Seeds of Virtue, Dark Descent, Book I

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  After his conversation with Graeak, Piyus had spent the next half hour gathering books and tomes, searching for information on the Orb of Decay. At first, he found it more than a little odd that his old friend would send his apprentice and a handful of mercenaries after the artifact and not go after it himself, but after speaking with Graeak and seeing the man for himself, Piyus realized how true Druzeel’s words had been. The man was getting old and the years of magical powders, potions, and spells was not helping the process. In fact, it was only speeding Graeak’s inevitable demise for the youthful magic that he had used over the years was rapidly fading, far faster than either man had thought. Graeak still had a few years left, but Piyus knew his friend’s final days would not be pleasant, filled with pain and the troubles of old age. He hid his discomfort well but Piyus quickly saw through the facade.

  “I tell you this now,” Graeak had said after telling his friend about what Brask and the others were really searching for, “to make sure that if Druzeel and the others fail, the orb will not be forgotten. You are the only other person I trust with this information, Piyus. If you are able, please see what you can do to help Druzeel succeed. It must be found and destroyed, if that is even possible. If not, it must be kept from the world. Forever.”

  The plea from his old friend hit Piyus hard for he had never heard the man speak with such concern and uncertainty. There were only a few times the archmage could remember when Graeak had seemed frightened and those were times he would like to forget. Men like them did not scare easily, but when they did, it was important to take note for something unpleasant was sure to follow. Another detail that for some reason unnerved Piyus was that Graeak did not want Druzeel knowing about the orb.

  “He is young and still growing,” the aging archmage had said. “The orb can have a powerful influence on a still developing mind and though I am confident he can resist its pull, I do not wish to take that chance.”

  Piyus could understand his friend’s fears for even though Druzeel was indeed strong with magic, he seemed a little too easily led. That was apparent by the way he spoke of his companions. Piyus heard the need in his voice as he spoke about the assassin and wanting to find him. He knew the young wizard truly wanted to capture the assassin for his teacher and bring the man to justice, but he also knew he wanted to feel needed by his traveling companions. He wanted to belong and be looked upon as a valuable asset to the group. At first, Piyus thought that was rather silly for a wizard should not care about what others think of them, only what they themselves think of them, but he remembered when he was a young, naive lad and could understand Druzeel’s feelings. He kept the young man and those feelings in mind well after his talk with Graeak had come to an end.

  After Piyus gave his word that he would help Druzeel, Graeak’s face faded from his crystal ball and left the man in silence. For many moments after their meeting, Piyus had stood in quiet shock. The sight of his old friend had unnerved him more than he cared to admit for, over the years, he had used the same spells and magic to keep himself from aging. To know what his future held was not something he enjoyed knowing. With great caution and careful planning, Piyus knew he could avoid such a fate, but time would catch him eventually. As he had told Druzeel, it had a habit of doing such things.

  That short conversation with Graeak had brought back a few unwelcomed memories to Piyus, memories from a phase in his life when he had become obsessed with delaying his demise. That period of his life was brief, but it was a time he would remember forever for he had contemplated becoming a lich, for that seemed the only way to become immortal. But it carried a heavy price. To become such a monster, one would have to forsake the pleasures of the flesh, forever, and embrace undeath until the end of time. During his studies and journeys to uncover the knowledge necessary to become such a creature, Piyus had seen and almost done some very bad things. Those life experiences had served to turn him away from such foolishness and embrace his mortality. His talk with Graeak and seeing him so feeble and flimsy made Piyus think about his life once again. For a wizard as eccentric and unorthodox as himself, those types of memories and fear of dying were dangerous thoughts, but he quickly banished them from his mind. He had closed that chapter in his life and wanted nothing more to do with it.

  Piyus took a few moments after those disturbing visions had been tucked away and cleared his thoughts. He pushed away the memories of his youth and the image of himself as a lich and concentrated on helping his friend. That was what mattered now. That was what he must focus on.

  It wasn’t easy to concentrate after seeing Graeak as he was, but Piyus was an archmage and knew how to focus his mind. He immediately ran around his library, gathering books where he may find information on the orb and other artifacts with similar qualities. According to Graeak, there was no magical item that could come close to the evil and power of the Orb of Decay, but Piyus still took the time to research similar magical artifacts, hoping to find something to shed light on exactly what he was dealing with. In all his years, even with his vast knowledge of magic and spells, he had never heard of the orb until know. It amazed him that such a creation could stay hidden from the world for so long, could actually stay hidden from him for all these years. That thought and the fear on Graeak’s face when speaking of it made Piyus move with haste, impatient to uncover the orb’s hiding place and get it back from the person that had stolen it, an assassin that no doubt had nothing but evil intentions.

  After scanning through one of his oldest tomes, Piyus walked to his crystal orb and waved his hand over the surface. The purple and gold mist inside the sphere danced and swirled in response. He prepared himself to contact several large libraries scattered throughout the land, to search their collections to see if they held the knowledge he sought, but before he could begin, a light shiver ran down his spine. The sensation told him that many of the wards he had placed around his home had just been triggered.

  Piyus uttered a quick word and the clouds inside his orb parted, showing him the outside of his home, the area where the wards had gone off. He saw one of the many entrances to his home, entrances only he should have been able to activate, was wide open. Crawling into the opening were a dozen blurry blobs of black. At first, Piyus thought there was something wrong with the orb, but quickly felt the magic cloaking the figures breaking into his home. Whoever they were, they were cloaked in some type of spell to hide their true forms.

  “I do so hate uninvited guests,” Piyus said, twisting his hand to follow the forms as they entered his home and ran down the hallway.

  While still keeping his eye on the dozen or so forms moving through his home, apparently heading right toward his casting chamber, he voiced the words to a spell and sent his thoughts racing through the dome. In less than a few seconds, he felt his magic connect him to the minds of his apprentices and the others that worked in The Eye of All Things.

  “Some thieves have decided to visit us,” he said out loud, knowing his words would be heard in the minds he had connected to. “Hide yourselves and worry not. I shall deal with them. Oh, and Delrimar, do not forget about your test tomorrow.”

  Confident his pupils and staff would listen to his words, Piyus let the magic fade and looked back to the orb. It definitely appeared the thieves were heading straight for him, which told him they knew where they were going. He briefly wondered how exactly they knew the layout of his home but quickly pushed the irrelevant thoughts to the back of him mind. How they knew did not matter. What mattered is they had the audacity to break into his home.

  Normally, Piyus would have cast a spell and activated hundreds of wards and traps placed around his house. Just the handful that the thieves were running towards would have been more than adequate to erase them from his hallways, and existence for that matter, but it had been some time since Piyus had been engaged in battle and he found himself wanting to exercise his mind and spells once again. His meeting with Graeak had him wanting to feel young again
and what better way to work his muscles than to engage in a brief skirmish with a few rogues.

  To make sure his students did not become overly concerned, Piyus cast a series of spells that would prevent sound and vibration from moving to other parts of The Eye. He wanted complete isolation for he had some nasty things planned for the thieves, magic that would defiantly be felt without the shields. A couple of those spells also protected the items in the room from being damaged should fire, lightning, acid, or other forms of magic be used. After he was done, he cast a handful of other spells on himself, various protections that any wizard would wear before going to battle, no matter how simple the forthcoming confrontation appeared. When he finished with those protections, he cast a spell that made a double of himself, and positioned the fake Piyus next to the orb, facing the swirling clouds. Then he cast a final spell, invisibility, and faded from sight. He stood just a few feet from the orb, patiently waiting for his guests to arrive. The wait was not long.

  A doorway at the back of the room opened, up on the second level. A man dressed in all black leathers slowly and silently entered. His footfalls made not a sound as he snuck into the room. Piyus was actually impressed. There wasn’t even the faintest noise or shift of air as the man moved. Even the loose pieces of parchment he passed never gave any indication that the thief was sneaking by. It was as if the man wasn’t even there. Piyus knew it was much more than skill disguising the thief’s movements. Besides cloaking magic, the thieves also appeared to be covered in spells of silence.

  Following on the first man’s heels was another figure, similarly dressed and making no noise at all. As he cleared the doorway another one entered, followed by ten more, each wielding daggers and shortswords. Soon, twelve assassins were slowly spreading out around the room, their eyes never leaving the back of the fake Piyus that hovered over the crystal ball, seemingly oblivious to the danger behind him. Piyus had to hold back a chuckle as he watched them move around the room, some boldly walking down the stairs, stopping within only a few yards of his magical double’s back.

  Piyus made his magical creature turn around suddenly, looking at the thieves with a shocked expression. He was next going to have it shout in outrage but before he sent the commands, twelve daggers had flown through the air and slammed into his double’s chest.

  Instead of dispelling the double, Piyus made it act as if it was in horrendous pain, slowly succumbing to mortal wounds. As the daggers hit, the fake archmage fell back, falling into the orb. Blood seeped from the wounds and fell to the floor. The double slowly slid down to the ground, staring at its chest in surprise. Then it died, its arms falling limp at its sides. The twelve thieves stood up straight, acting if what they had just done was not possible. Surely, it should have been much harder to sneak up and kill one of the city’s most powerful wizards.

  It was then that the real Piyus motioned to the doorway the assassins had entered through. The door slammed shut, sealing them inside. Every thief spun around, facing the door, another dagger in hand, expecting their assailant to be standing behind them. Instead, they found empty stairs. Their surprise lasted only a few moments longer, when Piyus’s voice filled the chamber. They looked around in surprise, trying to pinpoint where the noise was coming from. Then the first spell ripped through them.

  A blast of lightning exploded from Piyus’s raised hands. The bolt slammed into the closest assassin, lifting him from his feet and throwing him towards the back wall. Just before he hit, an arc of lightning erupted from the man’s back and jumped to the thief standing closest to his flying body. The impact on the second thief had a similar effect though less powerful. It threw the man back. He hit the ground and slid almost ten feet before coming to a stop, but before he stopped, another bolt came from him and jumped to a third assassin. This man fell back, screaming in pain. The jolt was not as bad as his companion’s was, but the electrical shock made his mouth clamp shut in pain. As he shook, another arc leaped from his body, hitting yet another thief.

  The chain lighting jumped eight more times, each slamming into an assassin and bringing a yelp of pain. Many of them tried to jump for cover, behind a stack of books or piece of furniture, but Piyus had long ago altered this spell to follow his targets. The lightning jumped around corners and curved around stacks of books, determined to make contact. Though each successful hit was less damaging then the last, the impact of the final few bolts still made the men scream out in agony.

  “You have all made a grave mistake!” Piyus yelled, dismissing his invisibility and showing himself to the thieves, who were all still writhing in pain. He had cast a spell to amplify his voice. As he spoke, it echoed like thunder throughout the room. “You have broken into the home of Piyus the Magnificent! Submit now and you shall have my mercy. Refuse and the pain you shall soon receive will make even your mothers weep in distress.”

  In response, seven of the assassins sent their daggers sailing through the air. Piyus could sense the magic within each one but he stayed where he was, never once attempting to avoid the shiny missiles. When they came within an inch of contact, they bounced off one of his shields and clattered harmlessly to the floor.

  “All right then,” Piyus said, understanding their answer. He started casting another spell. The assassins that had managed to get to their feet rushed forward intent on stopping him, but they never got close.

  Piyus finished and thrust his hand in the air. A great clap of thunder suddenly filled the room, shaking the bookcases and causing every piece of furniture to jump. Books fell from their shelves, tomes crashed to the floor, and the stones rattled in protest. A glass vase sitting on a small table on the third level shattered, spraying water and flowers across the floor. Even his crystal ball shook, threatening to crack. If not for the magical properties of the item, it surely would have shattered like the vase.

  If not for his sphere of silence and motionlessness that surrounded the chamber, everyone in the building would have fallen to the ground, clasping the side of their head. Instead, only the twelve thieves dropped, clutching their ears in agony. They screamed and groaned, rolling around on the floor, trying to regain their hearing. Many of them pulled their hands away bloody, which made them cry out even louder. As they tried their best to recover from the awesome spell, Piyus took the time to cast a series of spells. He could have finished off the men right then, but he was having too much fun. The magic he called forth now was meant to add to that entertainment.

  The first spell called forth a longsword made of glowing blue light. It appeared out of nowhere, hovering in the air just a few inches in front of Piyus’s right side. It bobbed up and down, held aloft by nothing but air. The second spell caused a large green hand, about the size of a small table, to shimmer into existence on the archmage’s right side. Like the sword, it floated in the air, waiting for its master’s command.

  Piyus’s third spell opened up a doorway to one of the elemental planes. The archmage sent his will into the otherworldly dimension and called forth one of the planes inhabitants. Unable to resist such a powerful will, the monster of dirt and stone answered and took shape directly in front of its summoner. The earth elemental, no larger than a dwarf, quickly took form in the spell chamber and waited for instructions.

  “Keep them busy for a while,” Piyus said. He waved his hands at the handful of thieves in front of him. All three of Piyus’s magical tools moved forward, directly at the thieves, many of which had finally regained their footing.

  The sword attacked two of the assassins, swinging through the air as if it was being wielded by an expert swordsman. It moved so quickly that the thieves had to go on defense to avoid being sliced to ribbons. The hand flew through the air to levitate right in front of another thief. It did not attack or make any threatening moves. It just sat in the air blocking the man’s way. The thief, seeing no reason to attack the disembodied hand, tried to move around it, but as he moved, it moved with him, stopping him in his tracks. He tried to push through but the hand
was as solid and as heavy as stone and kept him from advancing. Thoroughly frustrated, the thief starting hacking at the hand. His blade made a tiny gash on one of the hand’s fingers but did nothing to impede its attempt to block his passage. Now angry, the thief just swung, determined to cut it down.

  The earth elemental thundered across the ground, charging two of the thieves just gaining their footing. As it neared, it swung one of its club-like arms, determined to bash the man’s chest in, but the thief stumbled to the side, avoiding the attack. Seeing an opening, the other thief swung, but his sword missed the soft dirt that made up the elemental’s body and banged off a piece of rock. The elemental just let loose what would be described as a growl and continued to hound the men.

  Piyus almost giggled in glee as he watched his spells take on five of the assassins. The other seven, six of which were just now regaining their composure, stood on the second level. Since one of them seemed a bit more winded than the other, he focused his next spell on that man.

  He opened his mind to the mystical energies that filled the room. The magic flowed into him as he started the spell and wove his hands through the air. More daggers sped at him, but as before, they fell away without leaving so much as a scratch. Two of the assassins cursed and ran for the stairs, hoping to come down and flank the wizard. The other four jumped from the balcony, falling to the first floor, no longer content with their ranged attacks. Just as they landed, Piyus’s spell went off.

  The air around the injured thief shimmered. The man looked around in dread, thinking his doom had finally come, but as the seconds went by, the shimmering faded, leaving him unharmed. No fire fell upon him and no spell of death claimed him. He appeared completely unharmed, so he got to his feet, picked up his weapons, and went to join his companions, thinking the archmage’s spell had failed. He hadn’t taken two steps before he hit a wall.

  There was no visible barrier stopping him, but the wizard had obviously raised some kind of wall to stop him. He lifted his hands and felt that there was indeed something in front of him, something very solid and seemingly thick. He felt around, trying to find a way around, but as he continued to try to find an exit, he found himself walking in a circle. To his horror, he found that the wizard had incased him in some type of invisible cage. He was trapped!

  “Don’t go anywhere,” Piyus said, looking in the trapped thief’s direction. “I’ve got some questions for you after I deal with your companions.” Piyus wanted to keep at least one of the thieves alive for he wanted to find out who they were, who they worked for, and exactly what they hoped to accomplish coming to his home. He surmised it must have something to do with Druzeel and his quest for the orb for their presence was too much of a coincidence. He hoped that what he learned would help Graeak and his favorite student.

  But the questions would have to wait for later. The six assassins that were left were coming at him, blades poised for the kill. They were only a few feet away but Piyus was able to finish another spell right when they reached him.

  Three daggers and four swords found Piyus’s body, but just like the thrown daggers before, the blades failed to break through his protective wards. The magic wouldn’t protect him forever, but he was confident it would last long enough to deal with the men surrounding him.

  Just as the swords connected, a yellow haze suddenly came into being around Piyus’s body. To anyone looking, it appeared that an amber cloud of dust had fallen over the archmage, but unseen by any except those closest to him, the cloud was filled with tiny green and brown spores that immediately coated the thieves around Piyus. As the thieves leaned back for another strike, they growled and shouted in anger. That sharp intake of breath allowed Piyus’s spell to do its work.

  The air that filled their lungs carried the spores that surrounded their target. As the dust coated their tongues and made its way down the thieves’ throats, the men instantly started to cough and hack violently. Their arms dropped and they stepped away, struggling to regain their breath. Two men dropped to their knees, clutching their throats in pain. Another banged on his chest, trying to drive the pain from his body. The other three just staggered away, spitting and coughing, doing whatever they could to break the spell’s hold on their lungs.

  “Marvelous!” Piyus exclaimed, taking a few steps away from the struggling men. He moved away without so much as a sword barring his path. All twelve thieves were occupied, unable to do anything but defend themselves, try to break free from a cage, or hack up the painful spores that attacked them. In less than the time it took to rise out of bed, Piyus has disabled every one of his attackers, and he hadn’t so much as a scratch from any of them.

  “I give you one more chance,” Piyus said, his voice booming across the room. “Surrender now and I–”

  Piyus’s words were cut off as the ground exploded at his feet. One moment he was waving his hands, shouting for the assassins to surrender, and the next he was flying through the air. The sudden attack caught him by surprise. He tried to voice a spell to slow his flight, but the words were lost to him.

  He slammed into a pile of stacked books and a table, toppling both. The books scattered across the ground and the table crumbled under his weight. When he hit the ground, his shields flashed, taking the brunt of the impact. If not for the wards he had cast, the impact would have probably broken his shoulder. Instead, he just felt the force of the stop and a slight pressure all over his body. After he hit, he rolled, knowing exactly what to do to recover from such a fall. When he finally came to a stop, he looked to exactly where the attack had come from.

  The assassin he had encased in the cage of force had somehow gotten free. Already, he was rearing back, preparing to throw something at the prone wizard. Piyus took a quick glance back to where he had been standing and saw that the ground was scorched. Whatever the assassin had used was explosive and had turned the stone black. Piyus’s protective wards were great for stopping attacks directed at his body but did nothing to prevent area attacks from affecting him. The thief obviously figured that out.

  The thief’s arm came forward and he released a small round bead, about the size of a coin. Piyus immediately recognized it as a force bead, a magical item imbued with an explosive force, which was very effective at eliminating unwanted enemies. Upon contact, the bead would explode, damaging anything within a ten-foot diameter of the explosion.

  Without getting to his feet, Piyus threw out his hand and spat out a spell. The magic formed around his hand and raced towards the bead. It wrapped around the small item and stopped it in mid-flight. The assassin let out a curse as Piyus threw his other hand out and the bead sped back to the man who had thrown it. He dove for cover just as the bead hit the ground near him, filling the area with a loud explosion. The assassin managed to avoid the brunt of the blast but the force sent him twirling through the air and into a padded chair. When he hit, the chair tipped over, spilling him to the floor.

  “Didn’t I tell you stay put?” Piyus said, casting another spell.

  He brought forth the magic and thrust his hands towards the assassin’s feet. The man had just regained his footing and he went to jump away once more, to avoid whatever the archmage was going to throw at him, but found himself unable to move. The stone beneath his feet had turned into a syrupy mud and his feet had already sunk in well past the ankle. He tried to pull free but that only made him sink faster. After a few more seconds, the mud was up to his knees. Amused at his struggle, Piyus spat the words to the counter spell and the mud suddenly solidified, turning back into rocky ground. The thief let out a gasp of anger and surprise as he realized he was once again trapped.

  “That’s better,” Piyus said. He was about to cast another spell to make sure the thief could not bring any more surprises to the battle, but as he raised his hand, something hit him in the side and threw him back. There was no pain or discomfort so whatever had hit him had obviously failed, but when he went to lift his arm, to cast a spell at his newest attacker, he found that he
couldn’t.

  Piyus looked down and found his body covered it green goo. The stuff stuck to him like a web and refused to let him move his hands. He looked up in anger and saw five thieves turned in his direction. The two that had been battling his conjured sword had somehow destroyed it and were holding wands in his direction. Two more that had been hit with his spore spell seemed to have recovered and were holding scrolls and beginning the words to spells. The fifth thief, one of the men that had been fighting the earth elemental, managed to break away from the battle. The scroll in his hands was just turning to dust as Piyus’s gaze fell upon him. He was obviously the one that had cast the spell that had entrapped him.

  “Hit him now!” the assassin shouted. Piyus’s eyes widened as the four thieves let loose their magic.

  A bolt of lighting flashed from one of the raised wands and slammed into Piyus. The blast sent him staggering backwards, but brought no pain. His wards flashed and absorbed the spell. Luckily, his legs were still free, otherwise he would have fallen to the floor. Unfortunately, his arms and hands were still bound so he could not cast spells. As the electricity coursed through him, he fought to free himself but the stuff binding him would not yield.

  A hot blast of sand hit him next, spraying him with the force of a gale wind and causing him to stumble away, even further from the thieves. His wards flashed again, protecting him from harm, but they were beginning to weaken and a few of the grains of sand pelted his arms. Though they brought no pain, he felt the impact, telling him he had to get free and quickly. Even one as powerful as he could only take so much punishment before his magic was overcome.

  As the sand continued to assault him, another blast of lightning tore into him. He staggered back, but before he could recover, he saw five bolts of darkness stream toward him. The arrows of shadow dove into him, causing one of his shields to fail completely and a surge of pain coursed through his body. He knew if not for the other wards he had in place, the shadow bolts would have crippled him. Instead, they only made him angry, but before he could turn that anger to strength, to tear free, fire exploded all around him. Another ward flashed, absorbing the flames from the fireball, but it eventually gave way, unable to stand against the constant bombardment of magic. Luckily, the ward died after the flames had already faded.

  Two more bolts of lightning, another blast of sand, and a handful of shadow bolts flew his way again. He managed to avoid the dark missiles but dodging those put him in the path of the other spells and they tore through him. His wards sputtered, but held, but they had become so weak that they only absorbed half the energy from the attacks. The other half coursed into him, causing him to shout out in pain.

  It had been a long time since Piyus had felt such discomfort and it made him angry. He fought against his green prison, turning his rage against the globe holding him. As it turned out, the magical attacks from the thieves had actually started to loosen the stuff binding him. Finally, he felt a few fingers slip free. Normally, a few fingers would not be enough for a normal wizard to cast his spells, but Piyus was no normal wizard. He had long ago learned to cast spells with but a single digit.

  “Enough!” he yelled and spat the words to one of his most powerful spells, a spell he only used in the most dire of situations.

  A circle of dark, malicious energy exploded from his body and spread throughout the entire room. The green globe encasing him instantly turned to ash and fell from his body. As the gray pieces floated harmlessly to the floor, the magic hit the thieves, the green hand, and the earth elemental. The hand just disappeared, as if it had never been. The elemental burst into a fountain of rock and earth, which quickly faded from sight. Three of thieves died instantly, their life forces snuffed out in the blink of an eye. They fell to the floor, faces frozen in an expression of shock and horror. The assassin trapped in the floor let out a scream that would shatter glass and clutched his head, fighting against the magic. Four of the others fell to the floor in unbearable pain. The rest managed to stay on their feet, trying to regain their breath from the attack they never saw coming.

  Not wanting to give them an opportunity, Piyus cast another powerful spell. He no longer cared about keeping these men alive. He could question their bodies when they were dead. All he wanted now was to be rid of them.

  Extreme cold filled the air as he spoke and gathered power to cast his spell. His eyes flashed with white light and his hands burst into a sapphire glow. When the energy filled him to the point of pain, he thrust his hands out and sent a storm of icicle shards streaming through the air.

  A handful of the assassins dove for cover, hiding behind anything they could find to escape the blue death flying towards them. Those unlucky enough to not find something to block the shards were cut to pieces as if they were flimsy sheets of parchment. The assassin trapped in the floor, who was still screaming from the last spell, was suddenly silenced as the icicles turned him into a mound of blood. His flesh was torn away in ribbons and the floor behind him was suddenly painted in red. His head and most of his shoulders disappeared under the blast of ice and wind. Two other assassins who were caught in the open were suddenly turned into pincushions. They barely managed a scream before their bodies sprouted hundreds of shards of ice. If not for the tornado of wind that followed the shards, they would have toppled forward. Instead, they fell back, splattering the ground with their blood.

  The remaining assassins managed to stay alive, but many of them received painful injuries as a result. Two of the thieves would soon perish if they did not take the time to bind their wounds, but they all knew the archmage wasn’t about to give them a reprieve.

  Piyus barely let his last spell finish before he began casting once more. This time, his hands took on a green glow as power filled him. Three of the assassins, seeing their target preparing another unpleasant surprise for them, grabbed their crossbows and took aim. The weapons were already loaded with a bolt and just before they fired, each of them spoke a word of power. The tips of each arrow glowed red like fire. Then the men pulled the triggers.

  As the bolts flew through the air, Piyus finished his spell. After letting it loose, he twisted to the side, trying to avoid the missiles coming at him. Though confident his shields could turn them away, he saw the red glow surrounding the head of each bolt and decided not to take chances. Unfortunately, the thieves had shot well and he couldn’t hope to avoid them all.

  He dodged the first one, ducking low. He also managed to avoid the second one though it tore open the clothing on his arm. Luckily, it failed to penetrate his skin, but the third one caught him in the right shoulder. It broke through his wards and slammed into his flesh. Searing pain suddenly erupted down his arm and spread like wild fire up his shoulder and neck. He let loose a painful yell and staggered back, fighting against the pain. Against his better judgment, he grabbed the bolt and tore it out, sending an agonizing jolt through his entire body. Thankfully, the burning stopped.

  As Piyus was hit by the bolt, his spell went off. A large green orb appeared in the air above the remaining assassins. In less than a heartbeat, it expanded and burst apart, like a giant bubble being popped by a sword. Unlike an empty bubble though, this one held liquid, a dark green acid that rained down upon the assassins.

  One of the men was caught directly underneath the orb and his head was doused with the stuff. He let out a single scream before his head dissolved. His body pitched forward with a sickening splat. Another assassin took a shower of acid right on the chest. He screamed and tried to brush the stuff away but only managed to burn his hands. His terrified screams soon became gasps of bloody breath as the acid ate into his chest and lungs. In a few moments, he pitched over, his life taken by the spell. The other assassins screamed as the acid splashed against their skin and clothing, but they had been a little further away from the center of the spell and managed to survive the shower. They tore away their clothing and succeeding in wiping away the burning liquid. As they recovered, they turned toward the archmage, d
etermined to finish him. They saw his burning eyes and a face filled with rage. Then they watched as he pointed at them and sent a small point of orange light flying in their direction. When the pinpoint of light hit the ground at their feet, the room exploded with fire.

  The fireball engulfed all four men, burning away what was left of their clothing and turning their skin into charred flesh. One man was turned into a statue of ash almost instantly. As the flames raged, it blew him to pieces, his body coming apart and mixing in with the dancing flames. The final three managed to withstand the heat of the fireball but two of them had been too badly wounded by the icicle storm. As the flames died away, they fell to the floor, their bodies finally giving up.

  “You’re the last one,” the assassin heard from behind him. When he turned, he met Piyus’s face, a face contorted in anger and pain. “Lucky for you,” the archmage spat. He reached forward, touching the assassin on the head and releasing his spell.

  Extreme pain exploded in the thief’s body. He felt the magic course through him, spreading to every finger and toe and even to his ears, where he heard himself screaming. As the magic took hold, every bit of moisture in his body suddenly evaporated. His eyes shrunk to the size of peas, his muscles shriveled, his flesh went tight, and his heart imploded. He managed only a single croak before he tipped over, his body stiff and statue-like.

  When the final assassin lay dead, Piyus stepped back and let the tension drain from his shoulders. His body ached and his mind reeled from the effectiveness of the thieves’ attack. The fight had been going so well, he told himself, but somehow, the assassins had come back from the brink. He had mistakenly underestimated them and let his foolishness cloud his judgment. I should have ended this as soon as I had the chance, Piyus told himself. He thought himself invincible. The soreness and pain in his body was a reminder of just how susceptible to pain and injury he still was.

  He looked over the carnage before him and let out a deep breath. It had been many years, almost a decade, since he had been in a battle like this. The aches in his bones served to remind him why even the most powerful of men sought to avoid battle. Things rarely went the way you planned them.

  “Oh, well,” Piyus said, shaking his head. The battle was over. Now he had to clean up the mess, heal himself, and find out exactly why the assassins had come after him. Thinking about all the things he had to do now made him remember another reason why to avoid such a fight: the clean up afterwards.

  Piyus let out another deep breath and started to turn toward his orb, to wake his students and staff and get them to aid in the clean up, but just as he started to turn, a hand came from behind him and grabbed his chest. He was violently pulled backwards, his face thrown back, looking up towards the ceiling. Then excruciating pain exploded in his back. It rapidly spread to the front of his body and suddenly intensified tenfold as a dark purple blade burst out of his chest, just below his ribs. He let out a gasp of shock as his blood painted the air and the pain spread throughout his entire body.

  The ceiling suddenly dropped away, replaced with the floor that rushed up to meet him. Piyus hit the ground hard, unable to use his hands to slow his fall. As the numbness slowly crept through his body and the blood welled up beneath him, Piyus forced himself to flip over. It was agonizing and horrible, but he had to know what happened. He had to know how it happened for he still had wards in place and they should have protected him from such an attack. At the very least, they should have warned him. As his eyes fell upon the man standing over him, cold fear gripped his heart for the first time in years.

  Piyus stared into the eyes of Druzeel’s assassin. The man stood dressed in black studded leather, holding a shortsword with a purple blade, a blade that was now covered with his blood. The man’s eyes were a black as night and his skin was a pale as a ten-day-old corpse. He stared down at Piyus with a dead look. Was the man even alive? Piyus asked himself. He couldn’t tell anything else from the assassin’s expression for half his face was covered with a black mask. The assassin just watched as Piyus squirmed under his gaze.

  “How...” Piyus started to ask, but choked as blood welled up in his throat. He had no feeling in his legs and the numbness was slowly creeping up his body. His vision started to blur and he suddenly realized that he would be dead in the next few moments.

  The memories and thoughts he had about his mortality came rushing back into his mind. His life, his friends, and many of his life experiences suddenly flashed before him. He had expected to die many decades from now, as an old man, looking much the same way that Graeak had when he saw him not two hours ago in his orb. If not as an old man, Piyus at least would have thought he would have perished in a mighty spell battle. Like everything in life, he suddenly mused, things rarely turn out how you thought they would. Now, he would die in a pool of blood, his life taken by the same assassin that he had been trying to find. Perhaps I should have considered lichdom a little more seriously, he thought to himself.

  The assassin remained silent. He just walked around Piyus’s body, coming to a stop at his head. A black booted foot rested on each side of Piyus’s head. The archmage looked up, meeting the assassin’s gaze. The man again said nothing. He just raised his purple sword. Without pause, he brought the blade down, point first, into Piyus’s forehead.

  Before the blade sliced into his head, Piyus suddenly realized how the assassin had done it, how he had gotten to him. The twelve assassins had been a decoy, fodder used to whittle him down and drain his magics. After they had drained his shields and most potent spells, the assassin struck, when Piyus was at his most vulnerable. It was a brilliant strategy and if the man had not been killing him at the moment, Piyus may have congratulated him on a plan well executed. Instead, he remained silent as the blade plunged into his brain.

  The blade punched through his skull with ease, slamming into the ground. He expected to die then, but for some unknown reason, Piyus was still alive. He saw the blade sticking out from his head and felt the metal in his mind. He found it strange that there was no pain, only tremendous pressure. Then he watched as the blade began to glow.

  Piyus felt magic assault his mind and attack his body. He felt the wards that remained around him slow fade away and suddenly realized that the sword was not just killing him, it was absorbing his magic, his very essence. With renewed terror, he knew the sword would soon consume his magic and soul completely, utterly destroying him. He would not go to the gods or the afterlife. He would not enjoy the rewards that death brought. There would be no reunion with old friends or loved ones. Piyus the Magnificent would just cease to be, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell.

  Piyus tried to struggle, to break free of this ultimate doom, but he was completely paralyzed. There was nothing he could do but watch in horror as the assassin erased him from existence.

  “You won’t use...my magic,” Piyus said in anger. “You won’t get my power,” he said. When he died, certain contingencies would activate, destroying almost all of the powerful artifacts and research he had gathered over the years. It wasn’t much of a victory, but it was all he had to throw in the assassin’s face.

  The assassin just tilted his head to the side, regarding Piyus as a dragon regarded a sheep.

  “I don’t want to use your magic,” the assassin said, his voice smooth and terrible. He held his head straight again. “Just you.”

  The blade suddenly pulsated with power. Piyus screamed out in terror as he felt his very self being ripped apart. Then there was a flash of purple light and Piyus the Magnificent was no more.

  * * * * *