Third Power

by Robert Childs

  Steve sneered across the short expanse between them as they fought, for he witnessed what likely few men had ever seen. Borathis looked afraid.

  Then as though the Fates themselves answered what surely had to be the warlord’s desperate wish, the flurry of attacks stopped. As quickly as it had seized control, the demon blade released Borathis, leaving the warrior free of its influence during this lull in the fight. Borathis hefted the sword in his hand experimentally, not appearing too confident the control over his own body would last.

  Having retreated a dozen paces away, Steve’s eyes blazed like white fire in their sockets as he levelly regarded his enemy.

  Borathis looked to his young adversary confused a moment, then smiled as some thought played across his mind. “You cannot penetrate my defense, can you, boy?” He then laughed. “I am invulnerable to you and all others like you!”

  Steve backed away, wary, his brow reflecting uncertainty. He stopped as his back touched the stout trunk of an oak.

  “There are none who can touch me!” the warrior raved, his arms opening wide as if to dare an attack. “I am master to all!”

  Around the young wizard leaves stirred and the twigs rustled. The breeze disturbing their rest gathered strength and turned in its path, arcing around horizontally, spinning into a wind that snatched up the forest debris and whirled around Steve. He became difficult to see as the whirlwind grew taller, stronger and more intense, snatching up topsoil and small tree branches until he was ultimately lost from sight behind a tornado of dust, leaves, dirt and debris.

  Borathis laughed incredulous. “Do you hope to evade me behind a shield of scrub? Borathis leveled his sword where Steve’s chest would lie directly ahead and his eyes narrowed. “It only goes to show,” he said aloud, “when the odds are made equal, I am the superior foe.” With his left hand joining his right on the hilt, Borathis advanced slowly at first, then gained speed, approaching faster, his voice rising from a growl to a war cry as he thrust his arms to full extension. He pierced the heart of the wizard’s spellcraft and it scattered in all directions. It was not, however, flesh the blade bit so deeply into, but oak.

  “You lose,” Steve said from the side.

  Borathis’s head snapped right, just in time to see Steve’s sword arm blur into motion. The demon blade shuddered as it tried to parry but the hard wood held it fast.

  There came a terrible shriek of metal on metal, followed by a wet spray and the dull clank of Borathis’s helmet hitting the ground.

  Chapter XXXII

  “Sonya, get down!”

  Without bothering to look, Sonya heeded Eegrin’s warning and flattened herself on the ground. A half second too late, the roc above screeched, its claws fastening on empty air as it swooped by, brushing lightly the young Power’s clothing before arcing back into the open sky. Exhaling in relief, Sonya scrambled behind the safety of a tree and nodded her thanks to Eegrin.

  “What now?” Kurella asked nearby. Like Sonya and the rest of their party, she stood in the cover of a thick stand of trees to escape the arrows from the roc riders above. By their targeting, it seemed Sonya was the only one they were unwilling to shoot.

  “I don’t know,” Sonya admitted. “A shield big enough to protect us all won’t maneuver through these trees and boulders. If we run, they can pick us off individually; but if we don’t more soldiers are going to show up.”

  “I don’t know where Kayliss went,” Scott said, his voice deep in his huge lupine form, “but I can lead those soldiers coming from the south in another direction. At the very least, it will slow them down. Kurella, stay here and protect Sonya.” Kurella nodded once and Scott bounded off into the night.

  A roc swooped down and settled to a landing in the clearing directly across from where the Jisetrian had taken shelter. The rider, one hand holding the reins of his anxious mount, trained a hand crossbow in Eegrin’s direction. Unable to hide fully behind the tree, Eegrin yelped as the bolt passed clean through the membrane of his right wing.

  “You should have stayed in the skies!”

  The roc unfurled its wings as it whirled in surprise. Kurella, already in motion, flew out of the darkness and slashed its throat. Strapped to the saddle, the rider had no choice but to go down with his mount as it fell to its side, pinning his leg beneath the weight of the monstrous bird.

  Kurella raised her hand to finish the man but stopped short as twin bolts thudded into her chest from two more roc-riders overhead. The wolf girl staggered under the impact and then snarled as a third dropped low enough to rake her shoulder with its claws. Turning with the blow, Kurella stepped in the direct path of three more bearing down on her with crossbows leveled, silver tips glinting in the moonlight.

  Scott ran, jumped and soared over obstacles in his path, making a beeline through the thicker scrub and trees, toward the advancing ground forces of Azinon’s foot patrols. The slap of leafy branches and snapping twigs against his body almost drowned out the sound at his back, but his sensitive canine ears caught enough of it to stop him in his tracks. Turning, he heard it again, and this time saw as well as heard the blue bolt of magical energy streaking through the sky.

  “It’s about time,” he said with a smile.

  Sonya ran into the clearing waving her arms and screaming at the top of her lungs, “Here I am! Come get me! Over here!”

  Spotting the greater prize, all three riders bearing down on the werewolf veered toward her instead, their heels signaling their winged mounts to grab, not kill. Not bothering to dive in either direction, Sonya instead raised her shield as a wall at the last second. Unable to pull up in time, the lead roc and rider both thudded sickeningly into the impenetrable barrier. The second roc, following closely behind the first, nearly adjusted in time, but only succeeded in rising just high enough to clip the wall with its chest, breaking several bones. The wounded animal went into a forward aerial roll that continued as a wild somersaulting crash forty feet behind the young woman.

  Kurella used the time purchased by Sonya’s ruse and grabbed both shafts protruding from her chest. With one hand she pulled them free and then raced across the clearing to the Third Power of Mithal. She did not pause, but looped one arm around Sonya’s waist and then carried her back to the safety of the trees. Sonya’s feet had only just touched the ground when a blue bolt of light streaked across the sky and separated rider from roc. Once, then twice more, the First Power of Mithal fired into the night sky as the portal he emerged from closed in his wake, scattering the remainder of the roc patrol that had pinned them all in place since the attack began.

  “Haldorum!” Sonya cried in relief.

  The elder wizard turned his head and immediately stalked in her direction with as deep a scowl on his face as there ever had been. With the coast clear, Sonya, Eegrin and Jiv walked out of the cover of the trees and met him halfway. Kurella remained hidden in the trees, and a nod from Sonya told the werewolf she understood the prudent action. Until such time as Haldorum could be brought up to speed on events he might well blast her before he knew she wasn’t an enemy. As far as he was concerned, she was still the killer of Steve’s best friend.

  When Sonya reached him she looked as if to hug him when Haldorum stopped her with a pointed finger.

  “Where is Steve? Do not think for a moment I am not angry with you too, but I know this had to be his idea. I swear, I will strangle that boy!”

  “Woah, back up,” Sonya said. “First: thanks, it’s nice to see you too. And second: yes, he did come up with the idea, but it was a good idea and we all agreed with it. We aren’t puppies following around on his heels, you know.”

  Haldorum did not seem to hear, instead taking to pacing back and forth in his anger. “He has gone too far this time! He risked not only his own life—“ he stopped long enough to indicate her with a hand—“but also the life of the only person on the face of the planet who can stop the plague.” Haldorum looked about to continue his rant when he suddenly stepped through everyone and
pointed the tip of his staff menacingly in the direction of the two figures emerging from the wood. One was small, female in appearance, but the other towering. There could be no doubt it was a werewolf. With Kurella beside him in her human form, Scott walked forward with his hands in the air, slowly shifting back to his human self as he approached.

  When he was recognizable again he said, “I seem to be getting that reaction a lot lately.”

  Haldorum looked at the ‘dead’ man in front of him unblinking. “Scott, you are…”

  “Alive?” the young man finished for him. “Yes, very much so.” He then put his arm around Kurella. “She didn’t kill me, Haldorum; only changed me. Oh, by the way, I hope this isn’t too much information at once, but I’m also king of the werewolves now and I’ve brought a thousand of them with me to fight with the Resistance.”

  Haldorum blinked several times. “I am… I… You did what?”

  Everyone whirled at the sudden sizzle in the air to see Steve, his hand still extended, finishing off the pinned roc rider with a bolt from his hand. The redcrest’s body slumped over dead and the crossbow, aimed only a moment before at a point between Haldorum’s shoulder blades, dropped harmlessly to the ground.

  “Good news,” Steve said turning back to the rest of them, though his tone was tired and his body showed it. The last several hours had taken its toll, leaving him looking badly beaten, aching and in much need of sleep.

  He exhaled exhaustedly. “I think I know how to end the war.”

  An hour later, at the camp of the Resistance, the sun had just cleared the mountains to the east, painting the whole of the sky above the Jisetrian fortress, and the humans camped at its base, in deep shades of red and yellow. While most of the camp had yet to wake to the new day, the highest-ranking officers had already been hastily roused and summoned to the war pavilion twenty minutes earlier at Haldorum’s request.

  General Duva sat at the end of a large table strewn with maps and charts. His tunic and trousers had been hastily donned and belted about his waist and his hair still looked tousled from no time to properly attend to his appearance before appearing before his subordinate officers. In the southwest corner of the room, Haldorum stepped out of a blue portal, followed by King Gorium, who was still dressed in his nightshirt and sandals.

  “Would someone mind telling me what in the nine hells is going on?” Gorium bellowed.

  “I believe, Your Majesty,” General Duva said getting to his feet, “that war has come to your front door. The details I have been given are still sketchy, to say the least, but Haldorum was just about to begin filling in the details, were you not?” He finished this last with an expectant look at the old wizard.

  Just then the tent flap was pulled aside and both Steve and Kayliss joined the gathering of officers. Not wasting any time, Steve went directly to the table and unceremoniously swept everything aside before rolling out a map showing the terrain around the imperial city.

  “Everybody listen carefully. You,” he said pointing to one of the sleepy-eyed pages standing near the entrance of the tent, “wake the camp and do it with the war horns. I want every person standing ready to fight in half an hour. Soldiers, cavalry, archers, everyone.”

  “Now just a damn minute!” General Duva interjected, pointing at him across the table. “You are not only not the one in command here but I should have you locked in chains and brought up on charges for last night’s insubordination.”

  Steve dropped his head slightly and closed his eyes, feeling his blood start to boil. “Is that a fact?” he said at last. The last twenty-four hours and his lack of sleep had left him with barely a shred of patience. Until just a short time ago, everyone believed him to be the Third Power, and had been clamoring incessantly about what he was going to do to save them all. Well, damn it, now he had done something—and to hell with anyone who didn’t want to listen now just because he wasn’t the Third. He had risked his life for the information he carried now, war was quite literally on the horizon, and he was not about to be stopped by a single blowhard military man.

  “General, if I may,” Haldorum said, undercutting the mounting tension between the two as all eyes shifted toward him. “While I certainly do not condone what Steven has done, I do strongly advise you listen to what he has to say. The past twenty-four hours have revealed much and, while a great deal remains unknown, one thing is certain: by this time tomorrow either the Resistance or Azinon will stand victorious, and Steven is our best chance to tilt that outcome in our favor.”

  Although he had finished speaking, Haldorum’s words rang in the ears of all in a space that had fallen deathly quiet.

  Looking around the tent, Steve saw in the eyes of every officer present something he had never seen before. Surprisingly, it was not fear, but rather cold, determined finality, a desire to see an end—one way or the other—to nearly two decades of war. And there, underlying it all, a hint of relief. Every person within the sound of his voice understood history was about to be written. It was the time the fate of all Mithal would be decided; whether they would all live or die for what they fought for all these years.

  General Duva took a long, slow, deep breath, breaking the silence, and exhaled in a rush. “Fine. All right then, Steven, tell us what you have learned, and then tell us about this plan of yours.”

  The sergeant ducked his head close to the feathered neck of the roc as it dived out of the skies and then leveled off again above the treetops. The heavy canvas bag attached to his belt swayed against his side, and with a quick pull at the ties it came free and he snatched it in a fist. He dropped his package into the waiting arms of a lieutenant below, where the officers of one division of Azinon’s ground forces awaited orders to meet up with the main contingent.

  The lieutenant steadied his horse and then loosened the ties around the neck of the bag. He glanced briefly inside and raised his brow, his information confirmed, before cinching the bag shut once more and taking it to his commanding officer.

  Saros saw the lieutenant from the back of his own warhorse, a large brown, well-trained, and heavily muscled mount that would charge a line of pikes if he so ordered it. The lieutenant reined in before Saros with a smile on his face.

  “It seems congratulations are in order, Lord Saros,” he said.

  Saros noted the additional title his subordinate used before the contents of the bag were dumped unceremoniously upon the ground. Borathis’s helmet thudded dully on the hard-packed earth, the sound it made a sure sign the contents were still inside.

  “It seems you are the new lord of the third province.”

  Saros nodded once slowly. “A pity,” he remarked.

  “Sir?”

  “A pity I did not get to do that myself.”

  Looking closer, he indicated the helmet with a gesture of his finger. “What do you make of the scorched metal around the base of the helm?”

  “Yes, I had noticed, sir. Whatever did this not only scorched the metal but sealed the wound even as it removed his head.”

  “I see,” Saros replied thoughtfully. “And what of the ex-Lord Borathis’s weapon?”

  “Of that there is no news, sir. Scouts report only his head and body were found.”

  At that Saros nodded again. “Just as well. It would not be worthwhile if it were all simply handed to me. Bag the head and bring it along,” he said kicking his mount into motion. “The skull will make up part of a nice sword stand when we have finished here.”

  ENDGAME

  “His army is bigger than we thought,” Vessla commented nervously.

  King Gorium nodded at his daughter’s understatement, his eyes grim. Here, atop the highest battlements on the fortress, she and her father watched as the whole of Azinon’s ground forces approached their mountain home. More than two hundred thousand strong, the black-clad soldiers marched onward through the center of the broad valley, slowly blotting out the lush vegetation like a creeping, black sickness across the landscape. And their cancerous advance
was not limited to the ground alone. Though he could not yet be sure of the numbers, a dark cloud in the distance approached. King Gorium guessed the rocs making up that aerial advance at a little over twenty thousand. At that estimate, he allowed himself a solemn smile. The Jisetrians were masters of aerial combat and, even outnumbered in the air three to one, he was sure the battle amongst the clouds could be won.

  But it is not the skies that concern me, he thought, bringing his eyes back to the massive army drawing ever nearer his home. This battle would not ultimately be decided in the air.

  “You should get below, my dear,” he said.

  Princess Vessla nodded, though she did not yet move, her eyes seemingly transfixed on the intruders in the valley. “You always said this day would come, Father,” she said, “but until now that day had always seemed so far away.”

  King Gorium placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We will not lose our home, Vessla. I promise you that.”

  Looking at the sheer size of the advancing army, Vessla nodded and offered a faint smile at her father’s promise but her eyes betrayed her doubt. “May God grant us victory,” she said.

  King Gorium gently turned his daughter to face him and then took her hands and kissed them both. “God need only grant us time, Daughter, for if all goes well the ultimate victory will be decided elsewhere.”

  The imperial city of Rajasthan lie before them like a glittering jewel, the ultimate prize in a bloody contest spanning nearly two decades—though this last event promised to be the bloodiest of them all. The first emperor of Mithal had chosen the location of the capitol well. Nestled in the curve of the Dragon’s Spine, a crescent-shaped range of jagged peaks and dangerous spires, it offered protection to the city on three of its four sides, the fourth lying open across a vast plain that left an advancing army nowhere to hide.