The Heart of the Phoenix Read Free

retreating red figure, then blasting a spear out of the air a moment before it would have pierced the top of his old hat.
    His lively dreadlocks continued to work independently as he swept a candle, book, and stained cloth from the table in the center of his humble shack. Two of them operated wands while another caught a spear that missed his head by inches and twirled it in the air behind his back, blocking a second and third spear before they could make his day any worse.
    Erasmus stood before the uncovered table, which was not a table at all but a door, old and splintered, set into a frame and elevated above the floor on four crooked legs. He dug through his pockets while his enemies closed in from all sides and above, cautious at first, then aggressively when he didn’t repeat his trick with the black box.
    “Where is it?” Erasmus rifled through the many pockets of his long coat. Objects hit the ground at his feet as he turned out his pockets; a telescoping looking glass, a set of chattering teeth that began to march in circles around him, braying laughter as it walked, an old iPod, its screen blank, powered down, a red silk bowtie.
    “Give up, Monk!” The tattooed man limped at the head of a small contingent of ground troops, humans and humanoids, mercenaries and desert scum. He bared his pointed teeth at Erasmus in a feral grin, dodged a spell that Erasmus sent his way with casual grace. The spell hit a wild looking human behind the tattooed man and sent him flying into a tight packed group behind them.
    The tattooed man’s grin became a grimace as he advanced on his wounded leg. He produced another wand from a holster on his belt and fired at the distracted Monk.
    Erasmus’s twirling spear splintered and flew in all directions. A moment later the first avian dropped through the shattered ceiling, and Erasmus was too slow to avoid it. It crashed into him, and they sprawled on the floor. The avian threw a fist, and Erasmus dodged it. He heard the birdman’s fist break against the brick floor. The avian’s moan of pain became a howl as Erasmus darted his head forward and bit his neck. It lashed out, its beak closing over one of Erasmus’s wands, and yanked it free of the living dreadlock’s grip.
    A second avian landed next to them and clamped his long, clawed toes around Erasmus’s throat. A third landed, then a fourth, and he fired wildly at them before they seized his last wand.
    A moment later they stood around him in a tight circle, avians, humans, and others. The Cardinal dove down and perched above them on one of the remaining shack walls.
    “On second thought, I don’t think anyone will mind if we damage him a little.” The fat red avian clicked his beak and chuckled.
    “Let him go,” the tattooed man said, and the others did, backing away to stand against the walls, giving their savage leader the room he required.
    “Is this to be a physical contest?” Erasmus asked. “Because I should warn you that I’m…”
    The tattooed man flourished his wand like a sword, then pointed it at Erasmus.
    The chubby monk flew from the floor like a marionette under the control of an unskilled puppeteer and hung in the air, the tips of his toes scraping through the rubble.
    “Feeling a little weak at the moment,” Erasmus finished.
    Erasmus braced himself for an attack, but the tattooed man returned his wand to its holster and paced. He seemed to consider the little monk, looking him up and down, grinning and cracking his knuckles. He turned briefly to consider his audience, then spun, launching a foot up into Erasmus’s face.
    The monk cried out in surprise and pain, spinning in place where he was suspended. The top of his tall hat brushed the floor and fell off. The miniature Plumed King took squawking flight, then vanished in a puff of smoke and drifting feathers. A tarnished doorknob rolled out of it, coming to rest under the table.
    Laughter rang out above and below as Erasmus’s spin slowed and