Chapter 7

True Lies

Ah, the power of the lie. The power of deception and manipulation. Always I have been the victim of such things. Damn. Idiots. He thinks to betray me, to use the love my sister against me...Ah, but he shall see...Beware the Reaper, for if you cross him your life ends here...

What in the Void is happening in there?

Magus' mind swirled with endless and frightening possibilities. What did Jarl hope to accomplish by impersonating him? Nothing good, he knew. Earlier he bent to the other prophet's will for fear of tipping the delicate balance. Now, as he faced the bedroom door the evidence that foul play was afoot came clearly to the mystic magician.

Again, the dark wizard made use of the peephole. He didn't trust Jarl—not any longer, anyway. Normally, Magus would just wink into existence and tear the door of its hinges to apprehend the thief. At this moment, however, Magus feared Jarl's intentions and, being far too concerned for Schala's safety for his usual abruptness, reigned in his bloodlust for the opportune time.

Look. Listen. Learn. Then act. Ozzie's first few lessons and quite handy.

Inside the ornate room, Schala paced by the gold-rimmed window, shattering the moonlight with each step. Jarl stood dead center in the chamber flourishing Magus' Cloak of Concealment. His soft words consoled the distressed Princess of Zeal. His voice, as soft as silk upon skin, yet underneath a current of danger, a hint of vile eagerness...

As she swirled around to address the other prophet, Schala's azure hair fluttered as a Time Gate in shift. Extending her hands, she asked, "What kind of daughter would want her own mother done away with? I mean I know she's hurt me..." One hand came up to her ruby-red cheek. "...Oh, dear, do you think she'd hurt Janus? I can't let her do that!" Crystal teardrops shined in her eyes.

Jarl shook his head, as if in sorrow and pulled the young woman into his arms. As an irate Magus observed, the black-haired wizard caressed her beautiful hair. "Yes. I'm afraid Janus is in grave danger."

Schala's head snapped up as Jarl smiled sadly down on her. "Do you see it, prophet?"

"I see a great many things. One of which is our destruction should the Queen summon Lavos."

"So you've changed your mind, then?" Schala stepped back to view the violet-robed prophet at length. Hope now gleamed in those ocean-blue depths such as even an ice-hearted Magus must melt. "You'll...help me?"

Kill my mother? Granted she probably deserves it...but why would Jarl care? Magus took in a deep breath, realization dawning. Damn you, Jarl, this is some plan to frame me, is it? Even if you don't succeed the attempt alone would have me executed should 'you' be caught.

From the shadow of the cowl, the former prince could see nothing of Jarl's expression. Yet Magus could sense an evil lurking there. "Yes—" came the black-haired prophet's answer. However, the rest vanished beneath a flurry of robes as Schala graciously embraced him. Am I truly any better than Jarl? Her brother parading around in her presence as another man?

Immediately, the dark wizard told himself to focus. Hiding from Schala was essential to his quest. As well, he could easily imagine the shock his poor sister would suffer if the sorcerer revealed himself. No, far better to destroy Lavos and then work on the relationship.

Ever so gently, Jarl pushed the Zealian royalty away from him. His hands lifted up to stream her ice-and-water locks. Confusion filled her eyes. "Not so fast. If there was but one small thing you would so kindly do for me..." His silky voice trailed off as if an affirmative answer was imminently forthcoming.

And it was. Schala's determination to protect her little brother knew no cost too high. "Of course. I'm willing to compensate you for your efforts. Anything," she said, by way of reflect.

Smiling, Jarl half-turned to the bed, his hand sweeping out in a grand gesture. At first, Magus didn't understand but when he did a compulsion for homicide such as he'd not felt since Cyrus' murder erupted in his chest. Only a long ingrained stealth from childhood kept him still. It made Magus sick inside to see Jarl's smirk but he contained his anger in the interests of learning more.

Two beautiful eyes flicked over to the gold bedspread. "What...?" she whispered, clearly not comprehending, or perhaps, not wanting to.

"Sleep with me."

He spoke as if of the weather, the tone was that innocent...but the smile that accompanied it certainly wasn't. His request shocked Schala. She, ever the innocent one. Intelligent people think everyone is also as gifted and rich people naturally assume everyone is as wealthy. Schala was a virtuous girl and was always stunned to find the world less than pure. Of course, with Mother, the princess should have realized not the entire world was perfect...

Far from it.

At that moment, she scurried back from Jarl, very much afraid of him, unfortunately about to get a taste of what true evil was. With tentative steps she dodged his outstretched arm, violet robes sweeping the floor in her haste. Jarl seemed amused. He advanced upon her but halted when the princess raised two hands.

"To think Magus, I trusted you. I now see my folly—that you are a fraud. Leave immediately. Leave the Kingdom of Zeal, do not return, and I will speak of this to no one."

But Jarl would not be so easily thwarted. Aggressively, the black-haired sorcerer stepped forward, forcing the young woman into a bookcase. A few tomes, of magic manipulation, fell to the floor. Their noise sounded as shattering glass in the stillness of the night. He thrust a hand on Schala's cheek and she flinched from the invading touch.

"I'm lonely. Alura is dead."

Schala's jaw sank. "She's your sister!"

A sharp bark of laughter emerged from Jarl's throat. "Oh, Schala, what does it matter? So are you..."

By custom, Magus would have Jarl splattered on the marble floor. The other prophet had deceived his mother, manipulated him, and now attempted rape upon his most beloved sister, in his own image! However, the pre-casting for Dark Matter fell back into his mouth when those words reached his sword-tip ears.

Sister? Alura? Schala? The shock cemented him to spot, limbs paralyzed.

"Come on, Schala! I haven't got all night!"

In desperation, the Zealian princess ducked Jarl's arms and turned to run out the door. He cut off her escape route and hauled her to the ground. Schala fought back, resorting to biting his fingers as they probed her long skirt. Unwillingly, he released the young woman who proceeded to fill her lungs with air to scream. Before she could blow his cover, though, Jarl whacked her on the head. Schala flopped over as a dropped stone.

"Finally!" the false prophet shouted, his hands springing at her.

A flash of azure light burned Magus' eyes, just as he was about to interfere. He blinked to clear his vision. When it returned, Schala was on her feet, spinning around to strike her assailant with the pendant. But the princess was hardly a warrior. The black-haired wizard snatched it from her hand and cast it to the blue-black tiles. It landed with a sharp clang.

Again, the princess pivoted to evade as Jarl began chanting rapidly. Magus noted the music of magic, that of a high-level sleep spell. Being of Zealian blood, Schala had a meager resistance to the incantation. But Jarl invested more power in the casting and when Magus' sister collapsed this time she did not rise.

Jarl's silver eyes darted with a demented light. Quickly, he gathered the comatose princess in his arms and carried her to the bed. The pale moonlight shined in his silver eyes like twin daggers ready to draw blood. Relishingly, he gripped her breasts and kissed her forehead in an almost lover-like fashion.

That simple act of perverted affection jostled the blue-haired prophet back to reality. Like a hell-beast unleashed, Magus severed the invisibility spell, flung open the door and charged in. It wasn't until then that the so-called prophet remembered his furry companion.

Astonishingly, it was Alfador who reached Jarl first, growling as he'd never before. Pouncing on the other prophet's face, the claws slashed Jarl's face, drawing blood. With a cry, he staggered, swiping his arm at the furious feline. His efforts could not match Alfador's resolve to defend Schala.

Seeing his sister, Magus ignored the flailing arms and dove for her. Grasping her wrists, he half-dragged, half-carried the unconscious woman toward the door. A step form the exit, Magus stumbled over her lavender robe. Both crashed on the marble flooring, resulting in disorientation for the former prince.

Unfortunately, Jarl freed himself from the savage Alfador by hurling the cat at the far wall. Whipping his arms in half-circles, a movement reminiscent of Magus himself, the black-haired wizard launched a dome of pure ebony energy at his rising opponent. The pain itself knocked the dark wizard back to his knees, clutching at his chest. Had he time, Magus might have pondered the use of his own magic. However, he had none as Jarl materialized a scythe. That could not be good.

Gripping Schala's pendant in a hand, Magus felt the cool metal seep through his systems, rejuvenating his strength. Despite the good fortune confusing him, the dark wizard didn't bother with that, having more pressing matters. As Jarl set about to cleave him asunder, Magus held out the pendant in an effort to protect himself. In a flash, he and Schala vanished to reappear against the opposing wall. Magus dropped the glowing medallion in shock.

The time to strike was now. Kill. Kill now. More of Ozzie's lessons and of equal, or surpassing, significance.

Barking the command word, Magus summoned his own scythe, a large obsidian instrument of death. Using the flat of the blade, he bashed Jarl on the head. Amazingly, his adversary did not lose consciousness though he did crumple to the tiles. With swiftness, the sorcerer held the weapon at battle-ready. Should Jarl chose to sit up a sizable hole would form in his chest.

"You know, that was quite unnecessary," the prone figure muttered, acting hurt. "We could have shared her."

That remark made the color flee Magus' lips, pale in anger. Glancing over a shoulder, he could see Schala lying motionless. "You are one sick twisted bastard, you know that?" Magus said coldly as he turned back around, eyes blazing like the coals of the Void. "Return to me that which is mine!"

Although it appeared that Jarl might bolt, he seemed to think better of it. With an ill grace, the other prophet slowly removed the cloak. His fingers played around the ebony clasp, a crest of the Zealian Royalty, in a teasing manner. The flaring of Magus' nostrils prompted him to hurry on. As the cloth left Jarl, the enchantment subsequently vanished and his true image reasserted itself. Magus watched carefully for his opponent's next move.

A flurry of lavender cloth came at Magus who, an expert at dodging in combat, spun about face to evade the distracting maneuver. Then he grabbed the cloak and flung it on. It swirled as the billowing of a violet flag to rest again upon his shoulders. Flipping up the hood, Magus lifted his scythe, intent on doing some serious damage to Schala's assailant.

And found himself pelted with various objects of the room. A candlestick barely missed his shoulder while several of its complementary candles connected with his leg. Cursing, the sorcerer whirled to find his attacker. Shock blasted down his spine at what he saw.

Schala, now recovered, hurled a number of accessories at him. A gold hairpin, followed by two books, forced the sorcerer to duck beside the lavish bed. "Schala, damn you! What in the Void are you doing?" he shrieked. Meanwhile, Jarl hovered, his eyes darting over to his discarded scythe glittering on the marble floor.

"Why would you hurt me, Magus? I have done nothing to hurt you!" came Schala's half-sob, half-shout.

Several seconds passed before the former prince realized her cries were concerning Jarl's aborted assault. When he looked own and noted how very much he emulated the black-haired wizard's momentary look a groan escaped Magus' lips. But, of course, now that the Cloak of Concealment lay on his shoulder, so too lay the guilt. Jarl's crimes became his. Once again, that bastard tricked him!

And in the very pit of Magus' dark imagination, he dreamt she spoke those words to him in hate at a brother who'd left her.

At that moment, Alfador yowled. He leapt on Jarl again, who, having reclaimed the scythe, had been about to pierce Magus' chest. Kicking the violet feline quite harshly, Jarl turned and fled through the entryway. Eyes scintillating as a stormy sky, Magus heaved his scythe and set to pursue when Schala grabbed his cloak to renew the struggle.

"If you don't leave us both alone, I'll scream for the guards!" she cried.

Dodging her grasp with ease, the dark wizard snatched up her wrists and forced Schala against the wall. She squirmed in his grip, though in vain. Having come from an atmosphere of violence, Magus had learned how to subdue his enemies.

But this was not his enemy—this was his sister!

Magus' hand came down to silence her when her lips opened to scream. That made her eyes widen. Perhaps she feared he might continue what Jarl started. The sorcerer grimaced. "One word out of you and Janus will be dust. Poof!"

Should the Princess of Zeal bring the matter of "his" attempted assault to the attention of the authorities, namely their mother, the show's curtains would fall. Several hours yet remained before his duel with Lavos. Whatever the price, he must keep her silent. Since killing her was clearly not an option, though the dark prince had employed that tactic many times before, threatening the life of Janus would suffice. A form of self-hostage he noted with bitter irony.

She nodded her head, prompting a wave of relief in her brother. Magus released his sister and she slumped to marble flooring in tears. She was crying. Dear Reaper, he'd made his sister cry—the one thing, out of all the hideous crimes he'd committed, Magus swore he'd never do. Forcing his barrier up to mask his pained thoughts, the dark wizard whipped out his scythe and headed after Jarl.

Darting past the elaborate hallway and a domed antechamber, the shadow sorcerer spotted a black-haired man in the midst of magical transport. His arms lifted up to embrace the column of multi-spectrum light that immediately engulfed him. In a blink, Jarl vanished.

"Oh, no, you don't!" snarled the shadow sorcerer. Whirling his arms in counter-clockwise semi-circles, he clutched the amulet Schala had bequeathed him as a child. A similar shroud of light coiled Magus and within moments he, too, was gone.

Analyzing his rival's coordinates, the dark wizard reappeared a few feet from the beautiful waterfall of Zeal. Jarl leaned against the silver railing, panting as he looked about for escape. In the backdrop Magus could hear the rush of the water and see the spray left behind on the glass walkway. At last, revenge upon this bastard—revenge and a rage too long withheld.

A swipe of the scythe, and Magus leapt at his adversary. The two weapons clashed violently with sparks and a clang loud enough to shatter glass. Ordinary glass, anyway. Fortunately for the two combatants, their walkway had been reinforced with steel. Magus attacked viciously and made several successive thrusts only to be blocked by a tiring Jarl.

After barely sidestepping a downward cut, Jarl cried, "What are you trying to do? Get us both killed?"

"No—" Thrust to the left. Dodged "—just—" Another slash, coming from the right. Also evaded. "—you!" That last was uttered as Magus made a second brutal downward cut. This Jarl deflected as the two scythes connected sending sparks sailing in the mist.

"We're the same person, you idiot!" the black-haired prophet snarled as he returned a forward strike to no effect.

A bemused expression wrote across Magus' face. "I'm you, now is it? Damn it, you have totally lost your mind!" With that, the mystic magician whirled his unoccupied hand and two man-sized ice chunks crashed into Jarl. It was ineffectual, however, as the other prophet erected a forcefield. Then Jarl returned the favor in kind, resulting in a similar failure to an identical wall of magical protection.

"We are as one!"

"I am my own man—I am no one else!"

Gasping, Jarl hoarsely countered, "It's in the books..."

Magus carried the match to his opponent in a series of feints and consecutive slashes. Nothing scored flesh. After another fruitless cast of magic, this time of flames, he snapped as the water evaporated in the mists. "The books lie!"

Lifting a hand, the silver-eyed wizard held his scythe stiffly at ready, as if unleashing a powerful spell. Magus backed off, fearing exactly that. Still, his fire-and-violet eyes cemented to those of his rival's. He didn't believe a word of Jarl's nonsense but if he elected to humor the crazy, would-be prophet it might lead to a fatal distraction...

Fatal, of course, for Jarl.

Taking a breath, Jarl muttered, "Not that book—Ugh, I mean, no book. None at all." He immediately grimaced and Magus realized he'd let something slip...

The books...They do lie? The books lie? The prophecy...A lie?

Lost and irreplaceable. Maybe not. The shock unhinged the wizard's jaw so much so he could sallow Alfador. A rising wave of joy passed through him, drying his mouth and prompting trembles in his hands. He could scent the fear from Jarl; the fear of a thief and a liar caught red-handed. The books had been tempered with. His rival had seen a weakness and had exploited it.

Magus pinched his nose with his finger and thumb. Of course, he'd been a fool. A childhood fear, a childhood weakness. He'd feared for Schala's safety so much, the dark wizard had fallen prey to Jarl's lies. He'd feared it so badly, Magus nearly brought such destruction come to pass. Like walking on broken glass blind with only Jarl's hand as a hope to salvation. And like a blind man, he trusted the only hope he had.

Calm yourself, Magus. Certainly the knowledge of its falsehood is good news but no guarantee that Lavos will be easy to defeat.

As soon as the dark wizard glanced up, his opponent had fled. In the distance was Jarl's receding form, heading straight for the Valor Library. Magus's eyes flashed and a sickening feeling in his gut told him Jarl's intents for the books were hardly benign.

"No! Jarl! Don't!" came Magus' disjointed cry as he took off after the black-robed wizard. Several Enlightened, enjoying a pleasant walk on the pristine boulevard of Zeal, had to dart aside to avoid both prophets. Briefly, the former prince considered a teleportation spell then declined, realizing the pre-spell casting alone would be long enough for Jarl to perform his ill-minded deed.

"Stop, Jarl, don't make me kill you!"

"You'd be killing yourself in the process!"

"Damn it, shut up with the identity crisis, will you!"

Outside the library, in its garden, Magus grabbed his opponent's flailing cloak and yanked hard. The two collapsed in a heap at the golden doors, grappling and struggling. With a shriek of pain Magus retreated as Jarl hit him in the eyes with a feeble fire spell. Magus struck out with a skull-adorned scythe but the arc went wild and instead imbedded itself in a nearby tree. While the mystic sorcerer removed it, Jarl seized the opportunity to slip inside.

Inside. Chaos. Books flew everywhere. Jarl searched for the secret passageway into the library crypt—the room with the books he'd tampered with and would now demolish to cover his trail. The Enlightened ones screamed at him to cease his wholesale slaughter of Zeal's vast shelves of manuscripts. Some went to the length of counteracting the flame spells. At this point in desperation the black-robed oracle made no distinction between the real and the fake. If anything, he would ruin Magus' chance to read the truth, even if that meant sending the entire library up in flames.

Magus shoved a squealing Enlightened aside as he dove onto a gold-engraved table. He propelled himself from it and landed on Jarl. With a book in hand, one of which he'd been about to incinerate, the other prophet rammed it Magus' throat. Gagging, the shadow sorcerer leaned against a table to catch his breath.

Meanwhile, his rival flung the book to the floor and armed himself with his scythe. As the blade came down, the mystic sorcerer twisted to his right to avoid being impaled. It cleanly cleaved the table in two, sending a slew of tomes into the air, several of which knocked a few of the room's occupants out. Magus jumped over a pile of books to snatch up his own scythe and whipped around to deliver a sideways slash. But Jarl was not where Magus supposed him to be and the blade drove a bookcase crashing to the floor, obscuring his view.

When he cleared the bookcase, of course, Jarl was nowhere to be found.

Frustrated, Magus sighed and glanced around at the traumatized, gawking Enlightened. "What are you looking at? Haven't you seen two men trying to kill each other before?"

Immediately, three Enlightened women screeched and a fourth fainted at his feet. With disgust, the dark wizard sprang past the body and followed Jarl. In his haste, Magus almost tumbled down the stairs. His hand flung out as if independent from his form to grip the railing and he forced himself to take them one at a time. The sorcerer's sharp eyes cast around for the fleeing traitor.

A child's scream, his own, alerted Magus to the gravity of the situation. Jarl was in the room with Janus! Magus plunged ahead and nearly tore off the door in an effort to reach his younger self. Inside, Janus huddled against a wall holding a book aloft as if to ward off a blow. Jarl loomed before him with a scythe about to rip his young body apart.

"Jarl, stop!"

He did so, glancing over a cloaked shoulder.

"Prophet Magus," Janus sniveled, eyes wide. "Save me! I'm your prince!"

His older self frowned. "What have you done?"

"I was doing nothing wrong, honest! I'm a prince—I should be able to look at some dumb old books. This one," he gestured at the one in his hand, "is all wrong. The pages are upside down and the paragraphs don't match from page to page. I think its been all messed up."

As Jarl read Magus' rapidly heating expression, he rushed in to do damage control. "That's a lie! He's just a kid! He doesn't know anything. The books tell the truth."

"A twisted truth you want me to believe." Magus watched Jarl carefully but from his rival's gritted teeth he knew the other prophet would not release Janus easily. "If you kill Janus you'll be destroying us both, isn't that true?"

Relief danced in those silver eyes. "So you believe me, then?"

Magus would sooner believe in Ozzie losing weight or Alfador sprouting wings. Still, he wisely opted not to indicate that, however, as Jarl's scythe would probably reach his younger self before a physical barrier could. I'll humor him, stall, and play for time. Give Janus an opening in which to get away.

When his eyes flickered to meet Janus', though, the prince was too terrified to notice. Magus sighed, "I'm willing to listen with an open mind. Let the boy go."

That must have been the first time Janus didn't bristle at being addressed so informally.

"I don't think so. Your attention span might vanish with him. Talk first."

The mystic sorcerer restrained his temper. "Alright then. Talk. Fast."

"Don't you think it odd that we seem so much alike? We both have sisters, we both practice sorcerery and augury, we're both shadow magicians, our speech patterns and habits are strangely similar...How can that be coincidence?"

Magus didn't answer, his eyes locked on his former self.

Jarl noted the gaze and smiled sadly. "Simply, it's not. When I, and you, fell into the Time Gate the Black Wind howled. Remember that?"

Though he did, the mystic sorcerer refused to deny or concede the point.

"I remember. It felt as a vacuum sucking in my life from a thousand directions. At one point the soul disengaged from...Janus' body. Our particles scattered but did not return to one. Instead, the portal pulled half of Janus' molecules into a different time period."

600 A.D. The narration revived awful memories from long ago. The horrendous pain of the Time Gate, the dissection of his entire body into miniscule fragments, the horror of landing in Ozzie's arms.

"Me?"

"Yes. The other half merged with the Black Wind and transported to the Void. Once whole, or half-whole anyway, that side of Janus lived in the Void, ultimately meeting his father and half-sister."

"You?'

"Ah, so you do understand!" Jarl cried, ecstatically. "Yes, we are not just one person but two separate halves. If we work together we can bring down the tyranny of Zeal."

From behind Jarl, Magus could see Janus' mouth working in shock as he contemplated the destruction of his homeland. Trust me, it isn't worth all that much. Sometimes I wonder why I go to such lengths to preserve the wasteland of humanity. Still, if Schala needs a home, anything's worth salvaging. Dismissing that train of thought, Magus asked, "If we truly are one person then why were you after Schala? She's our sister!"

A sly smile crossed Jarl's lips. "Oh, come now, Magus. There's always time for a little bit of fun."

Magus' eyes flashed—he felt violently ill. He pronounced each word with excruciating slowness. "You really are one sick twisted bastard..." The next sentence came out in a torrent. "Idiot! I am nothing like you! That is proof we are not 'as one'."

Lies. It all had to be lies. The thought of his sister...No. He wasn't anything remotely like that! It was more deception, crafted to cover up more lies underneath. A pile of fraud so high, Magus couldn't see over to the side of truth. A deadly smile shined in his eyes. Beware the Reaper, for if you cross him your life ends here. He lifted the Doom scythe quietly and donned the persona of the Reaper.

Jarl didn't seem to notice the change in his audience's mood. "So, what do you say? It's not healthy to argue with oneself."

"I'm not. All of me agrees with killing you." With that, Magus swung the scythe with one hand and conjured up a deflection spell in front of Janus with the other. No sooner did it come up than Jarl's scythe came down. The negativity shock thrust Jarl against a bookcase. It also meant, unfortunately, that Magus' attack missed.

Thrown off balance by the aborted swing, the mystic sorcerer had to recover. In that time, his rival chased after the young prince, who'd, after seeing the blade descend, immediately fled. Cursing, Magus hotly pursued. "Jarl, stop, you damn fool!" He decided to spit the man's own 'logic' back at him. "If your theory is correct, Janus' death will be ours as well."

When the dark wizard reached outside, the remnants of magic-transport sparkles settled to the floor. He had no time to waste. This time, when he connected his coordinates to that of Jarl's, the magic deposited him on one of the many balconies of Zeal. With a gasp Magus dropped to a knee, the transport disorientation overwhelming him momentarily. Rush magic and it bites you back. He recognized the landing as the same one he'd gazed out of when the whole bizarre mission begun. The sorcerer's eyes lifted to see Jarl and Janus.

The former suspended the latter over the gold railing in a daunting tease. "Help me!" screamed the frightened young prince who clung to the wizard's arm. He simply refused to be released, knowing death awaited him in the arctic waters of the Terran Ocean. Meanwhile Jarl seemed to enjoy terrorizing his victim, the screams fueling his cruelty.

The blue-haired wizard didn't know for certain that the death of his younger self would affect him at all. Time fragmentation indicated otherwise. Still, this was one of those times in which a 'test' wouldn't suffice. The test alone could be real enough to kill him. Slowly, sensing his rival's eyes upon him, the mystic sorcerer came to his feet.

"Just don't let go, Janus," Magus instructed the young prince. To Jarl he said, "Alright, you made your point. I believe you. Release Janus and let us discuss this like two grown men."

Mischief gleamed in the silver eyes of the other prophet. "Release him? Certainly!"

"That's not what I meant!" Magus cried, horrified, as he stepped forward. "No, don't!"

Slowly the fingers recoiled, one by one...

...I'm going to die...

Janus' mouth opened in a screech...

...No, not me, Janus...

Magus cast a levitate spell swiftly...

...No, both of us will...

Mercifully the prince's descent halted.

Expending such energies drained the sorcerer and he was unable to repel Jarl's preemptive arcane assault. A wave of shadow mist slammed the former prince against the wall, gasping while he struggled to keep his younger self afloat. Magus was an expert at enduring pain...he'd done so for decades...

And only a Magus could deflect a spell at the same instant as sustaining one.

If Jarl had been present the mess would have emptied even the staunchest stomach. Whipping his hands in rapid circles, the silver-eyed prophet initiated a transport spell seconds before contact with the inverted magic. Curses came to Magus' pale lips but he couldn't give into them just now. Straining to his limits after the violent wizardry unleashed against him, the mystic sorcerer elevated Janus over the railing and onto the balcony floor. As soon as he hit ground, the young prince crumpled, white as death.

Quickly, Magus appraised him. "You'll be fine. Go back to your room and stay there." Without looking back or waiting for a reply, Magus took off in a spell.

The hunt was on.