Haldorum could only shake his head sadly. “I am sorry, Steven, but his body is gone.”
Steve was on his feet in an instant. “What do you mean ‘gone’?!”
“Taken. Or so it seems. Sonya and I returned to Shallows Crag this morning with a thousand men—for Scott and all the other fallen. He was not among them.”
The air in the room grew hot with magic and Steve’s fingers curled into fists of rage that shook. “That bitch took him!” he said through gritted teeth. The crystal about his neck glowed with life, and the light orbs in the room blazed brighter and brighter until one, then another, burst in their sconces.
“Steven, enough!” Haldorum barked, jumping to his feet as well.
Steve opened his eyes, for he had closed them tightly against his fury, in surprise.
“You must stop with these childish tantrums and deal with your problems like a man—no! More than a man, for you are a Power of Mithal! Scott is dead, and your rage over his demise nearly cost you your life last night—for the second time! Now put away these dangerous displays of anger once and for all.”
Steve could only stand there, wide-eyed and speechless at the older wizard’s admonishment. And then he was ashamed. His legs gave out under him and he slumped onto the bed with elbows on knees and head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said. He struggled with the words he could not put to his feelings. “It’s just that…Scott…my best friend…”
“I know, I know,” Haldorum said more softly. “I understand your grief, Steven, and I am sorry for your loss. I do not wish to raise my voice—to you of all people—given all that you have done for us and continue to do. But your power is of a kind that frightens me.”
Steve raised his eyes to him. “I frighten you?”
“Yes,” Haldorum replied, emphasizing the word with a raise of his eyebrows. He dropped to one knee before the young man saying, “Steven, yours is a power I do not understand. I cannot explain from where it comes, nor grasp the amazing things it allows you to do. I can only pray this guardian angel of yours—or whatever that voice inside your head is—will help you to keep it under control. If you remember West Seattle, you know what I mean.”
Steve remembered only too well. That complete, overwhelming surge of anger and hatred that burned deep inside and caused him not only to seek Haldorum’s death but his ex-girlfriend Amy’s as well.
“I remember,” he replied with a twinge of regret.
Haldorum patted him on the shoulder and then stood. “You have a great deal to discover about yourself, Steven. Why not take some time away from your duties with the Resistance and try to sort things out? Besides, you also have the princess to contend with.” He huffed through his nose humorously. “Again.”
Steve looked shocked at the suggestion. “I couldn’t do that. There is more work than ever to be done.”
“There will be little you can do for the next two or three weeks. Myself and the other officers still have to see to getting the soldiers settled in to their new location. Food stores and supply depots have to be established, collaboration between our blacksmiths and the Jisetrian armorers…entire logistics chains have to be established.”
“And I can help with those things,” Steve argued.
Haldorum only shook his head.
“But…”
“Consider it an order, Steven.”
The young man fell silent, albeit reluctantly, and Haldorum turned and crossed the room to the door. He paused there a moment and said, “I will come for you when the Resistance is a bit more settled. Until then, try not to blow anything up.” He smiled with this last and then departed.
Steve sighed and then, after a few heartbeats, he slapped both hands on his thighs and rose to his feet. He could feel a slight pull of frustration within, but he supposed that was only because he had hoped to use his duties as a means to escape, if even for a short while, from everything he would rather not think about. Now it seemed he had little choice but to face them sooner rather than later.
He looked to Kayliss. “So where do I start?”
“Fetch – down – your – weapons!”
The human man-at-arms and his Jisetrian counterpart glared at each other with swords drawn and held at the ready. A large circle of men from both races quickly gathered about the two as hostilities broke out, one that even Haze had had a difficult time shoving his way through.
“Put them down, I say,” he bellowed, “or it will be both your heads!”
There was a moment’s pause as the two combatants stared each other down but it was finally, surprisingly, the Jisetrian who put his own weapon away first. The human soldier followed suit but eyed his opponent with fierce malevolence all the while.
Sonya pushed her way through to the inner circle and realized immediately the cause of the commotion. “Would someone care to explain what this is all about?” she asked hotly.
“My apologies to the Third,” the Jisetrian replied. “I only sought healing. I did not come seeking a confrontation, but when this man attempted unjustly to bar my way to you—“
“He knows the time to be here as well as any,” the man-at-arms interrupted. The speckles of gray in his dark hair and close-cropped beard showed him a man in his early thirties, but he carried the fire of spirit of a man much younger. “He only has the first signs, and it will wait until the morrow.”
“Why did you not come to the Third this morning with the others?” Haze asked the Jisetrian.
“I discovered it only a short time ago.” He turned his eyes to Sonya. “I know you will heal again after the sunrise, but when I saw the signs I…I panicked. I had to be rid of this curse immediately.”
The man pulled up the sleeve of his uniform and turned up his forearm. There, an area of his skin was blackened, appearing as little more than a bruise about the size of gold piece, but already showing a small blister newly formed.
More so to satiate her conscience, Sonya passed her hand close over his arm. Her palm glowed momentarily as it went, and then the discoloration was gone, leaving only healthy flesh in its place.
The surrounding crowd murmured with amazement but Sonya ignored this. Maintaining a rigid demeanor, she said to the Jisetrian, “You may consider yourself a one-time exception. All others will come at the specified time. Is that understood?”
The man bowed, his eyes reflecting a mix of wonder and gratitude. “Clearly, wizardess. I shall see the word passed myself.” With that he turned and paced away for the nearest open space to take flight.
With the show over, the crowd was beginning to disperse and Sonya turned to go, only to find Haldorum standing there beside her. “You handled that very well,” he said.
Sonya relaxed her composure and sighed. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take today, Haldorum. And there’s still so much more to do.”
“For someone in your position, I think you are handling it all with remarkable aplomb. But,” he added with a nod, “I can see it is beginning to wear on you. Perhaps—“
Sonya’s hand came up. “Don’t even say it, Haldorum. I may be new to all of this,” she said with a hand gesture encompassing everything around them, “but I am not a wimp. The work to be done around here is wearing on all of us equally, and I’m not about to take a break from it whether you order me to or not.”
“I would not consider this a break, to be truthful,” the old wizard replied, “but rather a time of learning. I have already placed upon Steven the very same task I now place upon you.”
“Which is?” Sonya asked eyeing him suspiciously.
“Return to the palace and refine your powers.”
“But, Haldorum, the plague is already—“
“Truth be told, the plague is about the only thing you handle with any degree of competency. Though I will admit,” he added with a chuckle, “if you were going to pick one, that is the one I would have chosen. Still,” he continued more seriously, “unfortunately, you have a great deal more to discover about your limits
and abilities than even our young Steven. You are one of our most important assets, my dear, and it is critical, for the sake of the Resistance, that you become fully aware of the scope of your powers. Is that understood?”
The old wizard’s voice held a tone of finality that left the young woman with nothing else she could say.
Taking her silence as assent, Haldorum smiled. “I am so glad we agree.”
“Over a little. No, a little more. All right, now up one. There, right there, between Magra and Magrelle.”
The volumes upon the highest shelf parted obediently and the book floating before them slid neatly into place. The old librarian Duncan held up another, solidly bound in leather, its title carefully scripted upon the cover, and it left his hand as though suddenly lighter than air. Steve directed it from where he sat upon one of the reading tables, legs folded underneath him, with his left hand. In a moment, it too found its place.
“I must say, Steven, if nothing else, having you around certainly makes this part of my job easier.”
Steve was glad Duncan had stayed the title Wizard or Commander, or whatever else people liked to use in place of his name. Formalities among people he knew well enough to be considered friends never seemed to settle right with him.
“It’s one of the few things I seem to have managed to nail down,” he replied. “Most everything else,” he said wincing at the thought, “not so much.”
The old librarian regarded the great tiger briefly, lounging comfortably beneath the table Steve sat upon, and said, “I think you will find most things in life fit into that category.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “Ain’t that the truth.” The young man paused a moment as a thought ran through his head, and then asked, “Duncan, who do you think is supposed to finish off Azinon?”
“If you mean who is to kill him then I think you are forgetting the possibility he might not meet his death at all. The prophecy does not speak of his demise, only of his downfall.”
“Then you believe he’s going to live through all this?”
“I believe it,” Duncan replied looking thoughtful a moment, “unlikely.” He held up a book and it floated away from his hands. “A sorcerer is never completely helpless, any more than is a wizard, until you take away his power. And, as far as I know, there is no known way of doing such save by taking his life. But if the prophecy speaks the truth, and I had to make an educated guess, I would say the Third Power will be the one to destroy Azinon.”
Steve sighed. If the prophecy speaks the truth. Always that big if. Without an heir to the throne of Mithal, that ‘if’ was bigger than ever.
At the far end of the library, the double doors opened and Eegrin entered dressed formally in a uniform of emerald green. The young soldier approached stately, ceremoniously, and Steve already knew it wasn’t a social call.
Eegrin stopped before his friend and cast him a smile tinged with regret. “I am afraid it is time, my friend.”
“I guess there’s no getting around it,” Steve said sliding off the table and onto his feet. “So I guess I’m ready when you are.”
“Good luck, Steven,” Duncan said in farewell.
Steve smiled in thanks and, with Eegrin on one side and Kayliss on the other, he walked out.
The two were well clear of the library and traversing the corridor beyond when Eegrin finally said, “I know you think your position poor, but I do envy you all the same.”
“Why is that?” Steve asked politely.
“Our princess is a very beautiful woman. Truth be told, you could have done much worse.”
Steve groaned, remembering this pep talk from a time before. “That isn’t what bothers me.”
Eegrin turned his head and seemed to study him a moment as they walked. “It is still a matter of love with you, is it?” he asked.
“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”
“No, not at all. But you must look at it from the standpoint in which you are in.”
“Meaning there is nothing I can do about it, so it is best to just stop fretting and simply accept it?”
“I have heard you say something similar before,” Eegrin shrugged. “Besides, this is not the wedding itself, merely a prelude to it.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
Eegrin turned and stopped before a broad wooden door. He pulled it open and stood aside for his friend to pass. Steve did so, and Eegrin followed suit after Kayliss’s huge form strolled casually inside. The inner chamber was large and circular, apparently to allow for the winding, spiral staircase snaking upward along the walls, at the same time allowing a great deal of room up through the center for flight.
Steve glanced up at the seemingly endless spiral and whistled. “That’s some staircase for a race of avians.”
“Our fortress home was fashioned eons ago,” Eegrin replied, “long before our two races ever learned to distrust one another. Our ancestors had foreseen the possibility we might just have visitors who were not as gifted as the Jisetra.”
Kayliss padded silently into the lead with Steve and Eegrin following after. The great cat moved so swiftly Steve had to ask his friend, “How far up are we going?”
“Three levels,” was his answer.
Steve took a moment as they walked to send this to his overanxious familiar so he wouldn’t sprint to the top of the mountain. It was not long before they found the tiger again, lounging comfortably on a broad plain of stone jutting out from the third such door they had seen since beginning their assent. Kayliss stood as they approached, and was the first to enter when Eegrin turned the latch and pushed open the door.
The corridor beyond dazzled a brilliant white. The marble floor beneath their feet gleamed with an almost mirror-like quality and echoed their steps with every footfall. To the left and right stood four statues, two on each side, life size upon their dais and evenly spaced at twenty feet apart.
“His name was Utane,” Eegrin said, seeing his friend’s eyes linger on one statue in particular.
“Big man,” Steve said with humorous understatement. The statue was a huge barrel-chested brute dressed in full plate, and carrying a shield and longsword.”
“Indeed,” Eegrin agreed. “The only Jisetrian who could wear a suit of armor such as that and still have the strength to fly. They say his wing span was twice that of any other who has yet lived.”
“Was he very fast in the air with all of that?” Steve asked.
“No, but he was immensely powerful. As the story goes, he died saving the life of Shara, the woman he loved.”
As Steve passed the statue he had a feeling, as he glanced briefly at the remaining three, that these also had similar stories; a hall of heroes for Jisetrian greats.
The corridor did not stretch as deeply as most others within the fortress, and upon reaching the end Eegrin stepped up to the double doors and knocked a single time with the heavy iron ring there. The doors opened inward at the hands of two guards on the other side. Steve stared into a high-ceilinged chamber, like many others here, where three crystal chandeliers in triangular formation illuminated the whole of the room. As before, the floor and walls were painstakingly white with marble, except for a single aisle of sky blue carpet extending from the door they entered to a splashing fountain set in the center of the chamber. At the fountain’s base stood King Gorium and Princess Vessla, and behind them were a dozen others, six on each side of the fountain of whom Steve did not recognize.
He moved to approach and the guard stepped in his way. “There are no animals allowed in this sacred chamber,” he said quite resolutely.
Steve smiled crookedly and folded his arms across his chest. “Ya’know, if that’s the case I’m not the one you should be telling that to.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “He is.”
The guard’s eyes danced over the young man’s shoulder a moment and Kayliss bared his fangs with a hiss.
“I think for the familiar of my daughter’s fiancé,” King Gori
um said, “we can allow this one exception.”
The guard appeared only too relieved to hear this and eagerly stepped aside. Steve moved past him with Kayliss in tow, wishing only to get this over with as quickly as possible.
Chapter XXV
“What have you done, Kurella?” Argos paced the chamber like a caged animal in the yellow torchlight. In his human form, he was not as tall as most of his brethren, standing at just over five feet, but his build was stocky and strong. His brown hair hung just past his shoulders and framed his handsome, worried face.
“I could not help myself, Argos,” Kurella told him, “I had no choice.”
“You had every choice!”
“I had none!” she countered. “My time for choosing had come and when I found him I did exactly as my father would have expected. I took him.”
“I agree your father has been impatient with you, urging you to take a consort, but he did not tell you to take a…a human,” Argos said pointing to Scott’s still form, resting upon the thick bear skins of Kurella’s bed. She opened her mouth to speak but Argos raised his hand curtly, cutting her off. “I know what you have done to him, but there is still a difference between what we are and what he is now. We were born as we are, we were meant to run with the spirit of the wolf. Kurella, what you have done tonight has not been done since the time before even my great-grandsire—and I cannot help but ask myself if you have even thought this through.”
Kurella remained unyielding before him. “I know what I have done. We both wanted this. Scott has chosen to stay with me because he loves me, and to prove it he sacrificed his humanity.”
“His humanity is not what your father will want of him,” Argos stated flatly. “You may alter his body but his heart and mind will forever be human—as he was born thus. He will never truly understand what it is to be the wolf. Your father will kill this consort if he must because he will believe it best for you. And I cannot say I do not agree with him.”
“Only I know what is best for me, Argos!”
The elder werewolf could only look into those willful, brown eyes and roll his own in illustrated exasperation. He placed his hands on his hips with a sigh and said, “Some things about you will never change.”
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