The Shadowseeker - Victor Kloss Page 0,74

a strangled gasp came from his right. He turned, with a feeling of mounting dread. Just off the path were a couple of young boys with open mouths and expressions of such astonishment that they might have looked amusing in any other circumstance.

“That was insane,” one of them said.

“Beyond insane,” the other agreed. “How did that boy do that?”

“You can get incredible costumes these days,” Ben said, giving them both a genuine smile. His hand went into his pocket and he extracted two spells, glad now that he had bought them. He threw one at each boy. They barely noticed, both still staring into the woods where the goblin had bolted. The moment the pellets hit them their eyes glazed over. They blinked, shook their heads, and then continued walking, as if the last minute's action had never happened. Ben took a quick look around, searching for anyone else who might have witnessed the scene, but thankfully there was nobody about. He tried not to think about what that little fiasco would do to his Warden score, and quickly discarded it from his mind.

Ben approached the woods warily. There was no point rushing in now that he had lost sight of the goblin. Grignak would be waiting at a place of his choosing, and would see Ben coming no matter what.

Sunlight filtered through the sparsely placed trees. The woods were alive with singing birds, flowers in bloom and leaves gently swaying in the wind, creating an atmosphere in stark contrast to Ben's tautly wound body. He had one hand in his pouch while he scanned the tree tops, which he figured was the most likely place Grignak would hide. The deeper into the woods he went, the more concerned he became that Grignak might jump him from behind, and several times he did a full circle, but he saw no sign of the goblin.

“I can smell your fear from here, Greenwood.”

The voice came from above. There was a thump, and Grignak jumped down from the tree, landing dead ahead of him. He was smiling, if you could call it that, baring his sharp green teeth. In his right hand was a branch that Grignak had shaped into a club, complete with a large knotted head.

“Nope, that's the roses,” Ben said, pointing to a bed of red flowers. “Nice, aren't they?”

Grignak adjusted his grip on the wooden club and narrowed his green eyes to slits. Ben stood, legs apart, spell at the ready. His hand was shaking a little inside his pocket. Ben had faced several simulated combat scenarios, but this was his first real life experience. No amount of training could have prepared him for the sweat-inducing, heart-shaking adrenaline rush that he was going through now.

Grignak charged with a roar. His speed and acceleration were frightening, but Ben was ready. He flung a spell into Grignak's chest. Grignak ducked, rolled, and then with incredible dexterity, continued running without losing momentum. An explosion came as the missed spell smashed into a tree, but Ben barely noticed it. He had another spell ready and threw it at Grignak, who was now so close Ben could smell him. He was too close to miss. The spell hit Grignak straight on the chest, stopping him in his tracks. Tendrils of ice started snaking round Grignak's body, creating a shell. Grignak roared with anger and the shell of ice cracked and shattered before it could fully form.

These spells weren't strong enough, Ben realised.

Grignak charged again. Ben played his last card. He threw another pellet at the goblin's face, and then jumped to the side to avoid the flailing club as it sailed past his head.

Ben watched, heart in mouth. The energy-sapping spell should render its victim lethargic and as easy to manipulate as putty, according to the dwarf who sold it to him. Grignak did look visibly weaker; his shoulders sagged, his eyes became slightly droopy, and the club seemed a little looser in his hand. But he certainly didn't look like soft putty, and when his eyes re-focused, Ben saw plenty of determination left in there.

Grignak lifted his club and started forwards.

Ben pulled one of his few remaining pellets from his pouch, and squeezed it into the palm of his hand. A short sword materialised within his grip. As far as swords go, it was only marginally better than a stick of wood and would struggle to poke a hole through a piece of paper. But it was light, it was durable and, more