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Despite my exhaustion, I grinned fiercely in victory. Just as I had suspected, Zeth did not possess the fine
control required to dismiss only one of the tower's protective magics. To open the door, he had been
forced to lower all the wards. Before he could rebind the tower's protections, I pulled myself through the
window and into the study beyond.
I was sitting in a comfortable chair, sipping a glass of ruby wine, when the study's door opened.
"Good evening, Zeth," I said smoothly.
He had clad himself in my best gray robe trimmed with silver thread. For a moment, his gaunt face paled
in shock, then grew crimson with anger.
"Good evening, gelding," he spat. "I should have known you would find a way to follow me. But you
have come too late." He gestured to the window. "Look. Even as we speak, the moon sets."
As I turned my head to gaze at the window, he thrust an outstretched finger in my direction. That was
exactly what I had expected. I dived to the floor and rolled away as a bolt of green magic struck the
chair, blasting a smoking hole in its back. I lunged forward, reaching out with my left hand the hand that
bore the sigil of thegor-kethal.
However, before I could touch him, he shouted a fearful word of magic and rose into the air. Floating
swiftly across the room, he landed and turned to me. I tried to scramble to my feet, slipped, and fell back
to the floor. He splayed his fingers in my direction. My plan had failed.
"You didn't have to come here, you know," he said, his voice almost sad. "You could have lived your
life."
"As a gelding?" I said quietly. "No, Zeth. It would have driven me mad. Just as it has you."
His sadness gave way to renewed rage. "I need you no
longer, Morhion Gen'dahar. There is no magic you possessed that I cannot now wield." Crimson sparks
crackled around his outstretched fingers.
I gazed at Zeth in dread, knowing that this time there was no escaping his magic. Framed by the window
behind him, the pale orb of the moon began to slip beneath the distant horizon. Instinctively I reached into
the pocket of my doublet, as if to find the catalyst needed to cast a spell. But I knew no spells. All my
hand found was a small, crumpled tube of straw. . . .
"You're wrong, Zeth," I said suddenly. "There is one magic of mine you have not mastered." From my
pocket I pulled the woven straw tube I had bought from the street urchin. I tossed it at his feet. "Unlock
the riddle of this magic, wizard!"
Zeth's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but it was clear my words had pricked his arrogance. Like a starving
man presented with a banquet, this onetime gelding could not resist even the smallest morsel of magic.
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Banishing the deadly crimson sparks with a careless wave, he bent to pick up the straw tube. Frowning,
he studied it. He inserted a finger in one end, probing within, then stuck a second finger into the other end
of the tube. He snorted in disgust. "There is nothing to master in this."
I nodded solemnly. "If that is what you believe, Zeth, then it is indeed time to kill me."
A cruel sneer crossed his face. "As you wish."
Zeth lifted a hand to cast a spell. Caught as it was in the straw tube, the other hand followed. With a
puzzled look, he tried to pull his fingers free. They did not budge. With a look of growing panic, he
tugged harder. It was no use. He could not free his fingers from the trap. Staring at me in sudden terror,
he tried to cast a spell. However, without the use of his fingers to trace the arcane patterns necessary,
working magic was impossible.
Now was my chance. I leapt to my feet. Zeth tried to lunge away but stumbled, crashing into a
bookcase. I grabbed his collar. Before he could squirm away, I pressed my left palm against his sweating
forehead.
Again came a flash, and this time a vast rushing sound as
bright energy flowed into me. I stumbled backward, gasping. Every fiber of my body tingled with power.
My magic had returned. Groaning, Zeth slumped to the floor. Branded now across his forehead was the
sigil of thegor-kethal.
He raised his hands weakly, fingers still caught in the cheap finger trick. "There is no magic in this, is
there?"
I shook my head. "No, Zeth. No magic at all." Now that I had defeated him, I found I could not hate the
magic thief. His was a tortured soul. "Let me help you, Zeth," I said solemnly. "Maybe, working together,
we can find you some peace with your fate."
For a moment, hope shone in his dark eyes. Then it was replaced by loathing, a hatred not directed
toward me. "I said I don't want your pity," he snarled. "You think you've defeated me, but I still have
won a victory. Now you will forever know that your power is flawed. I possessed all your magic, and yet
you bested me with a mundane trick. It could happen to you just as easily. Let that knowledge gnaw at
you for the rest of your wretched life, Morhion Gen'dahar!"
Too late, I saw what he intended. With a last, desperate cry, Zeth lunged to his feet and hurled his body
through the window. He was dead before he struck the ground, slain by the magical aura that guarded
the opening.
So passed Zeth,the gor-kethal, last of the magic thieves.
As I end this tale, I find myself gazing once more at the invitation Zeth left upon my doorstep. /believe
there ismuch we can gain from one another, he had written.
Strangely, I know now that Zeth did give me something. He was right. My magic is flawed. I am not
all-powerful. Yet he was wrong about one thing. That knowledge does not eat at my soul. For, as I
learned in our final confrontation, sometimes there is weakness in power, and power in weakness. No
longer am I so perfectly safe here in the fastness of my tower.
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