Third Power

by Robert Childs

  He could, however, think of at least one place where the guard force had likely been left wholly intact: the grand hall where Haldorum had portalled out their rescue force with the true Emperor. It was the one place within the castle walls Haldorum had seen with his own eyes, and was large enough to gate in a small army. Anywhere else—the corridors, the antechambers—and they would be too easily boxed in and eliminated. So surely the grand hall was still well manned.

  Wasn’t it?

  “No guards here either,” Kamarine said coming to a stop outside the massive arched doors leading into the throne room.

  “Well,” Steve offered, “if we’re right, that’s not surprising. The Resistance took the city by surprise. If the soldiers left behind believed they were only in there to protect Azinon then there was no reason to stay when the fighting started outside.”

  “Hopefully,” Sonya reminded him.

  Steve canted his head in deference to her point and crossed his fingers. “Hopefully.” He then took a deep, steadying breath. “Ready?”

  Lojur and Rabal drew swords, Kamarine, a throwing knife in each hand.

  Steve dropped his head slightly in concentration and the crystal flared under the summons of magic. The large double doors to the throne room opened under the weight of the young wizard’s mental push. As one, the group rushed in, Kayliss leading the way, prepared to deal with any straggling guardsmen who may have chosen to remain behind.

  The interior of the throne room was no less resplendent than had been the bedchambers. On the far side, crossed halberds hung on the wall above the throne, the motif repeating itself with maces, swords, battleaxes, and more, every ten feet across the four walls of the chamber. In every corner stood a mounted, and heavily decorated, suit of armor etched with such beautiful design and painstaking care that none would dare ever mar the surface by wearing them into battle. The floor consisted of huge slabs of square-cut marble polished to a sheen you could see your reflection in; the ceiling an arched dome of brilliantly crafted stained glass.

  The surprise waiting for them inside, however, halted the group only a score of paces in. Though not guardsmen, at the opposite end of the room, Azinon lounged casually atop the dais there, upon a throne of gold and cushioned with silk pillows, the entrance to the cathedral barred and chained in the wall behind him. The slow smile spreading across his face was so reptilian none would have been surprised to see a forked tongue slither out between his lips.

  In their moment of alarm, Lojur, Rabal and Kamarine had formed a semi-circle of protection in front of Steve and Sonya, a snarling white tiger the only other being between themselves and the sorcerer.

  The fingers of Azinon’s right hand stroked the arm of the chair. “And here I thought the only guests today were those being slaughtered by the Jalkora outside the city’s walls.”

  No one could think to speak in the wake of such a terrifying statement. Their plans fully counted on the sorcerer committing the beasts to the fight in the Jisetrian valley, where the werewolves waited in hiding to flank. They could not know of the true scene taking place outside of Rajasthan’s walls.

  “Foul slime, you lie!” the assassin shouted, his hands gripping the hilts of his blades like a vice. “Your army fights the Jisetra.”

  “Do they?” the dark one replied, his narrowing eyes giving his smile an even more sinister appeal. “Perhaps you are right. And perhaps I am there even now leading the attack.” Azinon folded his arms slowly across his chest. “Then again, maybe you are wrong; and the entrails of your dismembered friends are even now being plucked out by the crows.”

  With a cry of rage, Kamarine hurled his right-hand knife. The blade whistled through the space between but stopped halfway to its target in mid-air as though frozen, its razor tip pointing like the needle of a compass at its intended victim. In the blink of an eye, the blade reversed itself and raced back for the assassin, but Sonya was quicker still, and the blade bounced harmlessly off her shield to clatter noisily to the floor.

  Steve had seen enough. Pushing his way between Lojur and Rabal, he faced the sorcerer with Kayliss by his side and the rest of his friends at his back. Without looking away he said, “I want all of you out of here. Now.”

  “With all due respect, Commander,” Lojur replied, “I do not think he is going to let us walk out as easily as we walked in.”

  “He will, because he’s going to have his hands full,” Steve replied, staring the sorcerer down, who only met that gaze eagerly. “I’m not coming with you.”

  Seemingly forgetting for the moment he was speaking to a superior officer, the assassin blurted, “Have you lost your mind, lad? We are sure as hell not leaving you here to take him alone!”

  “And tell me, Kamarine, what exactly do you think you can contribute to this fight?” Steve replied impatient, his eyes riveted on the sorcerer.

  Unable to answer the question, the assassin remained quiet, but like Lojur, Rabal and Sonya, he stubbornly refused to move.

  Turning his head slightly, Steve dropped his voice to a harsh whisper. “Am I the only one with any sense? Get her out of here!”

  Kamarine backed up a step, paused, then backed away again until he stood by Sonya’s side. “Come along, Sonya,” he said, and Steve could practically hear the assassin’s gut wrenching at the thought of leaving the young wizard behind. “We have other places to be.” He placed his hand on the Third Power’s arm but she resisted.

  “I can’t just—“

  “Sonya, go!” Steve shouted desperate for her to leave.

  Though she still resisted, the assassin moved her toward the door. Steve could hear that Lojur and Rabal had not moved, and he gestured with one hand for them to depart as well. At that the two brothers backed away as well to cover the retreat.

  You too, Steve thought to the great cat. Go. And keep her safe. Kayliss obeyed, but with a decided huff of disapproval, and stalked after the others.

  When they reached the corridor, Steve gestured with a hand and the massive arched doors boomed shut, barring and latching from the inside.

  “Steve! Oh God, no!” Sonya cried out, giving voice to the regret and fear filling her heart. Suddenly she was fighting like a wildcat, and it took all three Resistance soldiers to drag her away.

  “So how did you do it?” Steve asked. “Get here, I mean. There are still eleven hours until midnight.”

  Azinon stood casually and shrugged nonchalantly. As he descended the three stone steps of the dais to the marble floor he simply said, “When you have killed as many people as I, you learn a great many things through their sacrifice.”

  “Ah,” Steve replied derisive. “And here I thought you did it just for fun.”

  “Oh, no,” the sorcerer corrected, wagging an upraised finger. “For the knowledge. Always for the knowledge. Under the right conditions, the taking of even a single life contains enough information to fill a dozen tomes.”

  “Then you must have quite a library,” Steve replied darkly.

  Azinon canted his head, taking the remark as a compliment. “I do. I have learned so many things.” He folded his hands neatly behind his back then and paced slowly to his right. “Though, admittedly, a great many things still elude me. Take the human condition, for example. Perhaps you can explain to me why you and the rest of that pathetic Resistance continue to fight?”

  “Gosh, that’s a tough one,” Steve said sarcastically. “Gee, let me think about that for a minute.” He pinched his chin between his thumb and forefinger, feigning deep thought. “Well, if I had to guess—and it’s just a guess, mind you—I’d say it’s, oh, I don’t know…because you’re evil?”

  Azinon stopped his pacing and looked to the young man with surprise on his face. More so to himself he said, “You do not know.”

  “I don’t know what?”

  The Dark One threw back his head and laughed, clapping his hands together once. “Haldorum never told you?”

  “Told me what?” Steve asked, starting to feel
anger overtake his fear of the sorcerer.

  It took the sorcerer another few moments to regain his composure. Finally he said, “The prophecy already names me the victor in our little contest.”

  By the time they passed through the palace gates and into the central courtyard, Sonya had given up fighting them, her reason—however much she presently despised it—winning out over her gut instinct to remain by Steve’s side. Past the empty stables they fled and then to the inner castle wall—the gates for which standing wide in the redcrests’ haste to assemble an army.

  Sonya felt ill. She told herself there was logically no other choice. If the Jalkora had taken the Resistance by surprise, there were likely none left alive she could help, but the rest of the people of this world were still going to need her. The plague remained a very real threat to the rest of the world, and there were millions of people counting on her to survive. And Azinon—she choked back a sob even as she thought it—was likely still going to be a threat. Whether it made sense to leave or not, she wanted to go back with every fiber of her being.

  They cleared the gates of the castle walls and Kamarine seized the reigns of an abandoned horse hitched to a wagon. “Everyone in,” he said, climbing up and settling himself on the wooden plank that served as the driver’s seat.

  Sonya seemed only half-conscious of the act of climbing into the back of the wagon, and even less so when the wagon lurched forward under the slap of the leather reins on horseflesh.

  With Kayliss clearing the way ahead of the wagon, Sonya, Lojur, and Rabal watched with grim faces as the castle grew more and more distant.

  “Even if you weren’t a lying, evil bastard,” Steve said, “I would still find that hard to believe. Every other line in that prophecy was written in a prose that could be construed a hundred different ways. I suppose next you’ll be telling me they were kind enough to pen the words: ‘Azinon wins. The end.’ Sorry, but it’s not cryptic enough; goes against the prophecy writers’ handbook.”

  Still seemingly delighted by his earlier revelation, the sorcerer remained smiling. “No, it does not mention me by name—at least, not in the manner you suggest. But judge for yourself.” The sorcerer then closed his eyes and touched his forefingers to his temples as he quoted from memory, “As enemies they shall meet, the light and the dark, and victory will fall upon the one for whom death holds no sway. So it is written the hand of the Undying will lead the world into the next age.”

  Azinon opened his eyes and slowly lowered his hands. “I am that man, young Steven Walker. Every day that passes robs every living creature of its life force. Death comes when the last of it is gone, marking the end of days.” Azinon’s eyes then took on a maniacal gleam. “But in the last ten years, unlike the rest of your kind, I have aged not a day. I use the life force of every living man, woman and child to replenish my own. Death shall never claim me because my life force shall never be depleted. So you see, I am the Undying.”

  Steve blinked, uncertain how much—if any—of what he heard was true. He could not deny it certainly sounded like a passage from the prophecy. Still…

  “And how do I know you didn’t just make it up?”

  “Why should I bother?” Azinon countered, spreading his hands, palms up. “I fully intend that you will not leave this room alive. I will strike you down and gather up your friends even before they reach the city’s outer wall. It is only you and I here. What possible reason could I have to lie?”

  The young wizard could not answer the question.

  “Let me ask you,” he continued, “and let your own reason be your guide. Has Haldorum ever allowed you to read the translations for yourself? Or is all your knowledge of the prophecy only from what you have been told?”

  Steve’s hands tightened into fists as he searched for the hole in the sorcerer’s logic. If it existed, however, he could not find it. In fact, the argument was disturbingly sound.

  I don’t understand, he thought, why would Haldorum keep it from me—and what else hasn’t he told me?

  Seeing the play of thoughts on the boy’s face as easily as if he had read his mind, Azinon laughed aloud again.

  It doesn’t matter. I may not have all the answers, Steve thought resolutely, but there has to be more here than any of us know. There has to be! I am not about to let some deranged prophet, a thousand years dead, tell the world their only future lies with a psychopathic, life force vampire!

  “No!” Steve’s shout cut the sorcerer’s laughter off abruptly. “I defy you! I defy the prophecy!” The young wizard took one menacing step toward the sorcerer. “And why? Because I’m the variable, Azinon. The prophecy you put so much faith in mentions you, it mentions the Third Power, but it says nothing about me. I am the unaccounted Fourth Power of Mithal. And I say your destiny is about to be rewritten.” He sheathed his sword and then opened his hands at his sides, palms down, as though gripping invisible spheres. There, white electrical energy danced along his fingertips, arcing from one to another.

  Azinon’s brow slowly knit like gathering storm clouds above his eyes, and his upper lip pulled back from his teeth. “Such arrogance! I am the Second Power of Mithal! I am the emperor of all humankind—and soon to be emperor over all the world!

  Azinon turned at the waist and reached out with a grabbing motion of his hand before then throwing that same hand out toward Steve. One of the crossed halberds above the throne flew off the wall with that gesture and headed straight for the young Power. Steve raised his hand—the crystal singing shrill in his ears—and the weapon slowed, then halted in mid-air just three paces from him.

  The young wizard felt the surge of power that pushed the halberd forward, the weapon again creeping toward him in the air an inch at a time. The last five feet counted down to four…then three…then two… Sweat broke out across Steve’s brow with the effort of fighting the sorcerer’s will. With the razor sharp tip only a hand span from his chest, he renewed his push, growling through gritted teeth, and the halberd trembled in space, caught in a titanic struggle of opposing forces.

  Azinon sneered his contempt. “You think your will a match for mine?” he asked, though the strain was evident in his voice.

  Steve side-stepped and simultaneously released his hold, allowing the halberd to soar past him then, in one motion, drew and hurled his rapier with the might of his will at the sorcerer. Azinon’s eyes widened in surprise and he released the halberd, instead raising his hand defensively, stopping the sword in the air a scant ten inches from his face.

  “I’m not sure,” Steve finally answered, arm still extended, his will fully upon the blade. “But let’s find out.”

  The silver weapon rotated lengthwise like a slowly turning spit, then faster, and the dark sorcerer’s mouth creased into a thin line before the spinning steel. After a moment, Steve pushed again with everything he had and the sword moved an inch closer.

  “What’s the matter, Azinon?” he almost grunted, a bead of sweat running down his temple. “Finding it hard to concentrate?”

  The sorcerer’s eyes narrowed dangerously as his anger visibly seethed. He slowly turned his hand holding the sword at bay and the blade followed suit in time to the motion.

  Again Steve changed, releasing the blade of the sword and pushing instead with the sorcerer’s will. The sudden release must have surprised the Dark One for Steve felt no resistance as he spun the weapon around. Azinon cried out as the twisted metal of the rapier’s hilt rotated around and gashed his cheek. Spinning wildly out of control, the sword flew away and came to rest at the far side of the room.

  Azinon straightened and wiped at the blood running from the cut in his cheek with the back of his hand. Surprisingly, he smiled. “You fight my strength with guile,” he said. “Very clever.”

  “Thanks,” Steve replied. “Now, if you’re ready to give up, I know someone who can heal that cut for you.”

  Azinon chuckled, and then gestured with his opposite hand, as one shooing a fly, sending Steve flying backward
across the room. He did not have time to react before he struck the arched doors behind him and collapsed painfully to the floor.

  “But,” Azinon continued, “you talk when you should act.”

  Steve pushed himself up by his arms and then climbed to his feet, thankful whatever power coursed through him had absorbed the brunt of the impact. “Noted,” he coughed.

  “How can this be?” Kamarine breathed.

  Even had they not heard the assassin’s outburst, the sound of the advancing crowd roused the three in the back of the wagon out of their sullen reverie. Situating herself so she could see past Kamarine’s frame, Sonya’s eyes widened in disbelief. The approaching army was so vast it could not be counted. It extended out to the gates of the city wall and well beyond, filling the streets so thick with bodies it would have been impossible to move in the other direction. Amazingly, gloriously, it was not the redcrest army as Azinon had boasted, but the Resistance itself. With the taking of the city, the citizenry had poured into the streets, overwhelming the remaining soldiers loyal to the sorcerer and paving the way for the conquering Resistance army.

  Sonya stood and steadied herself with her hands on the back of the bench seat as Kamarine brought the wagon to a jerking halt. At the head of the army, Haldorum approached on horseback, keeping his mount just ahead of the advancing tide of soldiers and citizens. Spying the frantically waving assassin at the helm of a stolen wagon, however, he then kicked his horse into a full gallop.

  Suddenly, terror froze Sonya’s heart. Azinon had lied—had lied to them all! She turned and stared back horrified in the direction of the castle.

  “Oh, my God,” she breathed. “We left him for nothing!”

  Her golden aura engulfed her like fire and Sonya soared into the air with startling speed, her path set straight for the palace.