"I will take the steel for now," insisted the ghostly interloper.
"You will take nothing!"
"Hah! You will pay, as do they all. You will be in my master's thrall from this day forward! And if you do not give steel, then I claim by fee in dearer coin!"
Infuriated, the young man attacked the figure, only to find that his fist punched through a cowl of black, cold air. He felt a chill of fear, but in his anger, he flailed wildly, both hands swinging through the intangible form. The vaporous messenger slipped past him in a hissing spoor of gas, a sound punctuated by a manic, cackling laugh.
Belinda screamed as the insidious vapor swirled around her and the squalling baby. With a whoosh of wind, the gaseous cloud swept the child out of her arms. "You will obey. And to be certain, I will keep the child- one year, to begin with."
The ghostly vision danced laughingly away as Paulus lunged after his son. "After that time, you might get him back. And if you come after him, know that you shall be struck blind, and he will be killed."
With a gust of wind, the ghost whirled away, carrying the baby through an opened window and out of sight in the darkened skies.
The pair charged out the door, but already the apparition-and the child-had vanished into the night air.
"Where did they go?" The young mother's question was an anguished wail. "Where did that thing take my baby?"
Paulus, frantic with grief and fear, knew the answer.
"The Black Kite!" He whispered the exclamation, as all citizens of Haven whispered when they mentioned the name of the feared and hated wizard. "This was his work!"
"But why did he come here-why us?" Belinda turned to him, seizing him by the shoulders. "And why would he take Dany?"
"He wants me-he wants power over me," Paulus declared, stunned by the realization. "I should have expected this. He holds all this corner of Haven in his thrall."
"You can't matter-not to him!"
"I can." Paulus was beginning to understand. "I know that Revrius Frank is forced to pay him, though he never speaks of it. Indeed, he's ashamed of the fact. But the Black Kite takes his steel and leaves him otherwise alone."
"Then why did he take Dany?"
"Because I was a fool," Paulus admitted, slumping in dejection. "I should have paid him."
"No!" Belinda was suddenly adamant. "It's more than that. He fears you. He knows you might stand up to him."
His wife continued, speaking with firm conviction- and affection. "He knows what a stubborn, bullheaded fool you are, and he knows the reputation of your fists."
Paulus flushed with shame, not wanting to recollect the part of his life spent brawling and fighting, but he knew that she was right.
"I won't pay him," he vowed. "But I'll get Dany back for us, and I'll see that Whastryk Kite is the one who pays."
"But how can you? You heard him. You'd be struck blind as soon as you try to go in!"
"I know, but I have a plan." Or at least, he amended privately, I will have a plan. Indeed, Paulus was no longer an impetuous man. Yet his son was gone, and he was certain that if he was going to save him, he would have to act fast.
Leaving his wife with a promise that he would be careful, Paulus went quickly to the smithy of Revrius Frank. There he spent several hours polishing to a high sheen the mirror of pure silver that he had been crafting for the garment maker. The reflective metal had been hammered so thin that it was of very light weight, easily transportable, and perfectly suited to the silversmith's plan. Finally he attached a leather handle to the mirror's back, ignoring the deep gouges he scored in the once immaculate frame.
Next the silversmith girded on a sword, suspending the weapon from his own belt, which was secured by a sturdy silver buckle of his own design. The metal clasp represented most of the saved wealth of his young family, and it seemed appropriate that he wore it now, when he went to fight for that family's very survival.
It was a grimly determined Paulus Thwait who started through the streets toward the wizard's home, which was a great mansion and compound that occupied a full block of the city. Black towers jutted from beyond a stone wall. The barrier was breached only in one place, by an arched gateway, an opening wide enough to allow passage of a large carriage.
The reputation of the place was well known to everyone in Haven. There was no gate that ever closed across the entryway, but anyone who had entered there with hostile intentions had been met by the wizard, then struck blind by those searing darts that emanated from his eyes. Once sightless, the victim was usually captured or killed. Those who had been taken prisoner invariably vanished forever from the ken of the rest of humankind.
"Whastryk Kite! I demand the return of my son!"
Paulus loudly announced his presence, and then made as though to enter the low archway in the gatehouse wall. Here he waited in the shadow underneath the arch, watching the great door of the house.
In moments the door swung wide, and something black swirled forward with impossible haste. The figure was cloaked heavily, its appearance blurred like the ghostly apparition, but Paulus knew this was the wizard, the Black Kite's speed clearly enhanced by some arcane spell. The silversmith took care to keep his eyes low, away from his enemy's face.
"Fool!" cried Whastryk Kite, in a sharper, more immediate version of the voice that had bubbled from the legless visitor. "You dare to challenge me, silversmith? Know that your child, and your bride, shall pay!"
The laugh turned to a sneer. "But take comfort that you will not have to witness their suffering!"
Paulus still did not look at his enemy. Instead, he held the mirror before his face and stepped forward as he heard the mage bark sharp, guttural words of magic.
Crimson light flashed in the courtyard, and the silversmith heard a wail of anguish. Now he drew his weapon, dropped the mirror, and charged.
The wizard known as the Black Kite was reeling backward, both hands clutching the bleeding wounds that were his eye sockets. Paulus's boots thudded on the pavement as he rushed closer, and he raised the sword for a single, killing strike.
Then the man saw the mage, with his left hand, pull a small silver vial from a pouch at his side. Ignoring the danger and the blood pouring down his face, Whastryk tossed back his head and instantly swallowed the vial's contents in the face of Paulus's attack.
A moment later the silversmith's sword cut through the wizard's cowled hood, slicing deep into his brain. The Black Kite stiffened and toppled heavily to the ground, where he lay motionless in a spreading pool of blood.
The bold young silversmith stepped back only far enough to keep the sticky liquid from his boots. After a minute, he probed with his sword, making certain that the wizard was truly dead.
Then he went into the house to look for his child.
CHAPTER 5
Scribed In Haven
371 AC
To my mentor and inspiration, Falstar Kane
As I had hoped, Esteemed Master, a chance to study the local records has allowed me to penetrate closer to the truth. To wit: I have learned of the fate of the wizard Whastryk Kite.
The tale was yielded up from the depths of Haven's oldest records. He did, in fact, die in 37 AC, killed by one of the citizens of this wretched city, a silversmith whose son the Black Kite had kidnapped. (The man's infant son was found, unharmed, within the magic-user's stronghold.)
As to the potion given to Whastryk Kite by Fistandan-tilus some thirty-eight years earlier, nothing is revealed by these records. It seems clear that, whether or not the magic was imbibed by Whastryk in his last moments, the enchantment had no effect on the outcome of the fight. The wizard was unequivocally slain; indeed, his passing was cause for more than a few celebrations.