Penumbra (Darkling Mage 0.50)

“Bullshit,” Hubert screamed. “You can’t stop me now that I have this.” He hoisted his staff above his head, the tip of it glowing a faint orange in the darkness, like an ember waiting to be fanned into life.

Maybe that was it. The staff was connected to him somehow, and he was the fuel for it. His psyche, maybe, or his life energy. Juice, like how Prudence had put it. But who the hell knew? I was barely days into my apprenticeship. Was that it? Was misuse of magical items the very thing that had ruptured Hubert’s mind over time? The guy was clearly unstable, which presented us with no advantage whatsoever.

The one good thing, however, was that he didn’t know there were three of us. I lurked in the shadows, unsure of what to do, biding my time, and careful not to draw attention to myself by tripping over the menagerie of Hubert’s possessions strewn across the floor – especially not that suspicious open jar of amber liquid he kept by his pack roll.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Prudence said. Strange words coming from a woman whose fists could have probably punched a hole straight through his head. I figured that the auras around her hands were really more provocation than anything at this point. Prudence didn’t want to hurt the guy, but she couldn’t do much of anything else short of smashing his head open. I hadn’t considered that possibility, that she was so powerful, but in a way that made her powerless in this situation.

“Do something, Brandt.” She hissed her next words. “Grab. The staff.”

Bastion grimaced as he stretched his hand out, the two of them keeping Hubert at a cautious distance. It was one thing to have the guy launching fireballs at them, but quite another to have him doing that point blank. They needed room to maneuver. And that’s when it hit me.

“I can’t reach it,” Bastion hissed back through gritted teeth. Whatever it was he could do, matter manipulation, telekinesis, call it by whatever name you like, it had an effective range, one he didn’t want closing at the risk of, well, getting his entire

face burned off. Crap. What the hell were we supposed to do?

“Damn straight you can’t reach it,” Hubert screeched. “You can’t have the staff. But you can have this.” He stretched the tip of the rod forward, then thrust it abruptly, launching a globe of flame directly at Bastion’s chest.

“No,” Prudence shouted.

Bastion held his hands up in front of him, palms stretched out, and even in the gloom I could detect a faint, whitish gleam in the space between his hands, like that of glass. A barrier?

Fire exploded just inches from Bastion’s face, the invisible shield in his hands only barely protecting him from the licking flames. He grimaced against the heat, stumbling, then faltering from the impact of the blow. We needed to end this, but how? I could find the sword, but we didn’t talk about killing Hubert. And like hell was I prepared to do that. Nobody ever said anything about murder.

I groped around in the half-light, cringing as I patted down Hubert’s pack roll for any sign of the sword. Wouldn’t he want it close to him at all times? It had to be there.

My hands made contact with something cold, and hard. The sword? My heart thumped as I slipped the heavy thing out from under the covers, its handle – hilt? – cold and metallic. In the dark I hefted it up triumphantly, hoping to marvel at the majesty of –

A frying pan. Shit. Crazy Hubert may have been crazy, but he sure as hell was good at hiding his contraband, and there was no way I’d be able to find the sword before he managed to set Bastion or the entire building on fire.

“You’ll never take me alive,” Hubert screeched. It almost made me feel bad for him. I swung the pan like a tennis racket, aiming the flat of it at the back of his head. The metal sounded like a gong against his skull, only duller, sickening, and Hubert gave a choked “Ack” as he crumpled to the ground. The staff clattered as it rolled away from his limp fingers.

I stared between the frying pan and the crumpled heap of dead guy sprawled across the filthy concrete.

“Oh my God. I killed him. Guys. I killed him.”

The azure light around Prudence’s hands faded as she stepped up to Hubert’s body. She knelt, poked around, then shook her head. “He’s fine. Just unconscious. You probably did a number on him, though. But you did good.” She crooked a smile out of the corner of her mouth. “You did good, rookie.”

I don’t know why, exactly, but my head swiveled in Bastion’s direction just then, like some part of me was quietly hoping for his approval. He swatted desperately at the last of the flames still licking at his body. Even from where I stood I noticed that the few wisps of his not-a-beard had been singed off.

“Ugh. Yes. Fine. He did good. Thanks. Whatever.”

I couldn’t decide whether it was Prudence’s admiring smile or Bastion’s jaw-clenched annoyance that made me happiest in that moment.

Chapter 12

“So. You’ll be fine, right?”

Prudence was cool like that. I could tell she was actually concerned, and not just being polite.

“I’ll be okay.” I pointed my toe in the direction of Hubert’s still unconscious body. “I’m more worried about him, to be honest.”

“That’s why we’re hanging back,” she said. “We’ll want to question him when he gets up.”

I scratched the bridge of my nose, eyeing the staff that Bastion now very carefully kept in his grip, far away from Hubert’s fingers.

“What if he’s got more tricks up his sleeve?”

Bastion tapped the end of the staff against the cement, the thunk of it rebounding around the warehouse. The bulbous tip – its business end – gave off a little curl of smoke.