The Story of Magus
A Prince is Born, Part 2
By ZealPropht
Dalton was cold.
He tried to move, and that turned out to be a big mistake. Pain radiated through his limbs and through his face. He choked on a sob and decided that he really didn't want to go anywhere, not when it hurt this much, even if he were freezing.
Something soft and wet was settling on his upturned face. Snow.
He had to see what was going on.
His right eye refused to open, but after a while, he managed to get the gummy left one to unseal. His vision was blurred, not just from melting snow but from the sticky mess of blood that had caked over the right side of his face and dripped across the left.
He was laying on his back. The sky was dark gray with the approaching night. Soon, it would be too dark to see. Steel beams were half covering him, pinning down his legs and part of his midsection. He was also covered in glass and a thin layer of snow.
Turning his head, he almost screamed. One of his crewmen was laying beside him, shredded until almost unrecognizable by the glass shrapnel. The dead man's eyes were wide with horror. What had he seen in the last minutes before the Blackbird had crashed? His own life flashing by before him?
Dalton swallowed the bile rising in his throat.
At least that's not me, he thought, and turned away.
Now that he was able to see, he was also able to better take stock of his situation. If he could get the beams off of himself, maybe he could crawl out of the wreckage and find help.
Moving was sheer torture, an exercise in withstanding pain. He tried not to cry at the effort as he squirmed, wiggled, and finally managed to drag himself free.
I just want to die. Gritting his teeth, he sucked in ragged breaths that only made him feel worse. Please, just make it all stop hurting…
But it didn't stop, and he didn't really want to die, not all alone on the windy, snowy landscape. So when the pain was manageable again, he rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. From there, he used the debris from the Blackbird to get to his feet. His legs felt like jelly, and putting too much weight on the right one nearly caused it to buckle out from under him.
Taking a moment to catch his breath, Dalton wondered if there were other survivors besides himself.
The last thing he remembered was trying to cast some sort of shielding spell. He had assumed it would be useless in saving his life, but he wanted to leave behind a beautiful corpse. Concentration on the spell had been near impossible, but whatever magic Dalton had been able to pull off seemed to have been more effective than he'd first imagined. It obviously hadn't worked as well as he might have hoped; he was still injured, after all. But that was nothing compared to being one of the many dead bodies littering the area.
A sound caught his attention. At first, he thought it was just the ever-present wind, but after he heard it a second time, he realized that it was a human voice weakly calling for help.
It took a few moments of searching, but he finally found the survivor. It was King Melath. He was impaled through the stomach by a sharp piece of metal. The snowy ground around him was almost black with blood, and his hands pitifully pushed at the foreign object lodged through his midsection.
Dalton approached him. "Your Majesty."
Melath's head didn't turn so much as twitched to look at him. "C-Captain…"
There really wasn't anything Dalton could do. He was no healer, but even he could tell that the wound was fatal. Part of him felt sorry for the poor bastard. Still, it was Melath's fault for dragging him out here. If he hadn't insisted on flying to Terra Continent, none of them would have ended up in this situation.
"H-Help…me…" Melath pleaded. The man's skin was almost the same color as the falling snow, marred by the thick stream of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were wide but unfocused; already the glaze of death was stealing away their light. He stretched out a trembling hand in supplication. "Please…"
Dalton considered the king for a moment. The metal bar had passed clean through his midsection and was lodged perhaps a foot deep into the ground on the other side of his body. Even if he had the right tools, which he didn't, Dalton wasn't about to waste vital energy trying to save a dying man.
"Please…" Melath choked out again. Then, as if he somehow knew that wouldn't be enough to sway the captain's mind, he added, "For Zeal…"
"Zeal?" Dalton snorted. "Don't make me laugh. The kingdom won't collapse without you, and you're as good as dead, anyway. Maybe you should make peace with the spirits before the Black Wind comes to take your soul to its final reward."
Their eyes met for a second, and Dalton thought he might have seen something of Melath's old fire. The king opened his mouth as if to say something, maybe give a final order or to curse his disloyal captain, but all that came out was a frothy gurgle and more blood.
Dalton felt queasy and turned away from the sight. He forced his near-frozen feet to keep moving. He couldn't afford to lose what was left of the daylight.
Behind him, he heard Melath coughing on his own vital fluids, calling out for Valeya, his dearly departed first wife. Maybe he really was making his peace. Then the wind picked up and anything else said was lost under the noise.
Dalton thought perhaps he should have felt guilty for leaving his king to die alone, pinned to the ground like a broken butterfly. But right now, it was survival of the fittest. There was only one person Dalton cared to save, and that was himself.
The trouble was, it was getting dark and the temperature was dropping. Even though the snow was falling lightly now, there would be no telling when it would pick up again. The best he could hope for would be to take shelter somewhere for the night and try to survive until morning.
After wandering around the wreckage site for about another fifteen minutes, Dalton was seriously tempted to just give up and let the cold lull him into that final, dreamless slumber. But as luck would have it, just as the snow started to pick up again, he came across the perfect find. Part of one of the cargo holds was still intact. The wooden crates that held supplies for the crew and passengers had broken open. Food, blankets, and other amenities were strewn about. The majority of it was unusable due to laying in the snow.
Dalton made his way as far back into the damaged hold as he could to avoid the worst of the blowing snow and wind. The broken boxes were a convenient fuel source; he expended a little of his flagging strength to set them on fire with his magic. Then, using whatever was dry around him, he made a little nest for himself.
Snuggled down amid a pile of blankets and cushioned life preservers, with an acrid fire to help keep him from freezing to death, the warrior-wizard felt his one working eye growing heavy. The whole ordeal had taken a supreme amount of energy, and even he was amazed at his own fortitude to have lasted so long.
I'm the great Captain Dalton! he thought sleepily to himself. No stupid crash is going to get the better of me.
But damn, he was in pain! If only he'd been able to find some medication amongst the supplies, then maybe he could have rested a bit more comfortably. As it was, all he'd managed to scrounge up were some salted nuts, some crackers, and a bottle of cheap wine. He was sure that there was better food in the refrigerated section of the cargo holds, but this would work for now. Besides, the alcohol was taking the edge off the pain, even if it didn't eliminate it completely.
He heaved a resounding burp, slouched deeper into the blankets, and let the wine do its work. The snowstorm was back to blowing full force outside Dalton's shelter, but he was oblivious to it. He'd already passed out from fatigue.
Lying in his crib, the newborn prince looked the same as any other baby the Gurus had seen. He was sleeping on his stomach, little hands fisting the soft blanket under him. He didn't look like a threat to anyone.
"So why must he be treated like a monster?" Melchior growled out loud, though he kept his voice low. "That bastard, Hydgal! I'd love to wring the man's neck! It's bad enough to be forced to do what he's asking of us, but to treat the prince like some sort of criminal is idiotic. He's an infant, for goodness sakes!"
The prince had been moved under armed escort to a magic-shielded holding cell in Kajar. With so many trained Enlightened about, it was hoped that another crisis might be averted should it arise. Gaspar and Melchior had accompanied the guards and assumed personal responsibility over the baby once they'd arrived. Two cots had been placed in the room along with the crib so that the men could monitor the prince constantly, and rest after their sealing of the infant's magic powers.
Gaspar pulled the stem of his pipe from between his lips. "Hydgal's a cold-hearted beast who cares for nothing beyond his own personal gain. But he was elected by the people. He 'gets the job done', or so went his campaign slogan."
The Guru of Life sighed and passed his hands over his eyes. More than ever, he felt old. "Has anyone been able to contact the King?"
"Communications with the Blackbird have gone silent. Balthazar might have known what was going on but…"
"But he's not here," Melchior finished.
Gaspar shrugged and put his pipe back into his mouth. "That ass, Dalton, is the one in charge of the Blackbird right now. He may just not want to talk to anyone."
"You could be right." Melchior reached down and picked up the single gift that had been given the new prince, a musical Poyozo doll, which he activated by twisting the key sticking out of its back. A gentle melody filled the small room. "So, what's the plan?"
Gaspar shuffled his feet. "Don't look at me. I'm just here for moral support."
But his friend shook his head. "Don't give me that. I know you too well to believe that you're just going to let the Grand Council have their way."
"If we defy them, we could both end up in ice," Gaspar warned.
"Sometimes you have to take risks in order to do what's right. I'm not afraid of the consequences. I'm ready to help out in any way I can."
"Well, I've been giving some thought as to the best way to seal the child's powers."
Melchior gaped at him. "But that's exactly what Hydgal wants!"
"The idea offends me even more than it does you," Gaspar snapped back. "But what other choice do we have? If Hydgal isn't appeased, he'll rally the rest of the Grand Council and they will sentence the prince to death!"
"But to deny him his magic means-"
"I know. Which is why we have to make it appear as though we've sealed his powers without actually doing so." Holding the pipe stem between his teeth, Gaspar rolled up his sleeves. "This is going to take some finagling of the most delicate nature, but between the two of us, I think we might be able to pull it off."
A little more relieved now that he knew Gaspar's plan, Melchior rolled up his sleeves as well. "Just let me know what you want me to do."
"We have to place a formal limiter on the prince's powers. Think of it like the ribbon on a present. When tied, the ribbon will hold the package closed. However, tug the ends a little and the central knot will begin to loosen. If we can make a limiter that we can tighten and loosen at will, without Hydgal suspecting it, over the years we could train the prince in secret."
Melchior nodded enthusiastically. "That's a superb idea, my friend!"
"And when he's old enough to take the throne, we can undo the limiter and present the people with a strong ruler who is in full control of his magic. Hopefully, Hydgal will have been voted off the Grand Council by then."
"Even if he hasn't, it will be too late for him to do anything against us. Besides, these next several years of secrecy will be worth it if it means seeing the look on that bastard's face when he realizes we've outsmarted him."
The two Gurus shared a chuckle at the prospect.
With only the music from the toy to be heard, the old men gathered their energies. Neither felt at full capacity, having spent the majority of their powers to subdue the infant the first time. But this was a different sort of magic all together, and required a different sort of mental manipulation. Gaspar felt confident that between the two of them, they could achieve the desired result without draining their psyches more than they already had.
"Remember," he cautioned his friend. "Like a ribbon, not a sealed box." He waited for Melchior's nod of acknowledgement before they set to work.
By the time they were finished, the Poyozo doll had long since wound down. The infant prince made a little noise in his sleep and twitched. Melchior wearily picked up the toy again and twisted the key until it began playing.
Gaspar settled himself into a chair with a groan and started to light up his pipe.
"You really shouldn't smoke around the baby," the Guru of Life admonished. "It's bad for his health."
"I suppose you're right, dash it all." Gaspar sucked on the end of the pipe anyway, as if the mere act was enough to give him his fix. "What do you think?"
The other man shrugged. "I think it'll work, at least for the moment. Let's just hope that Hydgal doesn't inspect the limiter too thoroughly. It might be a little difficult to explain away a few things, should he get suspicious."
Almost every Zealian had the ability to sense magic, be it in other people or objects. The Guru's limiter indeed suppressed the prince's powers, but the aura of energy it gave off was intentionally misleading. A casual inspection would turn up nothing more than the faintest of power signatures and would hopefully be enough to convince Hydgal that the prince was no longer a threat. However, a serious examination would reveal several "weak spots" where they could temporarily release small quantities of magic in order to train the boy as he grew.
"Let's just hope that Hydgal remains as pompous as ever and can't be bothered with anything besides a cursory inspection of our work," Gaspar concluded while Melchior took the seat opposite his friend. "You know, it's amazing."
"What is?"
"This whole ordeal we're in. Lying to the Grand Council for the sake of a child who almost got us killed."
"It's the right thing to do. My conscience couldn't take it if we let them have their way and seal up the babe's powers for good."
"I'm not arguing with that," Gaspar hastened to assure him. "Hydgal's suggestion is repulsive, to say the least. I just meant that we're risking an awful lot for this boy. Not just our positions, but our lives. I hope he grows up into the sort of man who makes this deception worthwhile."
Melchior chuckled. "You think he won't? He has the noble blood of Zeal coursing through his veins, and more magical potential than I've seen in ages. If he's even the slightest bit like his sister in temperament, we could have the makings of a fine new king. Besides, he'll have the three best tutors in the kingdom to help him, when the time comes. I don't foresee any more setbacks that we can't overcome, can you?"
"There's something I think you should know," Gaspar said suddenly.
Melchior was taken aback by his friend's dark tone. "What's wrong?"
The Guru of Time scratched his chin with one hand and played with his unlit pipe with the other. "After the incident in the Queen's quarters, Princess Schala said something…unusual. I'm sure you're aware of her Highness's sensitivity to the Black Wind?"
"Yes, of course."
"Well, she said that she heard something being whispered. She thought it was the prince's name." Gaspar licked his lips and glanced nervously towards the crib. "She heard the word 'janus.' Obviously, she didn't know what it means, but…"
Melchior went pale. "Janus? Are you sure?" When Gaspar nodded, he let out a slow breath. "In the old language, that word was taboo. It meant 'death and destruction.' To speak of it was to invite misfortune into your home."
"Queen Zeal's hard labor, the still-born second prince, the near explosion…"
"You think it has something to do with the prince's birth?"
"Don't look at me like that. I feel terrible for thinking this way. But it can't just be a string of unfortunate coincidences, can it? For all the effort we're putting into saving this child's life, the truth of the matter might be that-" He stopped, unable to continue for a moment. Then in a rush, he blurted, "Maybe we'll all be better off if we do let Hydgal have his way."
"What are you saying? That the Black Wind marked this child as cursed?" Melchior shook his head. "That's superstitious nonsense, Gaspar! What would Belthasar say if he heard you talking like this? I refuse to believe that a life, any life, could come into this world bearing such a heavy burden."
Gaspar nodded, but didn't say anything further. He couldn't. Melchior took such matters very personally. He believed that each individual chose his or her own path in life. Preordained destinies and Fate were flights of fantasy, in his opinion, and his teachings as a Guru directly scorned such ideas. Gaspar, on the other hand, wasn't so sure.
A knock came at the door.
The two men looked at each other. They'd left the guards with specific instructions not to bother them, just in case they needed to devote their entire concentration to the casting of their spells. For someone to be willing to interrupt their solitude, it must have been an urgent matter indeed.
Melchior got to his feet and opened the door. "Yes?"
A pale and shaking guard stood before him. "I'm sorry to bother you, Guru Melchior," he began. "I know you wished not to be disturbed. I wouldn't have come, except no one was sure if you'd been informed yet…"
"Easy, man," Melchior soothed, though his innards were churning. What had gone wrong this time? "Take a deep breath and tell me what's going on."
The guard struggled to regain his composure. "It's the Blackbird. We fear the storm may have caused it to crash. There have been some reports sent up from the outposts on Terra Continent that indicate a large explosion took place sometime before sunset."
Melchior gripped the door frame on either side to keep himself steady. "Are you sure about this?"
"It's not that difficult a flight between Zeal Kingdom and Terra Continent. His Majesty should have arrived by now, yet no word has been received. All attempts to contact the Blackbird have failed, and no one from the Earthbound colonies has seen the King or Captain Dalton."
Behind Melchior, Gaspar made a strangled noise and jumped to his feet. "Impossible! The Blackbird is a model of state-of-the-art technology crafted by the Guru of Reason himself! Something as insignificant as a snowstorm could never bring it down."
"I hope that's the case," the guard replied somberly. "Until the storm lets up, we can't send anyone from Zeal to investigate. The sky gates can't make a connection with each other in that sort of weather."
Melchior shook his head. "Let's not consider the worst case scenario just yet. Even if there were some sort of malfunction, perhaps they were able to make an emergency landing somewhere. We won't know anything until a search party is dispatched."
"Can't anyone from one of the outposts do something in the meantime?" Gaspar demanded. "Are we really so helpless?"
The guard looked down. "Even if someone were to be sent from an outpost, the blizzard would make it far to dangerous. It would be too easy to get lost in the snow. A man could freeze to death mere feet from the ones he'd been sent to save and neither side would ever know it until morning. The best we can hope for is to launch a recovery team the moment the storm clears up. I'm sorry, but it's all we can do for now."
Gaspar turned away with a sound of frustration.
"Thank you for the news," Melchior said calmly, though he felt about as upset as Gaspar was acting. "Keep us updated, would you?"
"Of course, sir."
When the guard had gone, Melchior resealed the door and approached his friend. He laid a hand on Gaspar's shoulder, unsurprised by how tense he was. "Worrying about it will only make you sick."
"How can I not be worried?" came the thick reply. "If Melath really is dead-"
"Stop it!" Melchior spun Gaspar around to face him, gripping his friend's upper arms tightly. "Don't start jumping to conclusions. We don't know anything for certain yet." He let his hands fall away only to pass them over his face with a sigh. "It's getting late. We should try to get some sleep before we have to face the Grand Council again."
Gaspar glared as Melchior moved toward one of the cots. "How can you sleep at a time like this?"
"Because I'm tired, and worried, and just as frustrated about our inability to do anything as you are. In a few short hours, the fate of our entire kingdom may be thrown into jeopardy. Our ruse might be discovered, an innocent babe might be executed, and a throne might stand empty. We'll need our wits about us, and we can't be at the top of our game if we're falling asleep on our feet. It's for the good of the kingdom, as well as ourselves, if we take this chance while we have it to rest and recover our strength."
"Dash it all, but I hate it when you're right." Gaspar regarded the pipe in his hand, then held it up. "I need a smoke before bed, though."
Melchior waved him off with one hand while removing his boots with the other. "Whatever it takes to ease your nerves, old friend."
He didn't watch while Gaspar left the room, but once he was gone, the Guru of Life looked over at the crib where the infant prince still lay sleeping.
Janus. Death and destruction.
He shook his head. It had to be a coincidence. It had to be!
The next morning was just as cold and bleak as any other morning on Terra Continent. The sun didn't penetrate the thick layer of clouds so much as turn them to a lighter shade of gray. Snow still sprinkled down. It wasn't nearly as dense as it had been the previous evening, but it still made seeing beyond a few feet difficult.
When Dalton emerged from his shelter, he gave the weather a look of disgust. How he hated the cold! At least his wounds had woken him up every few hours during the night. Otherwise, he might have ignored feeding the fire and frozen to death in his sleep.
Under one arm he'd fashioned a make-shift crutch out of some of the broken metal laying about, and padded it with torn strips of fabric from one of the blankets. He had three others swaddled around his body to help with the chill, but soon they'd become wet with snow and wouldn't be of much use. Still, they were better than nothing; he hadn't exactly worn clothing that was appropriate for hiking about in the snow.
If I'd known I was going to wind up in freezing temperatures, I would have worn some long pants.
But there was no way he could have known, so griping about it wasn't helping him any. The best he could hope for now would be to strike out for the Earthbound Colonies. It was better than sitting around, hoping to be rescued. And besides, at least the caves would be warmer.
Wading through the snow was difficult and slow, but his progress was much better than it had been. Using the crutch, Dalton was able to avoid putting weight on his injured leg so he hobbled much faster than before.
The broken metal jutting out of the fresh blanket of snow reminded him that somewhere, hidden from his eyes, was the frozen corpse of the king. He shivered, and not entirely from the cold.
Now that he'd had some time to think about it, Dalton wondered if it might not have been preferable to at least attempt to save Melath after all. It wouldn't have done any good in the end, but it would have made Dalton look better when he returned to Zeal Kingdom; the brave, wounded captain who risked his own life to lay to rest his fallen liege. When they dug his body out from the snow, the rescue team would have seen that Dalton had laid Melath in state, and the captain would have looked like a noble servant. He might have even earned a medal for his valor.
Just thinking about the missed opportunity pissed him off.
His toe caught on something buried under the snow. It caused him to stumble and sprawl face first. He cursed and spat out some snow that had gotten into his mouth, wiping gingerly at his eye with the back of an arm that wasn't much drier.
Sticking out of the snow, still caught on the end of his foot, was the royal crown of Zeal.
It took a couple of painful tries, but Dalton managed to get back to his feet. He picked up the crown and glared at the bloodstained surface. Maybe it was Melath's spiteful little way of getting even with him from beyond the grave.
Will I never be free of that man?
Drawing back his arm, Dalton was about to hurl the crown in a fit of anger when a thought struck him. Maybe there was a way he could still capitalize on Melath's death after all.
"I think I'll hold on to you," he told the crown and slid it down over the head of his crutch. It clanked as it fell and got snagged on a bolt jutting out from one of the sides. Hanging lopsided like that, it seemed less like the symbol of Zealian power and more like just another piece of wreckage.
Stretching out with his magic, Dalton "felt" for any signs of life. Had he been searching for Enlightened, he would have picked up on their magical energies right away, sensing them in his mind's eye as a beacon of colored light. Searching for Earthbound was much harder, since there wasn't any color to see, just a pulse of energy to be felt. The fainter the color or pulse, the farther away that person or group of people were.
He didn't see any colors, so no rescue team of Enlightened were nearby. But he did feel a distant pulse in the direction he was facing. There wasn't anything else he could sense within his magical radius, so the pulse was his only bet.
"Good enough," he muttered and began hobbling again.
After gimping about for what felt like an eternity, Dalton was tempted to just give up and go back the way he'd come and wait to see if anyone from Zeal would come rescue him. He was cold, wet, tired, and in a lot of pain.
This has got to be one of the worst days of my life, he bemoaned in his head. What'd I do to deserve this?
The snow shifted under his good foot. He went in almost to his knee and began to fall forward.
"What the-?" he began and tried to catch himself, but there wasn't any solid ground to support his weight. His arms hit the snow, then went through it.
The warrior-wizard had only a moment to realize what was happening before the world dropped out from under him and he was falling through the air. He landed with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. For a few excruciating seconds, he felt as if he were suffocating before he was able to breathe again. Then the pain hit him and he groaned.
Looking up, he could see the hole he'd fallen through. It was about fifteen feet up, and actually rather wide. Man-made ledges had been carved into the stone wall, a crude ladder of sorts that led up and out. The snow must have accumulated and hid the opening from view.
Rolling onto his side, Dalton surveyed his surroundings as best he could. The only light was coming from the hole directly above him, and it was so pale and weak that he had trouble seeing more than a few feet away. There was a pungent odor in the air. It smelled like sour wine and eggs. Familiar, but he couldn't place it.
Though he couldn't be sure, he got the impression that this was only the mouth of a tunnel that was heading in the same general direction as the energy pulses he'd felt earlier. If the ladder was any indication, he'd more than likely stumbled upon an entrance to one of the Earthbound colonies.
How fortuitous, he thought with only the barest hint of sarcasm.
Dalton's crutch had slipped from his hand when he'd fallen. Expending some of his failing strength, he fashioned a ball of magical light to help him see in the cave's dimness. He located both his crutch and the crown without trouble and clung to them like a lifeline.
Standing under the hole, he considered his options. He could attempt to climb out and keep walking overland in the snow, or head deeper into the cave. There was no telling how long it would take to find civilization, so it was really just a matter of which option would provide the least amount of strain to his person.
The cave floor was rough and uneven, but nowhere near as bad as slogging through drifts of snow in short pants. Besides which, even though it was still freezing, without the wind sucking up all his body heat he might have a better chance of survival. And at least the cave was dry.
That cinched it. The tunnel it was.
As he began to shuffle forward, that's when he heard it. It began as a low chuffing sound, followed by a strange barking that echoed off the stone. The farther into the tunnel he went, the louder the noises became, along with the strong smell he'd experienced earlier. It stung his nose. Using one of the blankets draped about his shoulders, he fashioned it into a makeshift facemask to filter the offending odor as best he could.
What the hell is that?
He was starting to have a bad feeling the further along he got. Slowing his pace, Dalton used as much stealth as his shambling walk would allow and gingerly crept along the wall to disguise his movements.
The tunnel widened into another room. It was large and circular, with boxes stacked all over the place. This appeared to be some sort of storage room for the Earthbound. Zealian technology had been anchored to the stone at various intervals to provide a constant light source.
Dalton's heart sank at what he saw. There, in the center of the room, were Beasts. They were breaking into the boxes looking for food.
Quickly, Dalton snuffed his own light before they took notice of him.
There were three of them, probably two juveniles and their mother given their respective sizes. Their tan and blue-gray fur gave Dalton a momentary thrill of relief. An elemental Beast was a far greater threat than their less colorful counterparts. That being said, normal Beasts were no laughing matter. At over a ton of solid muscle, with wicked claws and fangs, it wasn't unheard of for one of them to make short work of things they didn't like, namely humans. Beasts were fiercely territorial creatures.
There was no way around them; the boxes were pressed flush against the walls, so Dalton couldn't even use them for cover to try and sneak past.
At his healthiest, the warrior-wizard believed that he could have used his magic to take them on, but even then it would have been a challenge to defeat three rampaging monsters all by himself. In his weak and wounded condition, he doubted he could work enough serious magic to damage a piece of tissue paper. Fighting his way through just wasn't a feasible option.
Maybe if I wait long enough they'll leave on their own, he thought, though he sneered at the ludicrousness of the idea. Who knew how long that would take, and he really didn't have the luxury of just waiting around to find out.
Dalton was just about to return to the entrance and climb back out when one of the juveniles raised its head and started sniffing the air. Seeing its sibling's actions, the other juvenile began doing the same. They looked in his direction.
Dalton froze.
Beasts were known to have poor eyesight, but they made up for that with their incredibly keen sense of smell. He'd forgotten that the scent of blood from his various wounds would more than likely draw their curiosity.
One of the juveniles gave its strange bark and the adult raised its head from inside the box it had be savaging. Now it, too, began to sniff. Deciding that they liked what they were smelling, or were at least intrigued by it, the trio started moving in his direction.
Not good, not good…!
Dalton was pressed against the wall, half-concealed by a small alcove and the shadows within it. There was no way he could move without giving away his position, but the longer he stayed the more likely he was to be attacked. But to run was to invite being chased. There just weren't any good options for survival.
They were almost at his hiding spot.
Dalton couldn't take it any longer. He bolted.
Behind him, the adult Beast roared as it caught sight of him. The ground vibrated as the trio began to give chase.
The tunnel was almost pitch black without his light and every wound protested bitterly as he ran, but somehow Dalton managed to avoid falling or running face-first into a wall. If he remembered correctly, it had been a straight shot back to where he'd fallen in. The Beasts wouldn't have an easy time of it either in the dark, which was probably the only thing saving him at the moment.
Something large and furry brushed past him on his left, then on this right. He clamped down on a shout as the two Beasts hurtled by. His first thought was one of relief that they apparently hadn't noticed they'd passed him. If they'd known he was there, they could have torn him in half with one or two bites of their powerful jaws. Even so, he couldn't relax just yet. There was still another Beast thundering down the tunnel somewhere in the dark behind him.
Weak light began to appear on the wall ahead as the tunnel made an L-shaped turn to the left. Beyond that would be the makeshift ladder and the hole. Dalton put on the speed, doing his best to ignore the pain as his injured leg burned and throbbed with every jarring step.
I can do it! I'm almost there!
His elation was cut short as he rounded the corner and the exit came into view. Two monstrous silhouettes were eclipsing most of the dim light leaking down behind them. Dalton came to the horrified realization that the passing Beasts had known he was there but had held back their attacks in order to race on ahead and block his escape route. He was neatly trapped between a rock and a hard place.
The Beast behind him had slowed to a walk. He could hear it taking its time further down in the tunnel. No sense in expending extra energy on pursuing prey that had nowhere to run. The ones in front of him made more barking sounds and began to close in.
Damn it! There has to be some way out of this mess!
Dalton hesitated for only a second before making his decision. He hadn't survived the Blackbird disaster only to be eaten here.
Here goes everything…
He charged right at the oncoming juveniles. They growled in anger at being challenged. When they were within range, Dalton closed his one working eye and threw out his left hand in front of himself. A brilliant flash of light, bright enough to be seen even behind his eyelid, illuminated the dark tunnel. The young Beasts let out horrible shrieks as it rendered them blind.
That was it. His inner well of magic was tapped dry. It left a staggering feeling of fatigue and emptiness, a soul-void that Dalton was acutely aware of. He had nothing to fall back on now except for his limited physical abilities, and he doubted those would save him if tested.
Not wasting any time, Dalton opened his eye and dashed on through. Even without their vision, they could still sense his presence and attempted to claw at him as he escaped. He ducked and was rewarded with their blows landing on one another instead of on him. Unable to determine that they were attacking each other, the juvenile Beasts began to brawl in the mouth of the tunnel. Behind them, their mother roared in anger at their incompetence at capturing their prey.
Dalton allowed himself a brief rest at the bottom of the makeshift ladder, just enough time to get back some of his wind, before he dropped the crown and the crutch in order to begin climbing. His whole body was screaming in protest at his abusive treatment, but there was little he could do about it. It was this, or be made into lunch.
He hadn't gotten very far up when the adult Beast managed to break past its younger cohorts. It ran towards the ladder and set its front feet on the wall. Standing up on its hind legs like that, it stood twice as tall as the average man.
Dalton didn't stand a chance. He tried to brace himself as one of those heavy front paws lifted and batted at him. The next thing he knew, he was swatted airborne and the ground rushed up to catch him on its hard surface.
Landing in a heap on the floor, Dalton gasped for air for the second time that day and tried to push himself backwards to put as much distance between himself and the Beast as he could. Each wheezing breath was a struggle. His clothes were ripped on the side where he'd been clawed and he could feel blood soaking the fabric where the monster's talons had raked him.
The Beast lowered itself back on all fours and lumbered towards him, intent on finishing him off. It pounced forward and slammed its front paw on him again, this time pinning him in place by his injured leg.
Dalton screamed. He felt more than heard the sickening snap of bone breaking and almost blacked out. If he'd thought his leg had hurt earlier, it was nothing compared to the agony that wracked him now.
The Beast opened its fanged maw in preparation for the killing strike, its throat a long, dark tunnel bearing down on him.
Dalton flailed his hands about. He needed a rock, or a stick-anything!-to use as a weapon. His fingers brushed something and he grabbed it, shoving it out in front of him and into the Beast's maw.
The Beast tried to close its mouth on Dalton's arm, but then it recoiled away from him with a howl. It rubbed at its face, but it couldn't dislodge the thing piercing its palate: the sharp points of the royal crown of Zeal.
Just as Dalton was trying to find his crutch to bludgeon the monster with, something remarkable happened. The cave was suddenly illuminated with torchlight and a dozen or so Earthbound rushed in. Each one was carrying a crude weapon made from bone or rock. While most of them set to making short work of the incapacitated Beasts, two men broke away from the rest of the group and approached Dalton.
"We've got a live one, here!" one called out and knelt down beside him. He raked the warrior-wizard with his eyes, taking catalogue of his injuries. "Just hang on," he said at last. "We were sent to rescue you. We'll take you somewhere safe."
"Damn Enlightened," the other man spat. "Got no business being down here, anyway…"
The first man shot the second one a warning look, but Dalton couldn't have cared less at the moment. He grabbed the Earthbound's shoulders tightly as if afraid that he was just a delusion before dying.
"Got to…go to…Zeal!" Dalton grated out. "The King…The King is…"
"Shh, save your strength," the Earthbound man replied, taking hold of Dalton's wrists in order to get him to loosen his grip. "First we'll take you to our colony and have your wounds treated, then we'll contact your people."
He couldn't hold out any longer. The pain and weariness finally took its toll on Dalton, and he surrendered to it. His eye rolled up into his head. He didn't feel it as he fell back against the uneven rock flooring in a dead faint.
The audience room stood empty save for Lord Hydgal and Lady Izle. Hydgal looked as self-important as always with his malicious, outright grin, as the Gurus walked in carrying the infant prince. Izle's own expression was worried, and she paced back and forth to the large window and away.
The Guru of Time covered a yawn behind a hand. He hadn't gotten much sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he had nightmares about that hideous black boil of magic the prince had created crushing him to death. Over and over, his inner voice whispered "janus." Though not sensitive to the Black Wind, himself, Gaspar nonetheless wondered if proximity to the baby had somehow caused him to be cursed as well.
Not that he said any of this to Melchior. The Guru of Life carried the infant with such protectiveness that even Gaspar was nervous about coming too close; his friend looked like he would fight to the death if someone so much as glanced at the prince the wrong way.
"I trust you were successful with the Sealing?" Hydgal asked when the duo stopped in front of him.
"Good morning to you, too," Melchior grumbled. "Where is everyone?"
The councilman shrugged. "There was no need to bother the others. This decision was approved by all, but only needs to be confirmed by myself and a witness." He indicated Lady Izle with a nod in her direction. She was too preoccupied to notice. "In any event, so long as you didn't botch the job and managed to Seal the prince's powers, my word should be enough to satisfy the others."
He began to reach for the baby.
Melchior's mustache bristled. "Before we get into that, what news of the King?"
Lady Izle twisted her fingers together in front of her so hard that she gave the occasional wince as her joints popped. Even Hydgal hesitated.
"Nothing yet," the councilwoman replied. "We're all anxious to find out what's happened to the Blackbird. The storm eased up some time in the early hours of the morning and a rescue team was assembled. They were dispatched shortly thereafter, but they haven't reported in yet. We expect to hear some news any moment, now."
"I see."
Hydgal raised his eyebrows at the older man. "Has your curiosity been satisfied for the moment, Guru Melchior, or do you wish to stall for even more time?"
Melchior glared as he thrust the infant out before him for inspection.
The councilman rested his fingers on both sides of the prince's head. The Gurus could feel him begin to scan their work using his magic. The baby's eyes opened immediately, and he gave a moue of discomfort.
"Will it suffice?" Gaspar demanded after several minutes had passed.
Hydgal glanced over at him. "Patience. I've only just begun. This isn't something that should be rushed, for the safety of the Kingdom." The intensity of his magic outflow increased as he focused even more heavily on the Seal.
The baby whimpered, then began to cry. His little face was scrunched up with obvious pain. But Hydgal was relentless and continued to pour even more magical energy into his scrutiny.
Melchior couldn't stand to watch anymore. "That's enough! You'll damage his mind if you continue!" He attempted to pull the prince back against him and sever the magical connection between the two.
But Hydgal wrenched the prince back into place. "You know, Guru Melchior, I'm beginning to sense that you're uneasy regarding this process. Could it be that you doubt your abilities in this regard? Or perhaps, you and Guru Gaspar are trying to bluff the Grand Council?" The eagerness in his voice hinted that he really hoped they were.
"That's slanderous nonsense! It's your abilities I'm calling into question!"
"Melchior…" Gaspar laid a warning hand on his friend's shoulder.
Hydgal's face purpled and he dug his fingers reflexively into the baby's face. Without warning, a tremendous surge of magic issued forth from the distressed infant. It was enough raw energy to reduce a person to ashes, but at the last moment, the Seal swallowed it up. The only manifestation of it was a brief flash of light that caused Hydgal to leap away with an undignified yelp.
"Monster!" he cried, and pointed a shaking finger at the prince. "You all felt that, didn't you? He tried to kill me!"
"Can't say that I blame him," Melchior grumbled as he turned away and began to rock the crying prince.
"What was that?"
Gaspar stepped in before it came to blows. "As you can see," he began quickly, "the Seal is in place. Any magical emissions will be drained of their potency before they can be released, thus rendering him effectively magic-less. He'll no longer be a threat to anyone."
Lady Izle glanced to her fellow councilman. "Is that really the case?"
Hydgal was still breathing hard. He worked his mouth like he wanted to start shouting orders for execution, but he clenched his fists by his sides, grit his teeth, and said, "From what I could tell, the Seal is secure. I wasn't able to fully examine it; who knows what might go wrong with it in the future? For now, at least, it appears to be doing its job."
"Of course it is," Melchior snapped. "Or else we'd be sweeping your remains into a dust pail even as we speak."
Hydgal rounded on him. "You're treading on my thinnest thread of patience, Guru Melchior. One more word out of you, and so help me-"
But his threat remained unfinished as several Enlightened guardsmen entered the room. Every face was grim.
For a moment, no one could speak. Even the prince had succumbed to silence.
At last, Gaspar managed to ask in a strangled whisper, "The king?"
The acting head of the Zealian guards blinked back unshed tears and reached into a bag at his hip. He withdrew an item and held it out for everyone to see.
Lady Izle let out a shocked gasp. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and Gaspar was just fast enough to catch her as she dropped to the floor in a faint.
The guard and his retinue knelt before Melchior, or rather, the infant prince in his grasp. The crown was laid before him at the Guru's feet.
"The king is dead," the guardsman muttered in a choked voice. "Long live the king."