The Tomb of the Dark Paladin by Tom Bielawski Page A

filled with malevolence and hate. Although Ederick had fought hurkin before and knew what to expect from them, their exceptional strength and skill in magic still gave him pause. And this one was holding a wand of bone, pointed directly at the knight.
    "Ah, Sir Ederick Shieldsmoore!" exclaimed the magic-wielder in his thickly accented gravelly voice. "Why don't you stay a here with us for a while, eh?"
    Ederick spat on the ground in defiance. He knew the bard must be planning something and hoped he would act soon. With a snarl the wizard closed his eyes and began to chant softly, his voice barely audible. In a flash the knight spurred his horse and charged the hurkin, hoping to strike him down before his spell was complete, hooves thundering on the stone floor. Ederick reveled in the thrill and danger of the charge as he bore down upon his foe, his sword out before him like an extension of his own arm. He raised his sword, prepared to lob the wizard's head from his body and began the downward swing. Something slammed into his side and knocked him completely from his horse. 

C H A P T E R
    T H R E E

    ~
    An explosion of blue flames erupted from the hurkin's outstretched wand accompanied by a disorienting clap of thunder. Bart had only just recognized the danger before the knight was inexplicably knocked out of harm's way. He called upon his power over the air to buffer the blast just before he was engulfed in flames himself. Still, the heat was searing even through the shield of air and his lungs felt on fire. His mind raced to analyze defensive options. There were too many here who were bewitched. If he engaged in a prolonged duel with the hurkin, there would be no way they could avoid an intense battle that would surely result in the deaths of many of the Hand's soldiers and perhaps his own. He desperately wanted to destroy this hurkin wizard but in precious few seconds he would be defending himself against a maelstrom of arrows and crossbow bolts.
    Bart opened himself up to the Tides and called upon the Sigil of the Air, drawing in all the power he could harness. Then, bolts of lightning rained down from the sky with loud deafening reports of thunder and blinding bursts of light. Indeed, the men-at-arms and knights scattered from the courtyard covering eyes and ears as bolts of lightning blasted the cobblestones into rubble. It was a moment of distraction that was long enough to buy him a few seconds, though it cost him dearly in terms of his own strength. His legs felt like lead now, having utilized a level of power that was only barely within his grasp. The hurkin wizard, too, seemed to have been stunned and staggered with his arm over his head. As he raced among the dancing bolts of lightning, he swung his staff low at the hurkin wizard's stumbling feet, hoping to knock him down. But his swing passed through the hurkin's body as though it were simply air and Bart almost lost his balance. He recovered quickly, realizing that the hurkin's image was an illusion, and dropped to his knees by the knight's side. Ederick was hurt, his head had clearly struck the hard stone ground after falling from his horse. Blood seeped from a wound on the side of the unconscious knight's head.
    The illusory image of the wizard disappeared, destroyed by the bard' staff. There was some activity near the wagons on the far side of the courtyard, yet Bart could not make out details between the blinding flashes and thunderclaps brought on by his own spell. Bishop Rohan had been dragged to the safety of a stone archway by some of his men-at-arms; he looked about in complete confusion. Bart hoped the bewitchment had been broken, but he didn't want to stay long enough to find out. Too weak to draw any more of the Tides into him, he gripped his staff tightly and drew out the small cache of magical power he had stored within it; it was last spell that his fading strength would allow. He concentrated the power and focused it one a point in the air