into a fiery phoenix visible only to mage-sight, the
sparks dancing off the feathers spelling out his name.
* * *
Patrick
recoiled sharply, then turned a dark look at the source of the
flashy challenge. A Lioren; it figured, arrogant bunch that they
were, so certain they ruled the mixed villages by right of
strength.
The mage
across the street glowed with power as though it were the sun
itself he wore like a cloak of light, almost eclipsing the
heat-image of his presence. Patrick scowled. Worse, it was all his
own, not so much as a trace of any kind of outside power tingeing
it anywhere.
What right had
this Lioren to such dazzling brilliance, when he himself had been
born with scarcely enough of the mage-gift to be noticeable?
He'd found
ways to even the odds, however, and if this braggart thought to
meddle with his life, he'd learn that quickly.
*Excuse me.*
The mindvoice dropped into his head with the clarity of diamond,
precise and calm. *Do you mind? The two you're looking at are under
the protection of my coven, and I'd really appreciate it if you'd
just forget they exist.*
Under the
protection of a coven? Both of them? The fairer one was simply
human with no hint of power, hardly worth wasting any effort on.
The darker one, on the other hand, intrigued him. A wolf, with such
heavy damage psychically that any touch of magic would be sure to
be unpleasant for him... how had he gotten into such a state?
Curiosity
wasn't really worth a fight, was it?
Curiosity
alone, no, but the tone of that Lioren mage's voice was another
matter.
He snatched up
the lingering power from the phoenix image, rewove it into a dragon
of crimson and saffron and sooty black, and flung it back
violently.
*You do not
command me,* he hissed. *Mind your tongue.*
The Lioren
mage's shock was so strong that it spilled over before being firmly
reined in.
*I asked
nicely,* the other said evenly, after a moment's silence. *I'm
asking politely once more. They are under Coven Sundark's
protection, and if need be we will fight, although I would prefer
not to.*
*I do as I
please! If I want that crippled little wolf to study, I'll have
him!*
*He's not
crippled!* The shout made him flinch in discomfort, laced as it was
with hot blinding anger and no more controlled than a shotgun
blast. Patrick cried out, in outrage and surprise as much as in
pain, and hastily flung shields around himself. The effort made his
breath catch, as nerves damaged by the attack protested, but he
willed them strong and steady.
Want to fight,
do you?
He pulled at
the light of the streetlamps and coiled it into a tightly focused
whip, bound into that form by his own fury. Viciously, he lashed it
outwards across the vacant street, to flay the upstart where he
stood.
It snapped
against glassy-smooth shields, which scarcely trembled, then far
too much happened far too quickly.
The shields
winked out. Patrick blinked, tried to trace where the power used in
those shields had gone, but there was no sign of it... surely no
one could draw that much power back into himself so quickly without
damage?
Something
seized the whip, jolting him roughly out of his distraction, to
discover that the Lioren mage had coiled the whip's far end around
his wrist and was holding it firmly.
What in all
the hells...
No more than
three rapid heartbeats after the disappearance of the shields, a
scorching flood of sheer raw power surged back along the whip,
forcing the flow of his own magic into reverse before it, pouring
into him.
For the space
of another three fast heartbeats, he realized just how dizzyingly
high a tolerance for power the Lioren mage had and the utter
ecstasy of it, then it collapsed into the shrieking pain of severe
backlash shock. Only distantly was he aware of it when the power
flow abruptly reversed again. He swayed, and stumbled backwards to
lean against a wall,
sparks dancing off the feathers spelling out his name.
* * *
Patrick
recoiled sharply, then turned a dark look at the source of the
flashy challenge. A Lioren; it figured, arrogant bunch that they
were, so certain they ruled the mixed villages by right of
strength.
The mage
across the street glowed with power as though it were the sun
itself he wore like a cloak of light, almost eclipsing the
heat-image of his presence. Patrick scowled. Worse, it was all his
own, not so much as a trace of any kind of outside power tingeing
it anywhere.
What right had
this Lioren to such dazzling brilliance, when he himself had been
born with scarcely enough of the mage-gift to be noticeable?
He'd found
ways to even the odds, however, and if this braggart thought to
meddle with his life, he'd learn that quickly.
*Excuse me.*
The mindvoice dropped into his head with the clarity of diamond,
precise and calm. *Do you mind? The two you're looking at are under
the protection of my coven, and I'd really appreciate it if you'd
just forget they exist.*
Under the
protection of a coven? Both of them? The fairer one was simply
human with no hint of power, hardly worth wasting any effort on.
The darker one, on the other hand, intrigued him. A wolf, with such
heavy damage psychically that any touch of magic would be sure to
be unpleasant for him... how had he gotten into such a state?
Curiosity
wasn't really worth a fight, was it?
Curiosity
alone, no, but the tone of that Lioren mage's voice was another
matter.
He snatched up
the lingering power from the phoenix image, rewove it into a dragon
of crimson and saffron and sooty black, and flung it back
violently.
*You do not
command me,* he hissed. *Mind your tongue.*
The Lioren
mage's shock was so strong that it spilled over before being firmly
reined in.
*I asked
nicely,* the other said evenly, after a moment's silence. *I'm
asking politely once more. They are under Coven Sundark's
protection, and if need be we will fight, although I would prefer
not to.*
*I do as I
please! If I want that crippled little wolf to study, I'll have
him!*
*He's not
crippled!* The shout made him flinch in discomfort, laced as it was
with hot blinding anger and no more controlled than a shotgun
blast. Patrick cried out, in outrage and surprise as much as in
pain, and hastily flung shields around himself. The effort made his
breath catch, as nerves damaged by the attack protested, but he
willed them strong and steady.
Want to fight,
do you?
He pulled at
the light of the streetlamps and coiled it into a tightly focused
whip, bound into that form by his own fury. Viciously, he lashed it
outwards across the vacant street, to flay the upstart where he
stood.
It snapped
against glassy-smooth shields, which scarcely trembled, then far
too much happened far too quickly.
The shields
winked out. Patrick blinked, tried to trace where the power used in
those shields had gone, but there was no sign of it... surely no
one could draw that much power back into himself so quickly without
damage?
Something
seized the whip, jolting him roughly out of his distraction, to
discover that the Lioren mage had coiled the whip's far end around
his wrist and was holding it firmly.
What in all
the hells...
No more than
three rapid heartbeats after the disappearance of the shields, a
scorching flood of sheer raw power surged back along the whip,
forcing the flow of his own magic into reverse before it, pouring
into him.
For the space
of another three fast heartbeats, he realized just how dizzyingly
high a tolerance for power the Lioren mage had and the utter
ecstasy of it, then it collapsed into the shrieking pain of severe
backlash shock. Only distantly was he aware of it when the power
flow abruptly reversed again. He swayed, and stumbled backwards to
lean against a wall,
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