Tzigone edging close. The girl prodded the still figure with a tentative foot, then touched her fingers to the silence pulse on the necromancer's white neck. She rose and stared at Matteo, her eyes huge.

"You killed him," she said incredulously. "With one kick, you killed him."

"I could have stopped him without great injury had he permitted me the daggers," Matteo said shortly, mistaking her astonishment for disapproval.

In truth, he was far more stunned than Tzigone by the ease of the man's death. Matteo had trained for battle since he was old enough to hold a wooden pole without falling on his backside, but this was the first time a man had died by his hand. It seemed to him that such a thing should not have been so easy. Something so momentous, so final, should have been harder to do, and it should have taken far longer. Perhaps then he would have had time to reconcile himself to his actions. Perhaps then he would not be standing here staring at the dead man, marveling at the cold hollow place the unknown man's sudden absence left within his own heart. It seemed to him that a hidden room within him had been opened, one whose existence he had never suspected. He could kill. He had killed.