The Amulet of Samarkand

sporting, but hey—I was late for a conference. My second Detonation caught him directly in the chest. He disappeared in a mass of emerald flames.
    Why can't all problems be as easy to resolve?
    I did a quick circuit, eyeing the horizon, but there were no watchers and nothing dangerous in sight, unless you count the underwear of Squalls's son as he and his dad turned tail and raced for the park gateway. Fine. I was just about to head off back to the house, when the smoke from my Detonation cleared away, revealing the mercenary sitting in a muddy depression three feet deep, mucky, blinking, but very much alive.
    Hmm. That was something I hadn't counted on.
    I screeched to a halt in midair, turned, and delivered another, more concentrated blast. It was the kind that would have made even Jabor's knees tremble a bit; certainly it should have turned most humans into a wisp of smoke blowing in the wind.
    But not Beardy. As the flames died down again, he was just getting to his feet, as casual as you like! He looked as if he'd been having a catnap. Admittedly, much of his cloak had burned away, but the body beneath was still hale and hearty.
    I didn't bother trying again. I can take a hint.
    The man reached inside his cloak and from a hidden pocket withdrew a silver disc. With unexpected speed he reached back and threw—it missed my beak by a feather's breadth and returned spinning to his hand in a lazy arc.
    That did it. I'd gone through a lot in the last few days. Everyone I met seemed to want a piece of me: djinn, magicians, humans... it made no difference. I'd been summoned, manhandled, shot at, captured, constricted, bossed about, and generally taken for granted. And now, to cap it all, this bloke was joining in too, when all I'd been doing was quietly trying to kill him.
    I lost my temper.
    The angriest blackbird you've ever seen made a dive for the statue in the middle of the lake. It landed at the base of the dolphin's tail, stretched its wings around the stone and, as it heaved, took a gargoyle's form once more. Dolphin and god[7] were ripped from their foundations. With a brittle cracking and the rasp of ripping lead, the statue came away. A jet of water spurted from the ruptured pipes inside. The gargoyle raised the statue above its head, gave a bound, and landed on the lakeside bank, not far from where the mercenary was standing.
     
    [7] They were intertwined. Never mind how.
     
    He didn't seem as fazed as I'd have liked. He threw the disc again. It bit into my arm, poisoning me with silver.
    Ignoring the pain, I tossed the statue like a Highland caber. It did a couple of stylish flips and landed on the mercenary with a soft thump.
    He looked winded, I'll give him that. But even so, he wasn't anything like the flatness I required. I could see him struggling under the prone god, trying to get a grip so he could shove it away. This was getting tedious. Well, if I couldn't stop him, I could certainly slow him down. While he was still floundering around, I jumped over, unlaced his seven-league boots and plucked them off his feet. Then I threw them as hard as I could into the middle of the lake, where the ducks were busily regrouping. The boots splashed down in their midst and instantly sank out of sight.
    "You'll pay for that," the man said. He was still struggling with the statue, moving it slowly off his chest.
    "You don't know when to give up, do you?" I said, scratching a horn irritably. I was wondering what more to do, when I felt my insides being sucked out through my back. My essence squirmed and writhed. I gasped. The mercenary looked on as my form grew vaporous and weak.
    He gave a heave and shoved the statue off. Through my pain, I saw him getting to his feet. "Stop, coward!" he cried. "You must stand and fight!"
    I shook a dissolving claw at him. "Consider yourself lucky," I groaned. "I'm letting you off. I had you on the ropes and don't you forg—"
    Then I was gone, and my rebuke with me.

40
     
    Nathaniel
     
    The bolt of jet-black plasm hit the nearest display table. The shaman's headdress, the pots and pipes, the table itself, and a section of the floor all vanished with a noise like something being sucked sharply down a drain. Foul steam rose from the wound in the floor.
    A few feet away, Nathaniel rolled head over heels and got straight to his feet. His head felt woozy from the roll, but he did not hesitate. He ran for the next display table, the one with the metal cubes. As the old magician