Hidden Power Page 7

  By the time Iragos turned, Kronos had aimed another fireball; this time squarely at his head!

  16

  Hilliard felt the singe of falling ash on his collar as he cowered on the ground. He watched as his steed scampered to the side, six legs fidgeting but unwilling to desert his mortal master.

  Hilliard felt a flare on his thigh and looked down to find a red-hot ember burning through his britches, threatening the pale skin below. He stamped it out with his hand and got to one knee, trying to take in the scene in front of him.

  Two mages, silver hair flying about their heads with the power of their magic, faced each other in the front yard of his friend Lutheran’s humble cabin. Two trees crackled with intense heat, no doubt victims of the mage’s powerful balls of liquid power.

  Lutheran cowered, trapped on the other side of the battling mages, clinging to a humble Nayer so petrified its eyes never closed. The air was alive with power. It crackled in the sky and shivered through the leaves and creaked through the branches.

  The mages battled one another, the sky filling with light like lightning, flames raining down on the grass at their feet. Their robes shimmered, maroon and flowing around their long, lean bodies. One bore a white beard, the other black. Around their heads, almost identical silver hair writhed and flapped like snakes.

  Hilliard knelt, powerless, frozen, watching Lutheran do the same. Hilliard wondered if Aurora had been serious after all. What were the odds, he pondered, of his daughter speaking of Ythulia on one day and, the next, Hilliard coming upon two mages pitted in a life or death battle down Below?

  But it was impossible, Hilliard knew. Mages, Ythulia, a crystal city legend said one could see clear through, it was all just that: a legend. So much myth, fairy stories to keep the little ones happy as you read them to sleep. And yet, what mortal could open his palm and watch as a white-hot sizzling ball of power filled it?

  Hilliard crept forward until he was kneeling behind a watering trough for his friend’s horse. Steam rose from the water, such was the power of the mage’s intense and raging battle. Balls of power sizzled and flew across the air, striking each other as often as they struck the ground, a fence post or random tree.

  The yard was filled with acrid smoke, the sky alive with electric light when at last the light mage managed to strike the dark mage’s chest with one of his searing white-hot balls of power.

  The dark mage squawked before freezing in place, arm outstretched, a half-formed ball of fire fizzling out of his bare palm and falling, like ashes, to the earth.

  Lutheran, seeing the dark mage frozen in place, risked running to Hilliard’s side. “Are you okay, old friend?” asked Hilliard as Lutheran knelt, quaking, by his side.

  “I’m not sure,” Lutheran admitted, panting as he struggled to catch his breath.

  Both mean realized they were being watched, and turned to find the light mage facing them.

  “My Paralysis Spell will not last long,” he informed them, his voice a dark, rich baritone, his eyes blue and bright, silver hair wrangling around his head. “Heed my warning and unbind your feet; your months are now weeks, your days are now hours, your minutes are now seconds, you must run now!”

  Hilliard flinched and grabbed Lutheran as the light mage turned back to face his foe, his crystal staff outstretched like a sword. “Come with me, Lutheran,” Hilliard begged, dragging the man toward his steed. “We must do as the mage says and leave… now!”

  “This is my home,” Lutheran said, pointing to his ruined yard and trampled herb garden, shaking his head at the sight of them. “I’ll hide in the forest, until their battle is done.”

  Hilliard faced his friend, shaking his head. “Did you not hear the mage’s warning?”

  Lutheran shook his own head in reply. “I did, but my feet are bound to this place. You know how that feels.”

  Hilliard nodded, for he most certainly did.

  “I must check on my family on the other side of the woods,” he said, leaping onto his steed. “I will come back in a few days to check on you.”

  “Safe travels, my friend!” said Lutheran, waving at Hilliard’s departure.

  “And you!” cried Hilliard, galloping away. When at last he turned, he saw his friend leaping into the woods even as the light mage, silvery hair alight around his head, approached the dark mage with his staff outstretched.

  17

  Kronos watched as Iragos approached. The Paralysis Spell was such that Kronos couldn’t move, but could see all that surrounded him. It was also temporary, and the more powerful the victim, the more temporary the spell.

  Even through the haze of nearly blinding white light that surrounded him, Kronos could see the tension on Iragos’ face. He smiled cruelly, and felt a little of the spell weaken. Iragos must have sensed it, for he hastened his pace.

  Kronos summoned the last of his strength to break the spell, and with every evil thought, felt the wall of power that surrounded him weaken.

  At last it crumbled and fizzled away and before Iragos could summon another ball of power to his palm, Kronos turned and fled behind the humble peasant’s cabin.

  There, with the sound of Iragos’ footsteps carefully, cautiously creeping forward, Kronos summoned a Wall of Invisibility and vanished completely. Like the Paralysis Spell he stood, stock still, able to see but not be seen.

  It wasn’t ideal, by any means, but it was the best he could do in his damaged condition. With more power or rest or food or sleep Kronos might have met Iragos on a level playing field, overpowering him through his superior dark magic or sheer force of will.

  But he’d been wounded, ambushed, and left for dead, and had only barely managed to survive. Now he needed rest, and to get it he would have to outwit Iragos this time, rather than overpower him.

  Iragos approached, eyes wide and on high alert as the dark mage clung to the side of the house like moss on tree bark. The light mage’s feet grew steadier with each step, his crystal staff at the ready, a colorful green mist filling the small orb at the top, where his hand should rest.

  He could have easily cast a Reveal Spell to discover where Kronos was hiding, but perhaps Iragos was more wounded by a few of the dark mage’s fireballs than he let on.

  In fact, as Kronos peered out from behind his Wall of Invisibility, he noted the soot stains on the light mage’s cheek, the wide, startled look in his eyes, the hand trembling on the length of his crystal staff.

  Kronos held his breath, watching as Iragos inched by, none the wiser. Only when the light mage turned the corner and crept steadily away did Kronos dare to break the Wall of Invisibility.

  He stood, peacefully, looking left and right, then spreading his search further and longer, until at last he was sure Iragos was gone. Then he quickly transformed himself into a sleek, black rabbit, the better to sniff out the girl and find the orb before Iragos became similarly inspired!

  18

  Aurora heard the sound of footsteps in the great room and stirred, blinking her eyes against the sun streaming through her threadbare curtains. She rose slowly, hearing her father’s voice.

  He was back! She dressed quickly for the day, sure her father Hilliard would want her help to begin work with his friend, Lutheran. She emerged, only to find Hilliard in a terrible state.

  His neck and face were covered with what looked like soot, and his hair had been singed in places, as had his leather breeches. His tunic was torn and his vest muddy.

  “Father!” she cried, rushing to him. His mother had already started smoothing an herbal balm over several blisters on his neck. “What in the world happened to you?”

  “I’m sorry I doubted you, daughter,” he said, making her pause in her tracks.

  “For what?” she asked.

  “For not believing in your tall tale about Ythulia, the great city of mages. I saw two, last night, fighting to the death in front of Lutheran’s cabin.”

  “Mages?” Aurora asked, wondering if Kayne had been involved. “What did
they look like?”

  Her father shook his head, desperate to recall. “One was a dark mage, with a black beard to match his black eyes. The other was light, with a white beard and silver hair constantly on the move.”

  “Iragos?” she asked, clutching her hands in front of her chest instinctively.

  He shook his head again. “They never said their names, child, but only fought with fierce orbs of glowing light. They seemed to appear out of nowhere, like sizzling aurora fruit in their palms, the light mage’s like sizzling balls of power, the dark one’s like fireballs in the sky!”

  Aurora’s mother shot her a glance, shaking her head. “Rest, Hilliard, that’s what you need. That’s what both of you need, rest. And a little food, as well. Then you’ll both stop all this ridiculous talk of mages and power balls and orbs and—”

  Hilliard laughed, putting his mug of root tea down on the table with a tremendous “thunk” as half the contents sloshed out and onto the table. “I’d agree with you, dear, but this was no vision, nor was it a spell. Where do you think those damned blisters came from, Majorca? A roaring campfire?”

  “Possibly,” said Aurora’s mother. “I’ve known you and Lutheran to draw back a pint or two more than you can stand before, fall down by the fire and sleep with flames for a pillow!”

  “This was not that,” he assured her breathlessly, waving his hands as he wove the tale, causing Majorca no end of frustration as she tried to salve his blisters and refill his tea mug.

  “This was an epic battle,” he sputtered, wide-eyed and dried leaves falling from his salt and pepper hair, “full of power and light and sorcery and cunning. I only wish I could prove it to you, woman! I only wish you could have been there to see it.”

  Aurora bit her lip and then thought of the food Kayne had sent with her for her journey back Below. Would that help her mother see that her husband and daughter weren’t fetched?

  It was worth a try!

  “I have proof!” she shouted, suddenly retreating to her room. Aurora brushed aside a woven curtain to reveal a closet jammed full of secondhand clothes and muddy work boots, rooting around in the back for her day bag.

  She found it, lugging it onto her humble bed and impressed by its weight. She hadn’t been paying much attention to the food Kayne was packing for her up in Mage City, only the way his almost delicate hands packed them, long fingers moving rapidly, as well as the seriousness in his face as he prepared them.

  She smiled, opening the sack only to be stunned by a bright, orange glow coming from within. It seemed to be coming from within a rich square of fabric she’d never seen before.

  “What in the—” she gasped, reaching for it, only to be interrupted by a voice from behind.

  “Don’t touch it!”

  She whirled, only to see the squire, Kayne, standing just inside her doorway. “How… how did you get in?”

  He blushed slightly before admitting, “Entrance Spell. I’m sorry, but I have to talk to you!”

  “About… this?” she asked, peering into the rich, orange glow that seemed to pulse from her backpack.

  His face looked relieved, if only for a moment. Then it turned more severe and haunted with every step as he approached her. “Thank Ythulia you still have it,” he said, cinching the pack tight so that the glow receded from within. “I was foolish to hide it like that.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He shook his head, the silken hood puddled around his shoulders rasping with the movement. “For the moment, it’s best if you don’t know the power of what you possess.”

  “Why is that?” she snapped. What did he take her for, some poor farm girl from Below?

  His eyes got big and he offered a small, quick smile, putting up his hands to stave off her anger. “Because if Kronos catches you, and applies a Truth Spell, this way you’ll be telling the truth when you say you don’t know what that thing is!”

  She stared back, unconvinced.

  “It could save your life!” he insisted.

  She shrugged. “Okay, well… if you won’t tell me what it is, can you at least tell me why it’s so important?”

  He stood before her, resplendent in his white cloak, with broad shoulders and hollow cheeks and crisp cheekbones beneath his dark green eyes.

  “He who possesses the Orb of Ythra controls the power of our universe,” he explained. “Kronos wanted it, to seize power of the Council of Bright Orders and strike the balance between dark and light that has existed for centuries. He sent me to fetch it and, under penalty of death, I did. But then I repented, and hid the Orb in the only place I knew Kronos wouldn’t look for it: your backpack—”

  “Wow, thanks,” she groaned, dripping irony. “I’m glad I could be a pawn in your little quest for world domination!”

  He looked at her, confused, cocking his head to one side so that his long blond hair shifted slightly.

  “I’m sorry,” he exclaimed, inching closer. His eyes were a fierce green, his lips thin with concern, his cheeks hollow with worry. “I panicked. I.. I didn’t know what to do, and would never have meant to put you in harm’s way if I’d been thinking clearly.”

  She looked at him, so regal in his white tunic and matching hood, its gold thread and crisp lines. “A squire? Panicked?”

  “Even squires panic sometimes,” he said, cinching her sack and slipping it onto his shoulder. “Come, we must go.”

  “We? Why? It’s your Orb, you go!”

  His eyes took on that pained expression again. He reached out and, with a gentle hand, clasped her shoulder as if to get her attention. If that was his intent, it surely worked! She was not so accustomed to being touched by boys that the feel of one’s fingers on her skin didn’t do electric things to her bloodstream.

  “But Kronos used the Truth Spell on me,” he said, shaking his head regretfully. “I’m sorry, Aurora, I told him about you. I had to, I was powerless against his—”

  The door burst open then, her Father standing in its frame, shoulders so broad they nearly became wedged in the passage as he huffed, red-faced.

  “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” he bellowed, all three barrels of his triple barrel pistol cocked and aimed squarely between Kayne’s emerald green eyes.

  Kayne stood still, eyes at half-lids, hands held out protectively in front of him.

  Aurora stepped forward to diffuse the situation before one, or both, of them had three holes in their head.

  “It’s Kayne,” she said, standing between them. “The squire I told you about, from Mage City.”

  Hilliard eyed him carefully, the gun never wavering. “If he’s from Ythulia, then what is he doing down here, Below?”

  “You’re in grave danger,” Kayne said, gently pushing Aurora aside and inching closer to the pointed gun. “My master, a dark mage named Kronos, is hunting your daughter.”

  “Aurora?” Father cried. “Why? Is that why those two mages fought last night? Were they looking for my daughter?”

  “What mages?” asked Kayne, the sound of desperation, even panic, coloring his voice.

  “Two of them,” Hilliard said, lowering his pistol at last. “One dark, one light. They battled all night, until at last the one used some kind of paralysis spell and allowed my friend and me to escape…”

  He paused in his tale, eyes growing small as he once again regarded his daughter. “But what does this have to do with Aurora?”

  He inched toward her protectively.

  “The bad mage cast a spell to make Kayne tell the truth, Father,” she insisted, almost defensively. Her eyes met Kayne’s and his gratitude warmed her heart, and her skin. “It wasn’t his fault.”

  “What wasn’t his fault?” her father asked.

  Kayne looked the older, larger man in the eye. The squire was only an inch or two shorter than Hilliard, but much thinner.

  “It matters not,” he said, eyes turning a darker shade of green as his voice lowered with the importance of what he was saying. “Wh
at matters, sir, is that you and your wife seek shelter.”

  Hilliard turned to Aurora, his eyes squinted with confusion and concern. “Shelter?” he asked, advancing on Kayne.

  Kayne waved one hand, the silken hem of his cloak sleeve whispering in the air as the young squire’s thick, full lips moved silently. And then a sudden change came about Hilyard as his eyes and his entire body softened.

  “Shelter,” Kayne said, more forcefully this time.

  It was no longer a question.

  “Shelter,” Hilliard said, nodding, and looking back to Kayne as a child might look to his parents. In the span of one mere moment, Aurora’s father’s rich brown eyes had turned milky white.

  “Yes,” said Kayne, leading Hilliard from the room. “This house is no longer safe, do you hear?”

  “I hear,” said Hilliard, voice as soft as his footsteps across the bedroom floor.

  “Ma’am?” Kayne said to Aurora’s mother. At first Majorca’s face looked startled at the intrusion, but then her eyes turned soft and milky, white as fine white gauze as well..

  “Do you hear?” Kayne asked again, louder this time.

  “I hear,” she said. “Shelter is what we need, and shelter is what we shall have.”

  “Go into town and seek shelter there.” Kayne handed her mother several coins, coins larger in denomination than Aurora had ever seen before. “Rent a room but be quiet about it. Lay low, eat in the room and wait for us to come and get you. Do you hear?”

  As one, both pairs of eyes milky white, Aurora’s parents nodded and walked out the door. “We hear,” they said as one, walking toward town.

  Aurora meant to follow, to ask, to tell, to hug, to kiss, but Kayne held her back. “Leave them be,” he whispered, softly, so as not to intrude on their progress. “It’s for the best.”