The Amulet of Samarkand

Whether from fear, or from a cruel delight in reasserting his control, Lovelace persisted in keeping up a one-sided conversation with Nathaniel even as Ramuthra stalked remorselessly toward them. It seemed he could not bring himself to shut up. Nathaniel was retreating slowly, hopelessly, knowing there was nothing he could do.
    "Ramuthra disrupts the elements, you see." Lovelace continued. "Wherever it treads, the elements rebel. And that ruins the careful order on which all magic depends. Nothing any of you might try can stop it: every magical effort will misfire— you cannot hurt me, you cannot escape. Ramuthra will have you all. But the Amulet contains an equal and opposite force to Ramuthra's; thus I am secure. It might even lift me to its mouth, so that chaos raged upon me, and I would feel nothing."
    The demon had halved the distance to Nathaniel and was picking up pace. One of its great transparent arms was outstretched. Perhaps it was eager to taste him.
    "My dear master suggested this plan," Lovelace said, "and, as always, he was inspired. He will be watching us at this moment."
    "You mean Schyler?" Even on the threshold of death, Nathaniel couldn't restrain a savage satisfaction. "I doubt it. He's lying dead upstairs."
    Lovelace's self-possession faltered for the first time. His smile flickered.
    "That's right," Nathaniel said. "I didn't just escape. I killed him."
    The magician laughed. "Don't lie to me, child—"
    A voice behind Lovelace: a woman's, soft and plaintive. "Simon!"
    The magician looked back; Amanda Cathcart stood there, close at hand, her gown torn and muddied, her hair disheveled and now slightly maroon. She limped as she approached him, her arms out, bafflement and terror etched upon her face. "Oh, Simon" she said. "What have you done?"
    Lovelace blanched; he turned to face the woman. "Stay back!" he cried. There was a note of panic in his voice. "Get away!"
    Tears welled in Amanda Cathcart's eyes. "How could you do this, Simon? Am I to die too?"
    She lurched forward. Discomforted, the magician raised his hands to ward her off. "Amanda—I-I'm sorry. It... it had to be."
    "No, Simon—you promised me so much."
    Sideways on, Nathaniel stole closer.
    Lovelace's confusion turned to anger. "Get away from me, woman, or I will call on the demon to tear you to shreds! Look—it is almost upon you!" Amanda Cathcart made no move. She seemed past caring.
    "How could you use me in this way, Simon? After everything you said. You have no honor."
    Nathaniel took another shuffling step. Ramuthra's outline towered above him now.
    "Amanda, I'm warning you—"
    Nathaniel leaped forward and snatched. His fingers rasped against the skin on Lovelace's neck, then closed about something cold, hard, and flexible. The Amulet's chain. He pulled at it with all his strength. For an instant the magician's head was jerked toward him, then a link somewhere along the chain snapped and it came away free in his hand.
    Lovelace gave a great cry.
    Nathaniel fell back from him and rolled onto the floor, the chain's links colliding against his face. He scrabbled at it with both hands, clasping the small, thin oval thing that hung from the middle of the broken chain. As he did so, he was con scious of a weight being removed from him, as if a remorseless gaze had suddenly shifted elsewhere.
    Lovelace had reeled in the first shock of the assault, then made to pounce upon Nathaniel—but two slender arms pulled him back. "Wait, Simon—would you hurt a poor, sweet boy?"
    "You're mad, Amanda! Get off me! The Amulet—I must—" For an instant he fought to extricate himself from the woman's desperate grip, and then the towering presence directly above him caught his horrified eye. His legs sagged. Ramuthra was very close to all three of them now: in the full power of its proximity, the fabric of their clothes flapped wildly, their hair blew about their faces. The air around them shivered, as if with electricity.
    Lovelace squirmed backward. He nearly fell. "Ramuthra! I order you—take the boy! He has stolen the Amulet! He is not truly protected!" His voice carried no conviction. A great translucent hand reached out. Lovelace redoubled his entreaties. "Then forget the boy—take the woman! Take the woman first!"
    For a moment, the hand paused. Lovelace made a great effort and ripped himself from the woman's grasp. "Yes! See? There she is! Take her first!"
    From everywhere and nowhere, came a voice like a great crowd speaking in