Hidden Power Page 5

  Iragos looked down at Kayne, arching one perfectly manicured silver eyebrow as he threaded his long fingers through his flowing beard. “Am I… interrupting something?” he asked Kronos, giving Kayne’s master a knowing look.

  Iragos seemed to float across the floor, the hem of his garnet robe fluttering around his feet much as his silvery hair flowed freely about his handsome, angular face.

  The two ancient mages met in the middle of the small room, their combined presence nearly moving the walls of the room itself back a few feet as a ripple of powerful, mystical energy surged through the confined space. Kayne used the diversion to right himself, catching his breath while unbuttoning the collar of his cloak and feeling his pulse return to normal. Or, perhaps, just slightly above.

  Either way, he knew he was lucky to be alive.

  “Just a little training on how to resist your master’s spells, eh squire?” Kronos said breezily before looking over his shoulder at Kayne. Pointedly, pinning his young squire with dark eyes, he asked, “Right, boy?”

  Kayne, his throat still tight, voice hoarse, croaked, “Yes, master.” Then, as if sending Iragos a secret message, he wheezed, “Of course Master.”

  Kronos ignored him and turned back to his fellow mage, voice dripping with condescension. “I fear my squire was not quite up to the task, Iragos.”

  Iragos gave Kayne a sympathetic look. “Then perhaps the master should go easy on the spells for awhile, eh Kronos? We wouldn’t want to wear out our squires before they’re done with their training, now would we?”

  An awkward silence followed. Two things Kronos hated more than almost anything else in life were being critiqued on his magic and Iragos himself. So to have Iragos critique his magic must have had his master’s blood boiling, which might have accounted for the weak smile rising to Kayne’s lips.

  “Oh, he’ll have plenty of time to recuperate,” Kronos said, stealing toward the door. “I’ve just given him the week off to consider his… career path.”

  With that, Kronos left the small room and, rather than head back to his chambers, strode straight toward the Crystal Car. Kayne shook his head and muttered weakly to himself, deeply regretting his inability to resist his master’s powerful spell.

  Iragos knelt down, putting soothing hands on either of Kayne’s sore shoulders. “What’s that, boy?” he asked gently as Kayne felt a cooling sensation speed along his flushed skin.

  The vice grips around his temples lessened, his breathing eased and soon Kayne found himself sitting up, cross-legged, back against the cool crystal wall as his breathing finally returned to normal.

  Iragos stood and regarded the humble squire curiously, staring down at him with unblinking eyes. “Now that you’re feeling better, Kayne, perhaps you can tell me what just happened?”

  Kayne flinched, awaiting another Confession Spell from the powerful mage towering above him.

  “What just really happened,” Iragos continued, tapping one of his feet impatiently.

  Kayne struggled with his confession, but had little time to search his soul. Either Iragos sensed that time was wasting or he was simply impatient.

  “Come, come, boy,” Iragos said, waving a large hand. “You know mages are prevented by the Council of Bright Orders from casting spells on squires. If your master has broken any of the Mystical Laws, you’re duty bound to—”

  “Tell that to Kronos,” Kayne muttered, but Iragos was close enough, or wise enough, to hear.

  “He cast you?” asked the silver haired mage, inching closer to Kayne to hear his answer. “Just now? He could be thrown off the Council for that.”

  “I think he’s got bigger fish to fry,” chuckled Kayne humorlessly, testing his sore shoulder by stretching first one arm, and then the next, feeling the cool material of his sleeves caress his skin.

  “What does that mean, boy?”

  Kayne shivered to hear the mage’s shift in tone. He wasn’t mad, just… intensely curious. “Where did he go just now?” Iragos asked. “When he left, boy, where did Kronos go?”

  Kayne thought of Aurora and her small, ungainly Nayer. He thought of the horror that awaited them both once Kronos caught up to them and discovered the Ythra orb hidden in the Below-dweller’s battered leather knapsack.

  Iragos stood, seeming to hover before him, eyes kind but persistent. “Well?” he asked. “I asked you a direct question, Kayne. I demand an answer before I—”

  “I must…” Kayne sputtered, interrupting the towering light mage. “I must not betray my master.”

  Iragos shook his head. “It stays between us,” he says, pacing impatiently now, arms folded across his chest. “The Council, and your Master, will never know.”

  Kayne wasn’t sure he could trust Iragos, but neither could he let Kronos loose on the unsuspecting Aurora without at least warning the other mages on the Council.

  “He had me steal the Orb!” Kayne blurted, burying his face in his arm as he covered himself in shame. “He cast a spell on the guards and ordered me to steal the Orb of Ythra.”

  Iragos stood, mouth agape, eyes half-slits. For the moment, standing still, arms sliding to his sides, the light mage was speechless as his silvery hair fluttered around his distinguished face.

  “But I couldn’t give it to him!” Kayne blurted, shaking his head, staring up at Iragos. “I… I was on my way to when you bumped into me.”

  “So what did you do with it, Kayne?”

  “I hid it in Aurora’s knapsack.”

  “Aurora?” Iragos said aloud, as if to himself. He began pacing again, as if jump-starting his circulation might also revive his memory. Then, in mid-stride, his eyes grew wide. “The girl from Synurgus? The Citizen from Below? How… why did you do that, Kayne?”

  Kayne shook his head, confessing, “I thought… I thought if she could get away, I could fool Kronos somehow and, when his guard was down, slip down to Synurgus and find her and hide the orb in a better spot.”

  “Hide it?” roared Iragos, advancing on Kayne in the tiny space. “It is not a plaything to be hidden, boy! That orb represents the security of our world, of this entire planet…”

  “I know,” Kayne sputtered. “Don’t you think I know that? I didn’t… I didn’t know what to do!”

  Iragos turned, suddenly, robe flowing around him as he fled toward the door. “Where will you go?” Kayne dared to ask.

  Iragos turned just once before fleeing the room. “I must pursue Kronos and find the orb before he does.” He turned, advancing on Kayne once more.

  Kayne shriveled against the wall until Iragos paused, midway across the room, and held up a comforting hand. “Don’t tell anyone what you’ve done,” warned the tense mage, shaking his head warily. “Or where I’ve gone. Can I trust you to do that, Kayne?”

  Kayne scrambled to his feet. “Yes, yes,” he promised, quickly, dusting off his cloak. “But what of the elections? The Council? What will they do without you?”

  Iragos considered the question briefly before turning back toward the door. “If I don’t find the Orb before Kronos,” he said over his shoulder. “There will be no elections, for there will be no Council. There may not even be a me…”

  10

  Aurora was amazed that, as the mage had warned her, time had actually stood still while she was in the City of Ythura. The day was still only half done, the early afternoon light occasionally piercing the dense forest as she struggled to find her way to the cabin of her father’s friend, Lutheran, while the day was still young. Mage or no mage, squires or no handsome squires, she didn’t want to be in these woods any longer than she had to.

  Beneath her, Boer strode clumsily through the uneven forest. She patted him gently, guiding him onward, whispering encouragingly in his ear. The steed was frazzled, and she knew just how he felt. Aurora’s heart still pounded from her visit to Ythulia. Behind them, the little Nayer stumbled along on its four hooves.

  She could still feel the crystal floors beneath her feet, hear the echoes of her
leather shoes in her ears, and blushed to think of Kayne in his striking white robe with golden threads and sagging hood. He looked so regal, so young, so… handsome.

  She rarely had time to think of boys, and few at her place of learning warranted much thought in the first place. She was deeply smitten by Conner Griffith, who was a year above her in Learning and barely knew her name.

  Not much to think about there.

  Then there was Zacharia, the farm boy she’d dated last harvest, but they’d barely kissed and he’d always smelled like root vegetables. Plus, he’d thrown her over for Grimelda Hopper, so there hadn’t been much to think about there!

  Of course, there wasn’t much to think about here, either. Kayne was a squire; a mage in training. He wore soft sandals and a flowing white cloak embroidered with gold thread and lived in a crystal tower, far away from where most could see.

  He would spend his life protecting the planet of Synurgus from the dark forces that prowled the universe, eager for her planet’s rich store of resources, its gems and riches and soil and water and air and land.

  His future had been decided the day he entered the Crystal Car and ridden it all the way up to the top, and hers was no less definite. Aurora would go to the Learning Place until her eighteenth year, then either find a mate whose farm she would help run, or help run her father’s farm until he and mother were too old to run it themselves; then it would become hers.

  Either way, this was probably the first and last time she’d ever see Kayne. Might as well—

  A sound in the brush made Boer stop in all six of his tracks as Aurora herself craned her neck to find its source, the leather saddle beneath her creaking with every movement. They were still in the Wandering Woods, the light dimmer now, the sky overcast and crowded with a thousand trees, each more sinister and gnarled than the next.

  The Nayer ground its front hooves into the rich, black dirt and flared its nostrils. Aurora slid from Boer, reaching for the knife that hung in a homemade sheath from around her waist. Her new leather jacket creaked with the movement as she stood between the animals, peering into the near darkness of the brush, looking for danger.

  The brush exploded in a flurry of color as three Wingers took to the sky, gnarled beaks yellow and hooked, blue and green and violet wings flapping as they soared just above Boer’s ears.

  The steed whinnied and the Nayer bolted, rushing to the left. Its rope dragged along the ground and she reached for it, desperately, but only caught up at the last moment. With the frayed end of the rope just out of reach, the Nayer dashed and disappeared, scattering leaves and brush as it made its wild escape.

  Boer snorted, perhaps out of relief. Aurora turned back, shoulders slumped in defeat. She was suddenly tired, not up to the challenge of hunting down the stray Nayer.

  “Guess it’s just you and me, Boer,” she said, patting the long, brown neck of her loyal steed and walking him toward the edge of the Wandering Wood. The day was waning, and she still had to find her father’s friend’s cabin before dark.

  11

  Hilliard Turnleaf looked up from his morning tilling at the sound of a steed’s advance. “Aurora!” he cried, dropping his tool to the ground and racing toward the road just outside the farm.

  His daughter looked pale and hungry, hair limp and face drawn from her travels. “Where have you been, child?” he asked, grabbing Boer’s reigns and helping her down off her trusty steed. “Your mother and I have been worried sick.”

  Aurora leaned against his hip as he led her inside. “I was out searching for your friend, Lutheran,” she explained as he poured her into a wooden seat at the breakfast table. “I… I’m sorry, father. I got lost and never did locate his cabin.”

  Hilliard shook his head, chuckling. “I hope you weren’t out all night looking for his cabin, Aurora,” he said. “He’s just a friend who could help me refurbish the barn. I’ll find him on my own.”

  As his wife, Majorca, fussed over the girl with a cup of tea and a plate of fresh biscuits smothered in salt flower butter, Aurora smiled weakly up at him.

  “The seamstress in town told me where to find his cabin, father,” she explained, slipping her knapsack over the edge of her chair. “It’s at the edge of Wandering Woods.”

  Majorca gasped, wagging a finger at her careless daughter. “Wandering Woods? Is that where you’ve been all this time? And where did you get that fancy new jacket? I thought you were going to get clothes for learning?”

  Aurora looked at her sheepishly. “It is for learning,” she insisted, before turning back to Hilliard. “And I wasn’t in the Wandering Woods the whole time. I went… I went to Mage City.”

  Hilliard nearly choked on his own sip of fresh herbal tea.

  “Ythulia?” he asked, shaking his head and looking at Majorca’s worried face, trying not to express his own sudden dismay. “Aurora, you’re hallucinating. Ythulia is a myth, just like the great Crystal City after which it’s named.”

  “But it’s not,” Aurora insisted, standing abruptly and pacing in front of the wood burning stove while waving her hands wildly as she wove a most extraordinary tale. “It’s real, and I saw it. I went up into it, in a Crystal Car that went all the way to the top. And there were mages there, with great flowing hair and stiff beards and flowing robes and wise eyes. And… and…”

  Hilliard pressed her shoulder gently, easing her back down into her chair. “Aurora, only mages, squires and those with the Sight can see Ythulia. You must be joking with your old man. And it’s too late in the morning to try that, young lady,” he warned, only half-jokingly.

  “But I’m not,” she pleaded, looking up at him earnestly. “I was there, honest. I looked down and saw the ground, and looked around and saw through walls. I… I… even met a boy, Kayne, who was being trained as a squire…”

  His daughter’s voice fading, Hilliard helped Aurora up out of her chair and guided her gently into her bedroom, where she slumped promptly onto her bed.

  “My pack,” she insisted, calling for her bag resting on the back of her chair. He grabbed it for her, noting its sudden heaviness.

  Was it packed with new clothes? he wondered to himself, tempted to sort through it after she slept but knowing what trouble it might cause if she found out.

  “What did you pick up in Mage City?” he joked instead, lying it next to her as she cradled it protectively. “A bag of crystals? A pile of priceless gems?”

  She mumbled something beneath her breath but, before he’d closed her bedroom door, was already breathing heavily with the weight of sleep pressed upon her. Hilliard joined his wife at the breakfast nook, grateful his daughter was home but alarmed by her tall tales.

  “She’s never been one to tell stories like that,” he said to his wife, gripping a cup of lukewarm tea with both hands.

  “Maybe it’s just the exhaustion talking,” Majorca reasoned, cleaning up the table except for the mug she noticed he wasn’t drinking out of. “Lack of sleep will do that to people.”

  He shrugged, kissed her, and stood. Taking off his apron, he hung it by the door. “You?” she joked, squeezing his cheeks. “Taking off from work early? Are you going to visit Mage City as well?”

  He chuckled, putting on his riding cap and hunting vest before grabbing his rifle. “I’m off to find my friend Lutheran,” he said. “At least now I’ll know where to start looking and with two hands, the work I’ll miss today will be done in half the time with his help.”

  Hilliard stabled Boer, making sure to give him extra oats and water before shutting his gate. Then he saddled up his own six-legged steed, Orion, and took to the trail, heading for the Wandering Woods and his old friend, Lutheran.

  The two had done a tour of duty in the Guard, what passed for the Army of Synurgus, and which was mandatory for all able-bodied, mortal males over the age of sixteen.

  They hadn’t encountered much drama in their time of service, but they had grown close and, when it came time to grow up and settle down, they’d bo
th settled into the rich, ripe farmland that surrounded the tiny town of Balrog.

  Lutheran had married a girl from the village, and the two had settled into the farming life, and all that entailed. But his friend’s land had turned fallow, his marriage untidy and, after a few years, both had ended on a quite sour note.

  Lutheran had come by one day, a bulging pack on his back, his walking stick in place, so in debt he’d sold his horses to cover the load. The two had parted years earlier, but just the other day Hilliard had heard tell of his friend being back in town.

  Now, it seemed, the village seamstress had given Aurora directions to Lutheran’s cabin. It would be good to see his old friend, but better to have his help building a larger pen to help keep Hilliard’s growing herd of Bleaters fenced in! Aurora was a help, but some jobs just needed two grown men to pull off in time.

  He tightened the reigns and guided his steer into the Wandering Wood. He hoped by end of day he’d find his friend and they could share a draught of ale together like in the olden days.

  The thought made Hilliard smile, a rarity these days.

  12

  Iragos lingered at the edge of the wood, regarding the crystal globe that rested firmly atop of his walking stick. Inside the globe a green mist swirled steadily, confusing him; it was supposed to be a clear mist, making his prey easily visible.

  Using the powerful Wanderer Spell, Iragos could usually track down his prey quickly, as if seeing through walls, trees or, in this case, the Wandering Wood.

  Instead the green mist swirled, and swirled and swirled.

  “Kronos!” Iragos hissed to himself, stabbing the tip of the long, crystal staff into the dirt at his feet. His fellow mage must have been using an equally powerful cloaking spell, hence the green mist interfering with his own white magic.

  Iragos hurried, feet hardly touching the ground as the hem of his flowing maroon cloak, with its rich gold threading, swirled just above the grassy forest floor. His blue eyes were keen as he peered through the darkening sky. Afternoon was waning here Below, the evening approaching quickly.