A Clash of Magics by Guy Antibes (read this if txt) 📕

want to interrupt your writing to go out to make sure you have a distance right, to the east side of the wharf from the Dryden church, for example,” Trevor said.

“Have a look. There is probably something in there that is useful.”

Trevor began to look at the maps. Most had a description of the map on the outside. He selected plans of the city’s gates and finally found what he sought, three maps of the enclave.

“How accurate are these?” Trevor asked.

The merchant shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t know many people who have been to the enclave.”

Trevor didn’t know if he should believe the man, but it didn’t matter. He opened the maps, and with a quick comparison, found similarities and discrepancies. Perhaps they could piece together something that might be somewhat reliable.

“I’ll take these,” Trevor said.

“All of them?”

Trevor raised his eyebrows. “They are for sale, aren’t they?”

“Indeed. Today is my lucky day,” the merchant said. “I’ve held onto those for too long.”

Trevor paid the man in Maskumite coins that he had earned by being a smuggling caravan’s guard.

Brother Yvan still talked to the jewelry seller. Trevor sauntered over after visiting a food stand selling fried fish strips. Trevor didn’t care as much for the fish as for the batter used to fry them.

“Find anything for Reena?” Trevor asked.

“A trinket or two. Lissa might like this one,” Brother Yvan pointed to a medallion made of tiny glass pieces joined together with lead. It was like a miniature stained-glass window.

“I’ll buy whatever you found,” Trevor said.

He paid for Brother Yvan’s jewelry and the one Brother Yvan pointed out and more of the fried fish strips.

Brother Yvan took a bite and raised his eyebrows. “This is delightful!” he said. “I take it you were successful?”

Trevor nodded. “I have maps of the city that we will send to our friends,” he said in case anyone listened in.

They walked through the market and watched a few little dramas that the Khartooian citizens stood and watched. Trevor hadn’t seen those before. Again, he couldn’t detect any kind of concern about the impending invasion. They almost reached the end of the market when the hubbub around them silenced.

Men and women stepped out of the darkness and surrounded them. His heart sunk when he saw Gareeze Plissaki walk into the circle of magic light.

“Trevor Arcwin. You have been a busy little man,” the Maskumite magician said with a sneer. “You won’t be able to jump out a window this time. When you are dead, the armies arrayed against Khartoo will fade away.”

Trevor shook his head with the barest of a smile on his lips. “I’m not that indispensable,” he said.

“We will see. I have a little surprise for you tonight.” Plissaki raised his hands as Trevor put his arm around Brother Yvan’s shoulder. If there weren’t so many magicians standing around them, Trevor might have considered fighting his way out of the situation, but Brother Yvan didn’t have the protection that Trevor had.

“We will transfer,” Trevor said quietly to Brother Yvan when an orange bolt emerged from an ornate rod in Plissaki’s hand before Trevor could complete the transfer. The bolt struck Trevor in the arm just as he thought of transferring to the camp.

Trevor felt an agonizing pain slicing into his left arm. He screamed with pain which seemed to have persisted through the transfer. All of Trevor’s consciousness focused on the agony burning into his arm. In his mind, the arm was burned off as he fell to the ground.

Brother Yvan put his hand on Trevor’s head. He imagined that the cleric had tried to put him asleep. “That didn’t work!” Trevor said.

Gorian Custik jammed a wineskin into Trevor’s mouth. His mouth burned from the liquor. Through the pain, Trevor felt, at least he could feel the fire of the alcohol compete with the fire on his arm as consciousness faded away.

~

Trevor woke with a splitting headache. Someone wrapped his arm in a bandage, but relief flooded him when he found he could wiggle his fingers sticking out of the end of the wrappings.

Glynna looked down at him, sitting next to his cot. “Brother Yvan saved your arm,” she said. “Have some of this.”

She unstoppered a wineskin, but this time a fruit juice of some kind slid down Trevor’s throat.

“I’m not invulnerable,” Trevor said after he drained most of the skin.

“So Brother Yvan said. I’ve never heard of an orange lightning bolt before. Gorian thinks Gareeze Plissaki used some kind of an old magic rod, something like the way Gorian can infuse your cuirass with magic, an ancient spell powered by modern magic. That is why it went through your arm. The bolt would have killed you if you hadn’t worn the cuirass,” Glynna said, lifting the cuirass, which now had a deep scorch mark halfway across the front. “You weren’t the only item affected by the orange bolt.”

Trevor closed his eyes. “What am I going to do?” Trevor said.

“Potur Lott and Brother Yvan wanted me to let them know when you woke up. Your work isn’t finished,” Glynna said.

Trevor looked at his arm after Glynna left the tent. The teleportation hadn’t mended his arm the way he would have expected. Plissaki had wielded a magic weapon that could kill him. It was the first that Trevor had encountered after he had entered the mound in the Gnarled Wood in West Moreton. Not that he hadn’t been injured enough by mundane means, but he felt exposed, and Trevor didn’t know what to think of it.

“When we arrived in the camp, your wound was sealed but not healed,” Brother Yvan said with the ghost of a smile. “What do you think it was?”

Gorian Custik stood next to Glynna just outside the tent. “Old magic,” he said. “Yvan, and I