Steve suddenly realized Vessla was crying silent tears, and trying to hide the fact. She turned her horse abruptly and spurred the mount into a gallop. The surrounding men parted as she moved through their ranks without stopping.
“Vessla, wait!” Steve called after her. Maxwell tried to signal to one of his men but Steve stopped him, catching his wrist mid-motion. “No, I’ve got this.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned his horse and set off after her at a gallop. He could feel Kayliss’s alarm but he bid the great tiger to be calm and maintain his watch over the patrol. There was something more going on here than could be plainly seen, and whatever it was he had to handle it with the princess alone. He spurred his horse harder and the distance between them began to close. What was it that could send her off in such a state of grief? Surely not Maxwell’s story alone.
The princess was not an adept rider, a consequence of her life high up in the Jisetrian palace, and Steve quickly overtook her. Grabbing her mount’s bridle, he drew in the reins on his own horse and brought them both to a stop.
Vessla slumped forward in her saddle, sobbing freely now, unable to hold in her grief any longer. Steve dismounted and then moved to help her do the same.
“I am sorry,” she said as she slid into his arms, the tears streaming down her lovely face. “It is just that—” She broke off and buried her face against Steve’s chest as another fit of sobs escaped her.
He held her with his left arm, speaking soothing words and stroking her hair with his right hand. If there was one thing that never failed to get to him, it was to see a woman cry. “Please, please, Princess,” he told her. “It’s all right.”
“No, no, you don’t understand,” she said. She lifted her chin and looked into his face. “When Maxwell told his story I – I couldn’t help but think of my own mother.”
“Why? What happened to her?”
Princess Vessla’s eyes welled up with tears anew. “Sh-she died when I was just a little girl. I barely had the chance to know her before…”
Steve held her close as the crying began again. So Haldorum was right, he thought. The plague truly is indiscriminate.
He wanted so much to comfort her, and he cursed himself for not knowing how or what to say.
Chapter XII
Eegrin arrived next on the scene. He reined in his horse and dismounted, concern clearly marked in his eyes. “What happened? Is she all right?”
“She’s fine,” Steve assured him. “She’s upset, but she’s all right.” To the princess he said, “We should probably get back before the others start to worry.”
Princess Vessla backed away a step and collected herself with a wan smile. “You are right. I am so sorry for this.” She withdrew a handkerchief and dried her reddened eyes. “We should go.”
“Good to see you again,” Maxwell Don greeted the three as they approached. “I was just about to send out a few men to find you.”
Steve, Eegrin and Princess Vessla guided their mounts through the soldiers and to their original places in the procession. Maxwell gave the order to move on, asking no questions, which Steve credited to the man’s wisdom.
“Haldorum says you handle that blade rather well,” Maxwell said.
Steve glanced at the sword Mr. Martin had given him and smiled. “I do all right, but Haldorum tends to exaggerate.”
Maxwell chuckled, “Perhaps.” Then more seriously he added, “If you do not mind, I was wondering something.”
“What’s that?”
“I do not mean to place more burdens upon you than you already bear, but exactly how great are your powers? I only ask because the plague is but half of the problem we face. The prophecy states you will purge this sickness, but are your powers great enough to…” He trailed off then, and Steve had the distinct feeling the man was torn between his desire to hope and his life’s pessimistic reality. Finally, he asked, “Well, great enough to destroy the Dark One?”
Steve raised his eyebrows as he took a moment to ponder the gravity of that question. Ultimately, he could only shrug. “I have absolutely no idea. From what I have gathered, the prophecy doesn’t say anything about me destroying anyone.”
Maxwell Don nodded at that. “I only ask because I do not know if Haldorum is capable of it. Perhaps the both of you together, but should anything happen to Haldorum before then…” He let his words trail off without finishing.
“I know what you mean,” Steve replied. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know.”
Maxwell straightened then. “No matter,” he said. “With heart, faith, and skill, we will see the end of both evils.”
He and Steve clasped hands as comrades, knowing they would all need those three traits in abundance in the days ahead.
The day turned toward evening and the soldiers of Resistance Dispatch One led their charges further toward the heart of the forest. Here the waning light added a deeper gloom to the surrounding vegetation. Great blankets of moss covered the treetops like heavy canvas and hung down from the branches in large drooping tendrils. Black pools of mud churned all around and large murky bubbles formed, swelling to the size of ostrich eggs before popping with a whooshing release of gas. Nearby a bird swooped down from the treetops and skimmed the surface of one such pool as it hunted for insects. Just then a bubble formed and popped just as the bird flew overhead, splattering the tiny aviator and plunging it headlong into the pool.
“That poor thing!” Princess Vessla exclaimed. “Quickly, someone save it!”
“Best to avert your eyes, Princess,” Maxwell Don advised. “This is not a part of the Granar we can afford to dawdle within.”
Princess Vessla gave the lieutenant an icy stare, unmistakable even in the half-light. Her next words were level and delivered with practiced royal authority. “Lieutenant Maxwell Don, I order you to do something about this now.”
The soldier halted his horse and he turned to face her. “Princess, let us get something straight between the two of us right now. I respect you for your position in your kingdom, but here I am the one in command. In case it has slipped your attention, we are well outside Jisetrian territory, thus ending the reach of your rule. I will not risk the life of one or more of my men simply for a…”
His words trailed away when the young wizard extended a hand toward the muddy pool. The crystal around his neck grew bright with a piercing white light and pulsed like a living heart, filling the air with a tinkling sound like a glass wind chime in a steady breeze. Everyone watched wide-eyed as the drowning bird rose from murky surface, glowing with the same eerie, white aura as that of the crystal. In another moment, the clinging mire fell away from the tiny creature like water running off plastic. The glow dimmed, then faded entirely, and the bird flew away under its own power unharmed.
A mystified murmur spread through the men and then one jubilantly shouted, “He will vanquish the Dark One!” A chorus of shouts went up in front and behind followed by drawn weapons held in salute. Steve looked on surprised, but then remembered what it must mean to these people to see someone with magic outside of the only other wizard they have ever known.
“Thank you, Steven,” Princess Vessla said, casting the lieutenant a smug look. She then leaned over and kissed her fiancé’s cheek.
Maxwell Don motioned for silence when he spied Lurin ahead returning with several other scouts, a look of concern on his face.
“We have a problem,” Lurin said simply. “Gouroth and several of his pack are blocking the way ahead. They seek words with you and say we will not pass until they are heard.”
Maxwell scowled and muttered a curse beneath his breath. To Lurin he said, “You know what to do should this get out of hand.”
The woodsman nodded, reached over his shoulder and drew a shaft from his quiver tipped with silver.
“You,” Maxwell said pointing to a soldier on foot. “Take nine others with you and escort Gouroth to our position.” The soldier snapped a salute and ran off calling the names of others who immediately fe
ll into ranks behind him. Maxwell then turned to Steve and sighed regretfully. “I was hoping to avoid this.”
“Avoid what?” Steve prompted.
“I haven’t the time to explain now; just come with me, say nothing, and do not stray from Haldorum’s side. If things get out of hand I am afraid you may have to use your powers to end lives rather than save them.” Steve was about to say something more but Maxwell cut him off with, “You will understand shortly.”
Everyone waited in grim silence for several minutes, looking tense and ready for a fight. Then the scouts emerged from the gloom ahead. They held their weapons drawn and their attention tight on the four they marched before them. Steve looked on somewhat confused and wondered why the soldiers around him grew visibly more tense at their approach. A single man walked at the head of the four-person party—Gouroth, most likely. Long black hair fell unkempt about his rough-featured face like a mop, and his eyes, like two lumps of coal in his head, stared out with the confidence of a man self-assured. Innumerable scars decorated the whole of his body, plain for all to see for he wore no clothing beyond a simple, ragged black cloth tied at the waist on his well-muscled frame. A scantily clad, brown haired young woman followed him barely a step behind and to his right, followed by two other males on his left.
Their party approached within fifty feet when Maxwell raised a hand. “That is far enough.”
The dark-haired man stopped and smiled maliciously. His voice was a deep growl as he said, “You trust not Gouroth?”
“When have I ever?” Maxwell replied.
“Was it not Gouroth who led Resistance to Shallows Crag? Was it not Gouroth who showed you caves, now home for Resistance?”
“Was it not Gouroth,” Maxwell Don said, “who permitted the death of five Resistance soldiers on patrol in this very mire? Gouroth’s memory may be selective, but surely it does not fail him.”
Gouroth scowled at this affront and bared his teeth in a snarl. “Rogue wolves kill!”
“So you say,” Maxwell replied levelly. “My sources say it was more like sport.”
Steve’s gaze fell over the young woman staring intently—but not at Maxwell. He followed her eyes to the target of her intense scrutiny and wondered what about his friend Scott she found so intriguing.
Gouroth’s nostrils flared as he exhaled sharply in anger. The young woman looked to him then and touched her leader on the arm, an action that drew Gouroth’s attention and seemed to communicate something subtler to him. With a visible effort, he calmed.
Then to Maxwell she said, “You know why we have come. The Third Power of Mithal is ours by right.”
Haldorum raised a single brow at this. “And what right are you speaking of, Kurella? Your pack does not suffer under the plague any more so than the other races of Mithal. It is I who brought the Third Power to this world, and it was most certainly not for the benefit of the Wolves.”
“You owe us, wizard,” Kurella reminded sternly. “If not for my father your pitiful army would not have its place of sanctuary. The Granar is our home and we permit your intrusion.”
“You permit our intrusion,” Haldorum replied pointedly, “because you wish the death of Azinon and an end to the plague as much as we do. We are grateful to your father for guiding us to Shallows Crag, but do not pretend we do not pay for that assistance when it is the Resistance that bleeds against the Dark One’s minions in place of your pack.”
“Pack not cowards!” Gouroth bellowed.
Steve could not be sure but he could swear the pack leader was growing in size.
“We need not your soldiers! The teeth and claws of wolves claim more redcrests than Resistance. Five humans do not match a single wolf in battle!”
Haze stiffened at that boast. “I would not wager my head on that.”
Gouroth fixed the warrior with an icy glare that bespoke a challenge. The pack leader took several deep breaths, and with each breath he grew larger still in size. Muscles ripped and corded all along his body, and coarse, gray-white fur sprouted from every pore in his body with fantastic speed. Steve watched incredulous as Gouroth’s jaw extended into a muzzle, and dark claws formed where had been only fingernails moments before. A tail extended from the base of his spine and his ears elongated to lupine form.
“Fight me now?” Gouroth asked, his voice a rumble in his chest. “Winner takes Power.”
“Let me take him,” Haze whispered tightly to Haldorum.
Steve was impressed at the warrior’s courage and amazed any man would actually volunteer to fight such a creature. Gouroth’s lupine frame stood over seven feet in height. Talons were a more accurate term for what grew out of his fingertips, and fangs as deadly as those of Kayliss.
“No,” Haldorum said. “There will be no fighting here. The Third Power is coming with us and that is that.”
Gouroth growled and the other two males behind him each transformed to join their pack leader by his side. “Do not be a fool.”
“Funny,” Haldorum replied, “I was about to say the same thing to you.” His staff appeared in his hand with a flash of blue light and both metal-tipped ends glowed a ghostly azure.
Gouroth snorted contemptuously, then advanced a slow step forward. “First Power is no match for the wolf.” He then raised his muzzle to the night sky and unleashed a howl that chilled the bone. On all sides of the soldiers, creatures stirred in the bubbling mud pools, crawling out of the slag and mire, pulling their lips back over fangs yellow-white against the dark mud, until the entire patrol found themselves surrounded on all sides by two dozen werewolves, dripping with black ooze.
“That is certainly debatable,” Haldorum said calmly. “Only magic, silver, or another wolf can kill one of your kind. But you see, friend Gouroth, we prepared for an encounter such as this long in advance. Maxwell, if you would be so kind.”
Maxwell Don made a quick motion in the air and the fifty soldiers at his command drew their weapons. Gouroth’s smiling snarl waned at the sight of a silver sword in every man’s hand. Kurella, who alone remained in her human form, gasped and took a step backward at the sight of the glinting metal.
Haldorum met the lupine leader’s eyes placidly. “We outnumber you, Gouroth. And each of us holds the werewolf’s bane. Attack and these members of your pack will surely die—but they will be counted among the lucky. With your ability to heal, I can kill you across years. Do not forget I am the same man who killed the demonic assassin sent to end me so many years ago. Tell me, Gouroth, do you think my knowledge of magic has grown or lessened in that time since?”
Gouroth looked on with his hatred seething in his eyes for long moments. Ultimately, the choice was clear. The pack leader gave an evil grin and nodded. “This night is yours,” he said finally, his guttural voice dripping with promise. “But there is tomorrow.”
“As there always is with you,” Haldorum nodded back.
Gouroth loosed a series of growls and yips and the members of his pack fell back until they were lost to sight in the gloomy shadows of early evening. Gouroth himself then turned and left the path, striding through the shallows of muck like a giant, followed by the two males who accompanied him. Kurella alone remained, seemingly transfixed for a moment, and then turned and fled the path with the others of her pack.
“Are you all right, Scott?” Sonya asked.
He said nothing at first, and then blinked as though coming out of a trance. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” His eyes, however, remained fixed in the direction Kurella had gone.
Maxwell Don performed a curt hand signal to a distant scout, and received a similar one in return. To Haldorum he said in a low voice, “They are out of sight now, but I suggest maintaining the illusion until we have safely reached Shallows Crag.”
Steve blinked. “Illusion? You mean…”
Haldorum chuckled and pointed to the sword belted at Steve’s waist. “Draw your weapon.”
Steve did so and marveled at a blade of polished silver. “How did you—” He the
n looked to the glowing staff in the wizard’s hand and suddenly he understood. “Never mind, let’s just get out of here before Gouroth figures it out.”
Two hours after sunset the cliff face marking the sanctuary of Shallow’s Crag loomed tall and imposing before them. At first, Steve looked on confused, for only a solid rock wall with a wide waterfall lie before them. But when the first scouts vanished into this as though it were mere air, he suddenly realized the waterfall was exactly that: just air. Another of Haldorum’s illusions, carefully placed to hide the entrance to the home of the Resistance. Still, as they moved forward, the smell of the spray and the sight and sound of the rushing water made him involuntarily close his eyes. In the next moment, however, the roar ceased abruptly with the suddenness of a flipped light switch and they entered into a massive cavern where large, forbidding stalactites reached down from the ceiling rock like the teeth of some great monster. A dozen wide-mouthed tunnels connected to the cavern on the left and right, utilized by a steady flow of men and women who moved purposefully within and without. A stable master and eight young apprentices—the eldest appearing no older than early teens—approached the returning dispatch and took charge of the horses as their riders dismounted. Steve started to dismount but Maxwell stayed him with a hand.
“No, not you, lad,” he said. “You and your friends have a little way to go yet.”
Raising his brow in curiosity, Steve settled back into his saddle and was about to follow the lieutenant when startled shouts rose up behind him. Kayliss emerged at a run through the illusion of the waterfall and bounded through the throngs of men and women who were more than eager to clear the way for him. He stopped a tolerable distance from the young wizard’s mount, and Steve himself felt the wash of indignation from the great cat.
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