Bearers of the Black Staff

It was like striking a rock. His blade bounced off without effect, and the force of the blow numbed his arms all the way from his hands to his shoulders. He ducked back around the tree once more, watching the beast skid to a halt amid tufts of flying earth and grass. He needed a better plan than this one, he thought, and he didn’t have one.

Then the stranger was suddenly there once more, flashing out of nowhere to stand between the beast and Pan. He held a black staff with markings that glowed as white as brilliant sunlight. The armored monster never hesitated when it saw the man. It came at him at once, a juggernaut thundering through gloom and tall grasses with singular intent. The man faced it without trying to escape, the staff held vertically before him, its entire length on fire now.

Run! Pan wanted to scream, but the word wouldn’t come.

An instant later white fire erupted from the staff, lancing like a great, long spear into the attacker. It caught the creature just below its armored head, just inside one huge front shoulder. It picked the creature up as if it were a rag doll and threw it backward in a sprawling heap where it lay twitching and smoking.

Panterra stared in disbelief.

The man was moving again, vaulting through the foliage toward the second beast, not once looking back. Prue was under attack, the beast that had come around the swamp from the back trying to climb into the tree in which she perched. It reared up on its hind legs, becoming fully fifteen feet tall by doing so, and was clawing and tearing at the bark of the cedar, trying to reach the girl. Prue, realizing the danger, had climbed into the highest branches. But the tree was shaking and swaying so badly that she was in danger of being dislodged, and she wouldn’t last long if the beast succeeded in tearing the tree out by its roots.

Then her rescuer was there, the staff afire once more, whirling and twisting in his hands, a weapon of wild magic. He sent the white fire slamming into the beast, knocking it away from the tree, tumbling it head-over-heels into the dense foliage. The beast came back to its feet, shook itself, roared in fury, and struck anew.

When it attacked directly, Panterra saw, you couldn’t see much of anything past the armor of the head and shoulders. It was the creature’s main defense. But their rescuer seemed ready for this, and he let the beast almost reach him before dodging aside and avoiding its rush. It said something about his skills that Pan was unable to tell which way the man was going to jump until after he had done so. Apparently the beast was fooled as well, because it failed to change direction until it was too late.

Exposed now from the rear, it tried to turn back around to protect itself, its strange voice sounding like the rasp of metal on metal. But it was far too slow. The white fire lanced from the staff, caught it midstride and hammered it backward in a fresh explosion of power. The force of the blow knocked it off its solid footing on the forested ground and into the mire of the swamp. Thrashing amid the fouled waters, it tried to rise. But the stranger used the staff a final time, striking at the big head, pinning it down, keeping it submerged. The beast fought to rise again and again, but finally it could no longer manage to lift its head and sank.

The stranger turned back, and Panterra did the same, searching for the second beast. But it was gone. Pan would not have thought it possible, given the damage it had sustained, but somehow it had risen and lumbered off, finding its way back through the trees toward the upper slopes of the mountain, backtracking in the direction it had originally come.

Ignoring Panterra, the stranger walked over to the cedar and directed Prue down, lifting her gently off the lower branches when she reached them.

“It will try to go back the way it came,” he advised, nodding in the direction of the second creature.

“What are those things?” Prue asked, unable to suppress a shiver.

The man shook his head. “Beasts from another world, things we don’t yet have a name for. What are your names?”

Pan told him, adding that they were sorry they hadn’t been more careful in their efforts to track the creatures. He was seeing the man clearly for the first time, a tall, lean hunter wearing a strange combination of well-made boots and harness and clothes that were loose and tattered, the sleeves and pant legs ragged at the ends and the cloak shredded through. It lent him a ghostly appearance, even though his face was bearded, his black hair worn long, and his wind-burned, sun-browned skin as dusky as damp earth. He carried himself in a relaxed, easy fashion and seemed very much at ease, barely breathing hard even after his battle with the creatures. But his eyes never stopped moving, keeping watch.

“You’re Sider Ament,” Panterra said finally. “The one they call the Gray Man.”

The stranger nodded. “Have we met before? How do you know me?”