The Night Parade by Scott Ciencin Page B

dark man with the weapon turned it a few times, examining it for damage. The dead man was wrong. It was not the apparatus, but it had been charged from the energies of that object. The design was extraordinarily simple; in truth, it was little more than a steel glove. When it was activated, however, claws made of mystical fires stolen from the apparatus would leap from the moldings above each knuckle. The blue-white talons mimicked the actions of his true fingers and allowed him to take the lives of those creatures who laughed at human conceits such as mortality. As always, the weapon had performed admirably.
    “You’re going to miss everything,” a voice called from above. The dark man looked up in the direction of the voice and smiled.
    On the flat, the bearded man stood, hands held out to the sky, the worsening storm raging directly above his head.
    “Come to me,” he shouted, “Come on, come on, come—”
    Suddenly two streaks of lightning burst from the clouds, tearing jagged paths across the darkened sky, streaking down toward the bearded man. He screamed with delight as lightning struck each of his hands and his entire body quaked with the impact.
    “Yes!” he shouted as his body absorbed the lightning. His entire form became a brilliant white mass with slight indications of what may have been human anatomy within. He held the lightning within his body for as long as he could stand, then pointed both hands at the horizon. Twin bolts of white energy sailed from his fingers and struck the ground below. Then he was human again, but his clothing had been burned away.
    “Crolus, you moron, you missed the whole thing,” he shouted.
    “I didn’t,” a voice said.
    Zandler turned and saw a man materialize before him. His heart seized up as he saw the shimmering hand of the dark man. He did not even have time to scream as the assassin attacked.
    Seconds later, the dark man stood over the smoldering remains of the second monster. He concentrated and caused the arcane talon to vanish.
    “So they’re going to Pieraccinni’s,” he said. “I’ll pick up their trail there.”
    With a rustic of cloth, the dark man removed two gold pieces and dropped them beside the dead man’s hand. “The first one is for the information,” he said. “The second is to pay your passage into hell, you miserable excuse for a nightmare.”
    The man stepped back and vanished into the storm’s fury.
     

     
    The Harpers had avoided the main road and pitched their tent when the storm made it too dangerous to continue. Inside the tent, as the heavy rains of late afternoon fell, Lucius elected to keep watch near the partially opened flap. He declined the meal the others devoured with their usual lack of decorum. Myrmeen was too exhausted and famished to do anything but join them. Stones were laid in the middle of their enclosure, and a small fire blazed there. Burke had unwrapped and skillfully prepared several slabs of meat, most of which had been snapped up by the dark-haired, fourteen-year-old girl whom they had rescued.
    “So,” Burke said, determined to slap Krystin’s hand away if she grabbed at another serving before he could distribute the meat to the others, “is anyone else hungry?”
    “You mean she actually left something for the rest of us?” Reisz said as he spat out the seeds from a mouthful of grapes. Ord had consumed an entire loaf of bread and was eyeing the blackened slabs of meat with lustful intent. Myrmeen had gnawed three apples to their core.
    “Come now, the girl has been through an ordeal,” Varina gently coaxed, her stomach rumbling almost loud enough to be confused with the rolling thunder outside.
    Reisz growled, “How are you, girl?”
    “Fine,” Krystin said, the word delivered hard and fast, like a blow.
    “You feel well?”
    “Fine,” she repeated sharply. Her tone became demanding as she said, “Who are you people?”
    “We told you, we’re Harpers,” Varina said gently.
    “That’s