In less than two seconds, he had made his Barter.
And in less than three, I pointed my gun right between his eyes and squeezed the trigger.
But that second was all a Graspmage needed.
There was the crack of gunfire, a bright spark of fire exploding, the echoing sound of fiery laughter smothered by metal as something swallowed the fire.
Something like the iron shield hovering in front of him, blackened by flame.
He lowered his hand, guiding the shield away from his face. A faint glow ebbed from its surface as the wards inside it murmured to life. It hovered there, just over his chest, as his demon’s face leered over the rim at me. His other hand rose, and in response, the weapons crates stirred. Swords, spears, gunpikes, all of them rose into the air, pulled by nothing, and formed a halo of steel around his head. His mask grinned as I saw my own fear reflected back to me in a dozen blades.
And now you know why they call him the Phantom.
And why I was running for my life.
I heard the thrum of bows behind me. I felt the bolts whizz past my face. I saw the wet earth shudder before me as a long spear came hurtling over my head, narrowly missing it to impale itself in front of me.
I whirled, my blade leaping to my hand just in time to strike away the sword that came flying toward me. I sent it spinning with a spray of sparks just in time for the next one to come whistling at me. One after another, I parried blows from phantom blades, spitting curses over the sound of steel clanging. One swung low, angling toward my belly. I leapt backward, my heel catching on a fragment of shattered timber.
I fell backward over a pile of rubble, tumbling into a roll and then scrambling to slam up against it. It would have been shitty cover against any fool with a gun, let alone a Graspmage. But I didn’t have a lot of options available to me.
And I was about to use another one.
My gun was in my hand, metal blood pumping warm through brass skin. He rose, just as I raised him, and pointed him at the Phantom. I could tell where he was aiming—he always went right for the heart. It was only with a bit of pull that I aimed him lower and squeezed the trigger.
Daiga’s shield went up. But that wasn’t my target. The shell streaked low, struck the earth beneath him. A bright flash of blue swallowed the night. The earth turned white. A thick patch of frost blossomed in half a second. And in one more, four-foot-long spears of ice burst forth in a frigid white briar.
Hoarfrost. Takes a moment. But it’s worth it.
Daiga narrowly caught it. He leapt into the air to avoid the reaching spikes, hovered there, swung around to affix his empty eyes upon me.
“That weapon,” he hissed, all pretenses of formality gone from his voice. “You.”
“Me,” I said. I flipped the chamber open, loaded another shell, and raised him back up. “And this.”
He didn’t give me a chance to fire. He waved a hand. Arrows followed, singing from six bows and forcing me back behind the barricade. I peered around, saw him reaching for his throat.
He tore another trinket from his necklace—the spoon, this time. He tossed it into the air. There was the wailing sound once more, the flash of purple light, the blast of dust.
And the six weapons hanging in the air were joined by twenty more from the crates.
More bows rose up, a halo of arrows rising with them. But there was something off about them. Across their wooden bellies, veins of blue light began to burst. Their strings pulled back, drawing arrows that crackled to life with electric light.
Wait. The thought came unbidden. The girl back at the bar. She’d said they’d hit an Imperial caravan, didn’t she? Imperial caravans carry magic. My eyes dawned with realization.
Fuck me, he’s got thunderbows.
And I was running.
The song of lightning followed me, an angry, screeching verse torn from twenty ragged throats. Arrows struck the earth in my wake, vibrating with electricity and bursting into bright flashes of sound and light, mud and earth torn screaming and tossed into the sky.
Another verse, of angry steel and wailing metal, followed. The air shrieked with the sounds of metal as swords came flying out, whirling in great sweeping arcs, trying to hack me to pieces as I ducked low and darted to the side. Spears fell in a great rain, in front of me, behind me, a few inches from my leg. Graspmages weren’t renowned for accuracy, but they didn’t have to be when they had power like Daiga.
That spoon must have been special to him.
With every flick of his hand, he pulled more weapons from their crate, sent more of them shooting, slicing, flying at me. I had to dart and dodge more and more. Eventually, I’d get tired, or I’d trip, or he’d pull the whole fucking fort down on me. I couldn’t do this much longer.
But I didn’t need much longer.
I skidded to a halt, brought up my gun.
Just in time to see a thunderbow, bristling with light and aimed right at me.
The howl of thunder. A scream struck from my lungs. I felt the arrow hit me right in the flank, striking my cloak and sending me flying with the explosion. I skidded across the earth, smoke rising from my body in plumes. The weapons hung in the air, expectant, as Daiga watched me, his mask’s smile drinking in the sight of his latest foe dead.
Wish I could have seen his face when I staggered to my feet.
Pain shot through me. I gasped to find the breath that had been struck out of me. I was hurt to hell, but I was still alive. My cloak shimmered, a long line of letters glowing brightly down its length before they sputtered out and faded into darkness, their magic going dead.
Fucking magic.
“A luckwritten cloak,” Daiga chuckled. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you?”
He didn’t sound impressed. Why would he? He knew that luckwrites were aptly named—good for avoiding maybe one blow before the magic in them needed to recharge. And he had many blows left.
His phantom panoply hovered around him, an angel with barbed wings and a halo of arrows. But my eyes weren’t on his weapons. They were on him, hovering in the air a good ten inches off the ground. And right behind him, the Hoarfrost still glistened eagerly, spikes out and reaching.
I raised my gun. He pulled his grinning barrel toward the Phantom. I squeezed the trigger. The bullet flew and exploded in a bright red light. Hellfire erupted in a miniature explosion, knocking the shields back. Daiga let out a scream as the fire seeped past his shields, licked at his clothes. He fell from the air, dropping back to the ground to escape the crackle of flame.
I aimed once more. Shot once more. My gun let out a thunderous laugh as the last bullet flew.
Daiga saw it, flicked his arm up. One more shield rose to block the bullet.
Good.
A bright red light. A wall of sound and force. Discordance hit the shield like a fucking battering ram and erupted. The wall of metal kept the sound from damaging him directly, simply knocking him back. But that was fine. Discordance didn’t need to kill.
That was Hoarfrost’s job.
Daiga flew backward from the force of the impact, letting out a shout that lasted for just a second. After that, all I could hear was the juicy popping sound of flesh being skewered.
The weapons hung in the air for just a second longer. Then they trembled, drooped, and fell to the ground with a clatter. They formed a ring upon the earth. And at their center hung Daiga.
Impaled.
His arms were splayed out to his sides. His legs hung limp beneath him. His body twitched. And all the while, his demon mask remained grinning as he looked down at the massive icicle jutting from his chest, staining the metal trinkets of his necklace red.