Third Power

by Robert Childs

  Drawing up beside him, Princess Vessla asked, “Is there something wrong?”

  Steve was still looking at Kayliss when a smile creased his lips. Dismounting, he answered, “Nothing serious. Kayliss just has other ideas.” He then turned the horse around and slapped his rump, sending it away at a trot.

  “You would inconvenience yourself just to please an animal?”

  Steve mounted Kayliss, seating himself just behind the tiger’s powerfully broad shoulders. “Who’s inconvenienced? Besides, he’s not just an animal, Princess.”

  “Really,” Scott said matter-of-factly, “how many tigers that size have you ever seen?”

  Sonya reached over and chucked him on the arm. “That’s not what she meant.”

  “I know, I know,” Scott whispered.

  Haldorum cleared his throat quite loudly. “If we may proceed?”

  Maxwell Don led the way to the far side of the immense cavern, to a large arch carved in the wall of the stone. In the cavern, every man and woman of the Resistance knew the First Power of Mithal had gone in search of the Third; and even though the other soldiers of the dispatch were already spreading the news, it was no great leap of faith to deduce this unusual young man astride his tigrine mount had to be the one.

  The tunnel continued for eight hundred feet and then opened onto broad, level ground surrounded on all sides by jagged, mountainous rock reaching hundreds of feet into the night sky like a monstrous, dark crown. Steve could see why the Resistance had chosen to make sanctuary in such a place; even if Azinon could find it, there would be no chance of his army scaling such a treacherous path to the inside. Ahead of him an entire city of tents and pavilions dotted the landscape in orderly grids but, instead of the bustling activity of an active army, tens of thousands of soldiers waited in stillness, vigilant, with a nervous energy that was palpable. Steve could see Scott and Sonya’s disbelief matched his own at the sheer numbers gathered. Until now, the thought of an all-out war was surreal; more dream than reality. But now, the full import and seriousness of the task he agreed to shoulder was a real and crushing weight.

  Expressionless, Lieutenant Maxwell Don led the First and Third Powers of Mithal at the head of their party into the midst of the thousands who gathered to witness the savior of Mithal with their own eyes.

  The crowd parted wordlessly as Maxwell approached on his mount, and then closed in again behind Lurin, bringing up the rear. Except for the soft thudding of the horses’ hooves on the packed earth, and a low, cautious growl from Kayliss, all was silent.

  Maxwell halted them before an elevated, wooden platform, fifty by fifty feet square, and atop this stood a solitary man dressed regally in black and gold, the colors of the defeated imperial realm. He was an older man—looking nearly as old as Haldorum—with a close-cropped beard and short hair faded almost entirely to gray. He smiled when his eyes met those of the young man accompanying the First Power, reminding Steve somewhat of his own grandfather. Maxwell and Haldorum dismounted first, which prompted all three visitors from Earth to do the same. The old wizard motioned for Steve to approach and together they joined the solitary figure on the dais.

  Haldorum moved forward and took this man’s hand as he would a brother. He smiled secretively and said, “Old friend, we have a new addition to our ranks.”

  The man smiled and his gaze went over the wizard’s shoulder. “No introduction is necessary.” Still looking to Steve he said, “Young man, I am General Corbett. Step forward and draw your sword, so you may be duly sworn to our cause.”

  Haldorum moved to the side as Steve stepped forward with his sword held horizontally in both hands. Sonya watched from the grass as the general positioned the sword between them, point resting on the wood of the dais, the general’s hand over Steve’s own on the handle of the rapier.

  General Corbett spoke in a loud and clear voice. “This night marks the start of a new era; the first night of many that will spell the destruction of the Dark One. Your coming has been long awaited, and with your arrival we are at last complete. Swear upon this blade and by almighty God that you, as Third Power of Mithal, will strive to fulfill the prophecy as it was foreordained by the first Oracle ten centuries ago.”

  Steve looked up from their locked hands to the gathered tens of thousands. These people who knew nothing about him looked back with a reverent awe, and he knew it was because of what he represented for the land, for the empire—for the very future of all goodly races. Healing a world meant mastering a power he knew nothing about. Restoring an empire meant taking on an evil blessed by Hell itself.

  The magnitude of their expectation frightened him. What if I can’t do it? What happens to these people if I fail?

  He looked back at his friends, Sonya and Scott, who represented everything that mattered most: his home, his family, a life back on Earth—a normal life—far removed from all of this. Though back home he was still a student, a minor cog living in a scientific world he knew would, ultimately, be no better or worse off without him. But here there wasn’t just the chance to make a difference; here he had the powers of a wizard. Here he could potentially help millions—no, more than that, he could save millions.

  Steve returned his gaze to the hilt of his sword, his jaw tight, and his resolve firm.

  “This I swear.”

  Chapter XIII

  Steve and the First Power of Mithal stood ten feet apart within a spell circle one hundred feet in diameter. The energy coursing through the enchanted boundary ensured magic within could not escape beyond the circle. It was a necessity, Steve knew, until he could learn to engage his power without broadcasting it across every psychic plane of existence. Outside of this, Kayliss lounged before a small wagon loaded with supplies of food, water, wooden targets, and various other items for use as the younger Power’s training progressed.

  The crystal’s light flared against Steve’s chest and filled the morning with its shattering song as he reached for his magic.

  “Control it,” Haldorum warned.

  Steve visibly tensed as the reach of his power expanded outward from him in every direction like an invisible corona. If it reached Haldorum’s circle it would press against the boundary and reveal it to the human eye as a translucent blue hemisphere over the area in which they stood. He had gotten much better over the last week, as evidenced by the old wizard shrinking the size of the protected area day by day—but it was not enough. Steve wanted total control over his power. While the uncontrolled side effects of attempting to levitate a chair might mean several others to the side and behind rose as well, the unintended consequences of destructive magic were far less forgiving. No, it had to be nothing less than total control.

  Steve employed his will against the expanding influence of his magic and gave a satisfied grunt as he felt it halt.

  “Good.” Haldorum drew out the word. “Now draw it in. Bring it back into yourself.”

  Steve nodded, his breathing coming quicker, and redoubled his efforts.

  Princess Vessla sat before a large oval mirror within the comparably spacious expanse of her quarters, thinking on how infuriating and intolerable her situation had become. Though certainly not of royal standards, she could not rightfully complain of her accommodations, and she remained grateful to the general for such special treatment, her room located as it was at the top of the only two-story structure in Shallows Crag and overlooking the jousting field just a quarter mile off. Its luxurious furnishings easily rivaled those within the quarters of Haldorum or the general himself, and the pages assigned to her catered to her every need. Still, there was the undeniable matter of her fiancé, and the fact she had not been afforded a single opportunity to see him over the entire week. She had thus far tried everything within her power but every request and demand she made was politely—but firmly—turned aside. It was very much aggravating!

  A small boy of ten years stood behind the princess brushing gently the fiery lengths of her strawberry hair. “What bothers you, Your Highn
ess?” he asked.

  Princess Vessla inhaled deeply, her chest heaving, and let out a long sigh. “Just thinking, is all.”

  “About the Third Power?”

  She looked up and smiled at the boy’s reflection in the mirror. “Yes, little one, I am. I very much want to see him.”

  Eegrin stood leaning on the wall across the room, watching idly two servants making up the princess’s bed. He turned his eyes in their direction at the mention of his friend’s title.

  Princess Vessla turned in her chair to face the child saying, “And how is it you know the thoughts of a princess, little one?”

  The child placed his hands behind his back and his large brown eyes looked away. “Just… just because,” he finally said. He looked back then. “Are you really going to marry him?”

  “The very moment I can get him away from this place,” she replied.

  “But why would you want to leave? I do not want you to go. I like you.”

  The princess’s cheeks flushed slightly with her beaming smile. Gathering the little boy in her arms, she hugged his small form briefly and then said, “And I find you utterly adorable, little one.” She ran her fingers through the dark curls of his hair. “If I have a little boy I hope he turns out just like you. Your mother should feel very lucky.”

  At this the boy’s gaze fell to the floor and the smile left his cheeks. The princess looked on perplexed. “What is wrong?”

  He shrugged his little shoulders. “I never knew my mother.”

  “What of your father?”

  “Him neither,” the boy replied, regret thick in his voice. “My guardian says they were heroes, but died in the war when I was a baby. I was too little to remember them.”

  “Would you like to see them, little one?” the princess asked.

  “I can’t. They’re in Heaven. But Darnum says I can pray and they will hear me. I talk to them all the time.”

  “But to see them, would you like that?” Princess Vessla asked.

  “Your Highness,” Eegrin cautioned, “perhaps this is not—“

  “Hush, Eegrin!” she scolded. Then to the boy she said, “What say you, little one?”

  The little boy looked at her quizzically for a moment, and then his countenance brightened. “You are magical!” he exclaimed wide-eyed.

  Vessla laughed. “No, child, I am not; but I can make use of it. Would you like to see?”

  “Oh, please! Please, could I?”

  Princess Vessla lifted the small boy up and then set him down again in her lap. She then turned in her seat to face the large oval mirror and, taking the boy’s hand in her own, hummed softly a pleasant melody while watching their reflections intently. Only moments passed before the reflective surface of the looking glass wavered and rippled as though someone had tossed a pebble into a pond.

  “Do you see, child?” Princess Vessla asked.

  The little boy leaned forward and peered intently into the foggy depths of the mirror. Vessla began humming yet again and the picture started to clear, allowing discernible figures to take shape in the coalescing picture. The images sharpened and the background became more distinct until it seemed they two peered through a window to another world.

  The servants behind Eegrin, their tasks momentarily forgotten, stared motionless at the spectacle unfolding.

  Suddenly the upper body of a darkly handsome man filled nearly the whole of the mirror. Though his lips moved in conversation, they heard no sound.

  “Daddy!” the little boy exclaimed, lurching forward in the princess’s lap.

  Princess Vessla could not help but be surprised the child would recognize a man he had never seen, but then a closer look revealed the distinct resemblance of the man in his young son; a resemblance, apparently, even a small child would know.

  She changed the pitch of her sweet voice and the picture in the mirror changed as well. Now a woman’s figure filled the scene with light brown eyes like those of her son, and generous upper body with long, shoulder-length hair framing the delicate features of her face.

  “My mommy?” the little boy asked, staring mesmerized by the sight.

  “Yes, little one,” the princess replied gently. “Your mother: a woman who loved you with all her heart.” The child did not turn, but continued to stare into the eyes of the woman before him. Princess Vessla felt something wet touch the back of her hand. She looked and discovered a single tear had rolled from the child’s cheek like a small pearl. With her sweet voice stilled, the picture in the mirror wavered again like ripples from a stone. And then was gone.

  The little boy turned to face the princess with eyes now overflowing with the salt of his grief. Surprisingly, he smiled.

  Princess Vessla smiled, too, and in a soft whisper she said, “You are welcome.” When the little boy turned again to the mirror she gently laid his head to her bosom and held him, cradling his small form. “There will be another time, little one.”

  The strange feelings kindling inside the winged young woman made her smile with an inner joy. This happiness, she thought, will be the gift I give to my beloved. I will go to him and explore his heart for the secrets he knows not even of himself, and together we will share of that knowledge and become closer.

  Nightfall. Three days after Steve’s first lesson in the finer points of magic, Haldorum no longer needed to lay down the containing circle. The speed at which Steve’s ability to channel his power into a single direction, focus it to a single task, without broadcasting to every wielder of magic on the continent was, according to the elder wizard, unprecedented. Now, fully a week into his practice, his lessons consisted of manipulating the kind of magic that came most naturally to him. Destruction.

  It seemed strange, Steve thought as he stood there in the night air, listening intently for the slightest sound that would give away the predator that stalked him. It was strange the Power meant to save the whole of the world from the magical sickness ravaging it was a natural at destructive magic. Thus far, he couldn’t even heal his own bruises acquired over the last couple of days of training, nor summon…whatever magic it was that had saved Sonya in the forest.

  A slight rustle in the waist-high grasses caught the young wizard’s ear and pulled him fully from his contemplation. He turned his head slightly, listening intently in the direction from which it had come. Haldorum had long since retired from the field, leaving Steve, at his insistence, to continue his training alone. Well, almost alone.

  Another rustle in the grass, barely perceptible, this time directly behind him. Kayliss sprang from the grass in a leap meant to hit his prey at the shoulders but Steve was a blur of movement, his magic coursing through him as easily as his own blood. His jump carried him ten feet straight up, and he unsheathed the blunt wooden knife at his belt as gravity pulled him back down. Kayliss’s claws dug into the ground as he landed where the young wizard stood only a moment before, and he used that added traction to pull him even faster forward. This time it was Steve’s aerial attack that failed, landing in a three-point crouch as he did a fraction of a second too late. Kayliss whirled about then and faced off against the young wizard, his upper body lower to the ground than his hindquarters, his tail swishing the air playfully.

  Steve smiled. “Well played, you overgrown kitten.”

  Evening fell upon Shallows Crag like a veil, casting the great circle of mountainous peaks a fiery orange as the sun slowly fell beneath the horizon to the west. Even so, there remained activity within the camp of the Resistance. Torches flared to life atop poles throughout, while men and women continued their work unhindered beneath them with a fervor they had not known in years. The past week had given birth to an excited buzz amongst the soldiers and supporting citizenry since the coming of the Third. Talk of an end to the terrible plague, of a rebirth of the empire, the fulfillment of the prophecy, and most of all, of the chance to take the battle to Azinon directly.

  Sonya thought about this as she made her way back to her tent. During her training that
day she had taken the opportunity to speak with many different soldiers, too numerous to count, and all welcomed the coming conflict. This struck her as frightening. She had never known war, but what she did know of it meant the spilling of much blood and the loss of many lives. How could anyone, no matter how noble the cause, ever welcome that?

  Sonya pushed aside the tent flap to her quarters and entered. She crossed the room, letting her long-knife fall to the floor, before nearly collapsing onto her bed. The day’s activities exhausted her and her muscles ached from long hours of strenuous practice in hand-in-hand combat. Despite the bothersome ache, however, she felt satisfied with her performance. What she had learned, she had learned well. Now she needed to make sure she practiced so as to build the muscle memory Lurin said would be needed to truly internalize the training.

  There came a knock on the tent pole outside and Sonya sat up in her bed. “Come in.”

  Scott entered, casting Sonya a silly salute as he did so. “Hiya’, Bruce.”

  “Who?” Sonya asked with a raised brow.

  “Bruce. You know, Bruce Lee? Correct me if I’m wrong but it sure looked as though you were having more fun out there than even I was.”

  “Well,” Sonya replied, a thoughtful smile playing on her full lips, “I did kind of have some fun with it, but not enough that you get to call me Bruce. Got it?” She pointed an index finger at him in mock irritation.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I guess I got it, then.” Scott approached where Sonya sat, the mischievous smile on his face telling her he had not quite finished playing with her yet. In his best Spanish accent he asked, “Escuse me, Lady. But I would consider it an honor if you would dine with me tonight before an evening fire.”

  Sonya laughed. “Plan on treating me to a real night on the town, I see.”

  “Only the best for you, my lady,” Scott continued, maintaining his accent. “It is agreed, then?”

  “It is agreed.”