The Prophesy: Book 2 - The Right Hand of Destiny

 

Paschal and Sitar had left a few days earlier to finish the wall along Astor's border so it would reach Delphi. Samson and Harold had taken their army further south crossing Astor along the eastern roads, while Harp and Enron moved their units along the western roads southward as well. The armies slowly progressed south, at a leisurely pace.

Alamein and Gdansk' capital had been ordered evacuated and their population brought south and west across Ra and Astor. There would be a gap of a week between the passage of the Royal army, Gdansk' population, and then Alamein's population, a time which would be put to use in restocking the food depots by Sitar and Paschal. Meanwhile, Harp had endeavoured, with the help of Enron, to recover whatever could be from all structures found in the archduchies, and stockpiling things for Sitar and Paschal's construction project.

As Paschal and Sitar progressed eastward with their wall, a debate arose. Should it cross and follow the border between Gdansk and Munster up into the eastern mountains, or stop at the border between Gdansk and Astor. Finally, in order to resolve the issue, a meeting was called just as the forward units of Enron and Harp's army, now renamed the Western Army, reached the border between Astor and Solon. A day's rest was ordered, and the royals, plus the dukes and archdukes, were moved into a forest clearing, prepared by the care of Paschal, to allow for all to hear the debate and participate. The mountainside was carved out to create an amphitheatre, and a rock platform set up where the royals would be sitting, including the canine and equine leadership.

Another debate arose as to the need to invite Princess Iridia, and, for that matter, a member of the Bigfoot tribe. Inviting them would publicise their existence, and they had survived because of the secrecy around their existence. Was their contribution to the war effort worth dispensing with the secret? Finally, Enron decided not to invite them. Their safety was more important than their contribution to the war effort.

Queen Annabelle and Prince Ian, along with Ian's wolf nanny, Samantha, made a hop to join the convocation. It had been a long time since Ian and his dad, Harold, had met, and the King was amazed at the growth of his son over the last nine months. Ian, albeit still three months shy of his first year, was running all over the place, riding on the back of his milk nanny, and showing a remarkable strength for his age. He spoke wolf-tongue fluently, outpacing even the wolf pups of his year. Human speech seemed to elude him still, but for how long? Ian's telepathic capacities were also progressing quickly, and he had by far outpaced his human friends. It seemed the issue was not language itself, but the fine motor control required to speak that still eluded Ian.

The wolf guards were constantly helping him to learn the art of the hunt. Barely a week before the meeting, according to the captain of the Wolf Guards, he had killed his first rabbit by a perfect bite at the neck. Annabelle wasn't too pleased about this, but she had to accept her son was more wolf than human in many ways.

His physical strength was also exceptional for his age, more akin to a wolf pup his age than a human pup's. He could outrace human kids five years his elder, and showed a sense of balance found only in qualified acrobats. The funny thing is, Ian refused to wear any form of clothes, even if it was the middle of winter, and the cold winds were blowing ferociously around the camp. His mom worried much about his health, wondering why he never seemed cold or to be sick. The boy would run all day, come back to the home with his wolf and human friends, the later teeth clattering from the cold, and he would simply lay down in the wolf pack nest and fall asleep after suckling from Samantha's tits, eating some raw meat, and hug his mom.

Meanwhile, Ian had been taught horse riding by one of the Equine captains; it had begun rather innocently: the guard had seen Ian on Samantha's back a few times, and figured the prince would benefit from a real horse. The issue was to get him on one! Samantha, who was finding Ian's weight a bit too heavy for her back, offered the solution. If a horse could trust her enough to jump on his back from a rock, she could carry Ian there, and he would climb off her onto the horse's back. She would then jump off, leaving Ian alone for the ride. Now, what horse would want to do that? Volunteers were few! A call to the equine conscience brought a single volunteer: Silver Moon. A quick exchange with Harp and Silver Moon was translocated to Eloise to be Prince Ian's horse.

The first try almost ended in a catastrophe as Samantha almost fell off Silver Moon's back. Silver Moon stopped the wolf bitch from falling off by rearing his hind legs. Once things had stabilized, Ian dismounted the wolf, which jumped off quickly. Ian then lay on his belly and Silver Moon began a slow, gentle walk around the field. As Ian began to feel more comfortable, Silver Moon increased his pace, making sure the prince stayed safely between his shoulders. The strange behaviour of Silver Moon attracted the attention of a legionnaire of Annabelle's Guard; he in turn notified his Decurion, who, intrigued, called upon an elf to monitor the activity while he got Annabelle to the exercise field.

To say that Annabelle was shocked and panicked wouldn't do justice to the feeling she had as she saw her not yet year old son ride bareback on Silver Moon. The only thing that calmed her was the calm demeanour of the elves, which seemed to be impressed by the ability of the boy on what amounted to be a wild, untrained horse. A quick discussion with them and the legionnaires revealed none had contributed to the situation, and the mystery remained as to how he had managed to get on the horse's back. Harp never revealed his knowledge about the issue, albeit the presence of Silver Moon tipped off most of the witnesses. Mothers can sometimes be blind to the behaviours of their little angels!

Initially, Ian was content with riding Silver Moon in the courtyard, but he gradually grew more daring. Somehow, Silver Moon and Ian understood each other and began going ever further afield, always staying within the palace grounds. Then began the steeplechase over the hedges, and finally, a clear jump over the fences. It became a common sight to see the bare-assed prince riding his horse around Eloise, from dawn to dusk. He never fell, and when he was hungry, he got some food from everyone around, when he was not feeding from his milk nanny right where he had taken a stop. Pit stops were done directly on the horse's back, which didn't seem to bother Silver Moon the slightest; grooms, on the other hand, found the work totally unappetizing. The milk nanny would tongue wash the prince at every possible occasion, eliciting a cascade of laughter from Ian and smiles from elves or legionnaires witnessing the bath.

***

Meanwhile, on the western coast, an increasingly frustrated Minotaur tried to track the possible path of Mage Marlin to the east coast. He had first picked the scent off the College of magic, but it was proving difficult to follow, since the trail was five, no, six years old now; and for some reason he could not understand, the Mage's magic signature did not respond to his repeated invocations. Either the Mage was dead, or he had grown insensitive to the Call. Forced to undertake the tracking the old-fashioned way, he began his track and found himself crisscrossing the kingdom, following first the sea northward, then, faced with a sea of ice that seemed to obliterate passage and trail, to follow the eastern edges of the mountain range that delimited the kingdom' limits. There were a lot of impassable dead-ends, made from ever more encroaching ice tongues, and then there were the Glows. High and low, these Glows were a constant threat to his wellbeing. The orcs, that seemed to be ever present, also presented another obstacle to his progress and his search for a way east. The few crocodile priests and their Hunters were no match for him, but still required constant monitoring, since the Hunters seemed intent on trapping him one way or another. At some point, he barely escaped uninjured a cascade of rocks rolled down a cliff side; only his quick wits and rapid move to hide under an overhang prevented him from getting squashed. Nonetheless, it took him two days to dig out from under the pile of rubble safely. Furious would not even get near his mood as he finally surfaced from the rock pile, covered with contusions and scrapes from head to foot.

As he was slowly making his way down a gully, the Minotaur noticed the rocks had rolled from the side not too far back in time. Weary of receiving rocks from above, he opened his senses to any presence. At first, all he noticed was that there were apparently an important group that had been trapped under the rocks he was now slowly crawling over. Further extending his senses, he sensed wolves had passed before and probably about the same time, a group of Bigfoots. He figured the wolves were hunting the big beasts, as they seemed to be following the gully downwards toward the stream he could hear below.

Further extending his senses to include the magic range, he was shocked he had missed the signs. A battle of mages had happened nearby, and the walls' collapse was not natural! As he explored the magic space a deep feeling of dread enveloped him. Could he have fallen into a trap? It became apparent the battle had occurred further up, before the gully's beginning. Calling himself bird names for his lack of attention, he backtracked up slowly, weary of creating a rocky avalanche as he climbed over the unsteady boulders and slipped repeatedly on their steep, gravel and pebble covered surfaces.

Finally out, and taking a few minutes to calm down his racing heart, He found the focal point of the battle. First things first: who were the mages involved? To his utter surprise, he recognized Meagan's signature, and, over her, an unknown one. Yet the battle had been brief and apparently it had been but a skirmish, violent enough to chase her away, if the vaporous magic trail he felt leaving the battlefield was an indication. Seemingly, the Mage that had chased Meagan off the battlefield had followed her and hunted her like a prey. He decided to follow the trail himself, but not before exploring the clearing around.

The first thing he noticed was the numerous wolf tracks, then Bigfoots prints, and then the hunters. Something did not add up, but what? The Minotaur crouched down and began to analyze the prints. First there were, covering the other tracks, the hunters' boots. That told him they had been the last to pass in the area. As he looked around, he spotted the prints of a pair of tiny boots, over the hunters'. That did not make sense. How could a child be in this area? Mystery: 1; Minotaur: zero. Further study showed the prints appeared out of nowhere and vanished. It's like the child fell off the sky and took off again! Mystery 2; Minotaur: zero! Flustered by the story told here, he decided to further study what was being said before trying to understand what had happened.

Pushing the issue to the background, he resumed the study of the tracks. Another anomaly seemed to pop up as he analyzed a mud patch. The wolves were ahead of the Bigfoots, not behind them! Apparently, the three expeditions had entered the gully one after the other, first the wolves, then the Bigfoots, and then the human hunters, but he had only found skeletons of humans. The other two groups had crossed the gully safely! Only the humans had been trapped!

Then another patch of mud told another story; apparently the wolves had not only led the Bigfoots in the gully, but also followed them, as if they were herding them! That too did not add up! No Bigfoot group would have accepted being sandwiched between two apparently big wolf packs. The only constant thing was that the humans had been the last to walk over that mud flat. The Minotaur was completely lost.

Figuring he couldn't make sense of what the tracks were saying, the Minotaur decided to follow Meagan's trail and try to figure out what happened from the magic traces as he tracked her. Not willing to be taken by surprise, he first found a safe place, alongside the western cliff, just below where the gully began its decent. It was hidden out of view, even from the cliff tops, and any animal walking down or up the gully would make sufficient noise to alert him to their presence.

Extending his magic senses gradually, he took Meagan's signature, and began following it; it became apparent, rapidly, that the other Mage's signature was over hers, like a blood hound's. Following the trail, albeit difficult, was not that impossible, as the two tore the fabric of magic by their concomitant travel. He tracked the trace to a shattered cave, where the violence of the battle was apparent. Everything was cracked; the walls showed traces of intense heat and the roof of the cave seemed to have dripped. Finding nothing of interest, he resumed tracking the now very weak signature of Meagan up a spiralling staircase that seemed to have no end to its climb upward. Finally a door blocked the passage, a minor obstacle for the essence of the Minotaur; he simply slid between the doorframe and the door itself and found himself in a bedroom, which seemed to have been abandoned some time back in a not so far past. Where was he?

Opening his senses and extending them further, he felt something familiar about the place he was. Curious, he crossed the other door he could see at the end of the bedroom and found himself in a hallway. Then it hit him like a ton of bricks: he was back where he had started! He was in the Black Magic Keep! There, right beside Meagan's now abandoned cell was his! How could that be? The battle that had destroyed Meagan had been fought right under their feet, and none had been the wiser! And how come he had missed that secret door, and that lower keep? He had carefully examned the cell and found a secret exit and the room of Power, or so he thought, but he had totally missed that other door! Even now, in his Essence, the Minotaur could barely discern the passage and he knew of its existance!

Calling his essence back to his body, as he was getting tired, the Minotaur decided to rest and recover before resuming his exploration of the area where he would pass the night.

***

The next morning found the Minotaur as tired as the previous evening; the entire mystery had kept him awake and nightmares had troubled his short naps, interspersed by frequent waking because the wind blew gravel or pebbles down the gully. An occasional falling rock also kept him on his hoofs; after all the Minotaur did not have toes!

First things first: who was that child that could, apparently, fly? The Minotaur returned to the mudflat and began to look around again; sure he had missed the tracks of the child in the dusk the previous day. It took him some time to find others, but he finally found a pair, just beside clear traces of wolves, or, at least, canines. But the prints told him a complex story. Tracks from the wolf were over his and tracks of the child also superposed themselves on the canine's tracks. That could only mean one thing: the two were there together, at the same time. The child and the big predator seemed to be close. The notion of friendly never crossed his mind, given he had never even been friendly with his genitors.

As he tried to make sense of the information, he began exploring the magic field and was hit by a tsunami of magical power that literally overwhelmed him, sending him reeling. That couldn't be! Wolves did not possess magic! And no human child that young either! How could he verify who was the magic welder here?

Returning to the newest track he noticed the wolf had a missing front left toe claw. Quickly returning to the mud flat, he studied it and also found a wolf prints that seemed to be of the same age as the child's boots. Backtracking slowly he managed to notice that two, possibly three wolves were with the boy; the missing toe one, a huge one, probably an alpha male, and a younger, smaller one, maybe a female. He managed to track the missing-claw wolf around and figured it had never come into the mudflat with the boy; how the boy had managed to jump from the rock edge to right in the middle of the mudflat still left him perplexed, but another issue was more pressing. On the other hand, the only wolf present at the first location seemed to have been Missing Claw, as he had decided to label it.

Expending his senses very gently so as not to experience another sensory overrun, the Minotaur found the magic signature, identical, he was now sure, to the one he had sensed further up. It had to be the child, since only he had been at the two places! Comparing the signatures brought up another fact to his attention: the weak bloodhound signature he had followed to Meagan's secret den was the child! That just couldn't be! Given the footprints' size, the child was no more than five or six years old! Overwhelmed with his discovery, the Minotaur sat on his butt and decided to analyze the facts he had at hand. Could it have been one of these meddling dwarfs he had been warned about? They weren't known for any magical prowess, but who could trust them? And they did not wear the kind of boot that child wore; theirs were of a rather strange design apt for mining, not what seemed to be flexible sole type the child seemed to have worn from his tracks. Deciding he did not have enough knowledge about dwarfs and their habits to make an educated guess, he pushed the problem off. What else could he deduce from the facts at hand? The nagging feeling was that this was the Wolf Child he had set to hunt and capture or kill, but his ardour had been seriously dented from the cave's appearance and what had been left of Meagan. That child was a force of nature, just by the extent of damage he had observed.

As nothing else could be gained from staying in the clearing, the Minotaur decided to resume his search for the passage eastward he so desperately needed. He began going down the gully slowly, but, as he engaged himself in a particularly treacherous passage, a thunderstorm, which had been in the making, burst over his head. It made the rocks even more slippery, and rocks, hit by lightning began crashing around him from the cliffs. Rocks rolled down from the top, bouncing all over the place, and he was pelted by chunks of rocks of varied size. Water began flowing down the narrow gorge and cascade over the cliff lips, making the descent even more hazardous. Desperate for shelter, the Minotaur tried to find a foxhole, but, to his dismay, found that holes filled up rapidly with the torrential downpour. There was no safe place to hide and weather the storm, which was growing in intensity by the minute.

As he was crawling across a huge flat boulder, he heard a rumble above him and saw a dark mass that blotted everything out headed his way. He rose to try and outrun the rocky mass only to fall flat on his face, hoofs totally unfit to hold to the now slippery surface. Crying in despair, the Minotaur tried to make his body as small as possible. The giant boulder hit behind him, slightly above his position and the Minotaur felt himself fly in a long parabola as the rock he had been clinging to catapulted him. The boulder that had slammed on his precarious platform hit the ground so hard the rock on which the Minotaur had been split in half at the fulcrum, thus stopping the roll of the giant mass, but no before dislodging a series of smaller pieces that took a life of their own and began a rocky avalanche down the steep slope.

The Minotaur landed in the upper branches of firs, which bent under his impact. His ears ringing from the commotion, the Minotaur saw the avalanche of rocks head his way and slam into the trees. Holding to the swaying treetops for dear life, he hoped that they would hold against the onslaught. Some smaller rocks managed to rebound high enough to hit him even if he was well above the main landslide.

Finally, the sound of falling rocks, which had drowned the thunder and the rain, diminished; only an occasional rumble of rocks adjusting to their new position could be heard above and below the treetops that had so miraculously protected the Minotaur from certain death. There were other sounds now that attracted the Minotaur's attention. First, he could hear falling trees and branches around him, and he wondered how long the ones holding his considerable body mass would hold. Second, he heard an occasional explosion, which intrigued him, until he saw a fir literally explode from a lightning strike, splinters flying everywhere. Then a more subtle sound caught his attention as his hearing returned: the sound of flowing water. The gully was but one of many that fed a now imposing stream carrying all sorts of detritus, from broken tree limbs, to animal carcasses, mostly small rodents and rabbits, to rocks that seemed to roll downriver like a carpet of odd-shaped marbles, cutting into the river's bed like diamonds.

It became apparent to the Minotaur that his situation was precarious at best: lightning could strike his perch making it into a crisp and converting him into a Minotaur quabab; a perch which threatened to break under his weight any time if the complaints of the wood were any indication. The rocks flowing down the stream were rapidly undermining the riverbanks, eating their way through the root system of the trees he was an ornament of. A big rock could roll down the gully to administer the deathblow to the trees and crush him; meanwhile the water in the stream kept climbing as the lower reaches dammed up with debris. Furthermore, it became apparent that trees tend to fall towards the river, not away from it, which would precipitate him into a maelstrom of which he felt very unlikely to survive. To complicate matters, he still was twenty feet above ground, and he was unsure of the nature of the ground below. Jumping could well be out of the question, but climbing down was as bad an idea; the Minotaur was no tree dweller! Furthermore, he felt numb everywhere, and in pain just about any place else. He was not even sure he could move his legs, as he did not even feel them.

A deafening thunderclap accompanied by a blinding flash of light shook the Minotaur as lightning struck just below him at the tree trunk he was clinging to. The jolt of electricity burst throughout his body, putting his nerves on fire, and he lost consciousness.

***

The Minotaur woke up in excruciating pain. His clothes had burned on him, and one of his horns had split in the middle. He had a searing headache and a constant ringing in his ears. At first, seeing only darkness, he thought the lightning had blinded him, but as he adjusted to his environment's poor lighting, he noticed fires in the not so far distance. Looking around, the Minotaur realized he was on the ground, about forty feet from the trees that had absorbed his catapulted fall; the trees themselves were being consumed by flames, and the fire had spread along the stream banks. The flickers of light offered by the burning firs revealed he was on his back; he lay in a bed of ferns that had naturally grown between a crack in the rocks. As he tried to sit, dizziness hit him in full force; the Minotaur decided to stay put, however dangerous the situation might be. He couldn't possibly move given how he felt, even if he tried. He munched on the ferns he could reach, wishing for a more sustainable source of food. How he missed the rich grasses of the meadows he had been travelling through during the previous weeks. He was so tired he didn't even have the force to install a warning shield around his location, figuring the humans that had been tracking him would be having serious issues with the events of the day and getting down the gulch in one piece. The ravine's more than unstable condition would be an obstacle to recon with, and, hopefully, the sudden onset of another cascade of falling rocks would wake him up, giving him ample alert time to do whatever he could to misdirect them. Totally exhausted from the previous events, the Minotaur fell into a catatonic sleep.

***

Meanwhile, the previous evening, a group of soldiers had observed the Minotaur's action from a distance. They had wondered why he had first gone down the ravine to climb back out and start to study the ground, moving in circles from a mud flat; yet even more intriguing was the sudden movement, much like an invisible enemy had punched him in the face as he studied a spot on the ground. What was all that about?

They saw the Minotaur engage again down the gully and figured he would come back up later, so the group of trackers decided to wait on him rather than follow down. The start of the thunderstorm did not come as a surprise to them, as they had been expecting it all day; what did catch them off guard was its extreme violence. They saw the rockslide begin from their vintage point, but lost view of its progress as it went further down. They lost interest in the Minotaur's fate when fires began around them from trees set alight by lightning. It became apparent to the group of men they were as much in danger as the Minotaur, if not more. At least, that disgusting beast had magic to help; they didn't!

The storm lasted all day and well into the night; the men hunched down, trying to guess how the budding forest fire they were caught in would progress. Winds were twirling in every direction, and the fire jumped from tree to tree at an alarming speed; nothing seemed to be able to slow it down.

In the early morning, the clouds stopped pouring and the lighting seemed to be going further away, east and north of their position; the command was given to move down and see what could be made out of the situation in the ravine. Quite rapidly, it became apparent that going down the same way the Minotaur had taken was impossible. The first man to set foot on the unstable rocks triggered a cascade of debris that almost had him fall down; lucky for the man, the sergeant had ordered he be tied to a group of his colleagues and they were able to stop his fall, as the ground gave way.

The sergeant was not a dimwit; he figured since they could not go down by the same way, they would find another. They spent the day exploring the region and one man noticed it could be possible to climb down the cliff face at one end, into a streambed. Logic had it that the ravine went down to the stream, and they would be able to find out what had happened to the Minotaur once they could explore the bottom.

Another night passed, cold and wet, as the men made ropes from twine. The result was less than satisfactory but it was better than nothing. As an icy dawn brought to light a gray sky, the men began their descent. The rocks were slippery, muddy, and unstable; rocks rolled down under the feet. It took the whole day but finally, the group reached the bottom. Exploring the dense undergrowth would prove a difficult task even during the daylight hours; and given the stream's flow, a dangerous one at best. The group huddled down, assaulted by mosquitoes that seemed to find their juicy morsels right under their tattered clothes. Building a fire proved difficult, and the night passed slowly for the soldiers.

***

Dawn had the group of soldiers divide in two teams, one for each side of the still very angry stream. Each team lined itself perpendicular to the stream, six feet separating each men, and they painstakingly began to progress up stream towards where the gulch would normally spew its contents. The progress was slow, very slow, and many a soldier showed his discontent with a string of expletives that would have pleased the Minotaur with the imagined tortures expressed herein. The trees were rotten and often fell at a mere touch; the rocks cascaded from the cliff, or rolled underfoot, some made slippery by moss; thorny bushes seemed to find pleasure at stabbing them right and left, targeting their family jewels unprotected as they were by the military dress. Stinging insects kept them constant company, attracted by the smell of badly washed bodies and open sores.

The Minotaur heard them coming from below him and decided time was ripe to move; however sore he felt, magic depleted by the healing charms he had to use to repair his most blatant damage time was upon him to move. He found a steep ravine climbing out of the narrow stream canyon and began a torturous, painstaking climb, grumbling against the meddling humans that forced him to move before he was ready.

As he progressed upward, he found a flat mud bed that had been protected from the rain's direct impact and a wolf print that seemed to be as old as the ones he had observed on the other side. Hope again peeked its head in the darkness, and the Minotaur began to climb with more energy. Maybe he was back on trail!

Below him, the soldiers found the nest he had spent the night in, and, from touch, figured he was less than an hour ahead of them; An hour, but where? The ferns told them he had moved upriver but they went to the gulch without finding any indication he had climbed up; the gravel and mud flats, freshly cleansed of any footprint, showed no one had passed there since the previous rains, except birds and rodents. Since he couldn't have passed through their lines, they figured quickly he had taken the upper road, and a corporal remembered a steep incline that seemed to lead out of the streambed. There, rocks told that a large animal had climbed recently; big stones had been overturned, their wet faces, not yet dried by the sun's rays, revealed by the sparkle and darkness that contrasted with the dull gray of dried rock surfaces.

A thread of burned-out tissue confirmed this was indeed the passage taken by the Minotaur, and the units regrouped at the bottom, filled their water bowels at the stream, and began to follow their quest upwards. A rolling stone coming down confirmed they were on the Minotaur's tail, and closing in, as the Mage seemed to experience some serious problems climbing up and out of the steep ravine.

By sext the soldiers reached the little plateau that marked the halfway point and took a rest. There was no need to rush up; they were supposed to follow, not catch up with the Minotaur. They could hear his grunts and imprecations as he was climbing the last, very steep, incline out of the gorge. The soldiers took the time to eat some dried food, not bothering to start a fire as they fully expected to resume their tracking shortly.

***

The Minotaur was too busy trying to prevent a fall to worry about puny humans tracking him. The climb was proving far more difficult than he had anticipated. He had fallen often enough to curse the Earth itself, and looked wearily at every plant, sure they had signed a contract to dice him to minced meat. Cuts were bleeding from every square inch of his body, and the last threads of clothes had taken residence on thorns. His feet, although made of hooves, were beginning to bleed from the top, which was not as protected as the soles; even they seemed to rebel at the idea of touching another pointed piece of rock. Yet, the Minotaur persevered, cussing under his breath at first, and finally quite loudly as he reached the lip of the ravine and found how steep the last bit of the climb would be.

Grabbing roots to pull himself up, he barely escaped rolling back down by a last ditch effort at grabbing a tree root just as the rock he was leaning his weight on gave way and began to slide down. Not yet out of trouble, he managed to swing his body up and, after a lot of painful contortions, to sit on it. Tired beyond measure, he took a few minutes to take deep breaths. In his sitting position, he could see above the edge and literally smell the magic signature he had been following!

After finding his breath, the Minotaur carefully grappled around and stood up on the root, which began to oscillate ever more wildly under his weight. So close, yet so far! The Minotaur resolved to use the swaying motion to his advantage, hoping the root would hold long enough for him to jump to firmer ground. He began giving his body a to and fro motion and, just as he felt the root's end was going to give way and cut due to slicing, he jumped off and rolled on the upper plateau, barely missing falling off into a hole he had missed from his previous visual inspection by grabbing at the tree trunk for dear life.

Shaking violently from the effort, he crawled on all fours and carefully progressed toward the more solid ground he could see mere feet from his position. If Meagan could have seen him, she would have laughed again, and called the Minotaur an elevated sheep once more, he thought to himself. Oh how he loathed Meagan, and regretted he could not have assisted to her demise!

Finally out of danger, the Minotaur lay on his belly sniffing rapturously at the magic signature of the boy he had definitely labelled in his mind the Wolf King. The boy's tracks would not escape him now, he was sure!

***

Below, the soldiers had heard the efforts of the Minotaur, and heard the rock fall; they saw the boulder roll between them, gaining speed and momentum, bringing down with it ever bigger chunks of rocks and dirt. As soon as the ground stopped shaking from the repeated impact they resumed their climb, weary of triggering a catastrophe. The smallest noise of rolling rock or pebble sent shivers down their spine. As they turned a bend, the lead soldiers signalled to the others to stop.

Above them was a spectacle they had not expected to see: the Minotaur wildly swinging on a tree root! They could see that the thinnest part of the root was rubbing on a rock whose edge was knifing through it at each swing. Just as the root was about to give way, the soldiers saw the Minotaur jump off the root and apparently roll on the tree's upper root system. Dirt and rocks came cascading down on them from the savagely shaken roots; as they cleared their eyes of the dirt and dust, they saw the legs of the Minotaur dangle in a hole that had opened between two roots. As they watched, weary of receiving the entire tree on their head, they saw the Minotaur slowly pull himself out of his precarious position and, according to the change in lighting they could track from below, travel the roots toward more solid ground.

The leading soldiers whispered the information to those below them and stayed put, waiting for instructions from the sergeant that was located further down. The presence of a dangling hoof told them the Minotaur had not yet moved off and was resting. That fitted the soldiers just fine.

***

The Minotaur rested his sore body for nearly an hour then stood up shakily. His first priority was finding the way taken by the wolf king; he could then feed and thus take vengeance on the vegetation that had so cruelly hurt him, forgetting it had prevented his death just days earlier.

He began a circular search pattern from where he stood and spent hours looking at the ground for any out-leading footprint. In despair, he used magic and had to come to a conclusion: everything converged toward the place he had exited, but none left! It just did not make sense. No Mage could fly, and certainly not wolves or trolls! In frustration, the Minotaur exploded in fury, throwing a temper tantrum that would have pleased any four-year old deprived of candy! Trees were reduced to matchsticks; rocks flew everywhere as his magic went all out in uncontrolled explosion. The ground shook violently, thunder hit wildly in all directions, setting trees, bushes, and grass on fire.

Meanwhile the humans that had been tracking the Minotaur had managed to climb out from the gully and watched from a group of rocks the beast's effort at tracking something. To say they were impressed by his display of power would only begin to cover the awe it inspired them. Every man was on the ground on his belly, looking wide-eyed at the cyclone that was the mad beast. The electricity in the air had their hair stand on end; and sparks crawled on their body. The smell of lighting, ozone, was omnipresent, competing with burning wood or animal flesh.

Finally, the Minotaur got over his rage and began moving east in an effort to cross the mountains again. The soldiers decided to give him some leeway and to wait until the next day before following. The Minotaur had driven a fear into them they never thought they could ever feel.

***

Nestor, the Great Grand Master of the Order of the Light, Dean of the College of Magic, had been busy since his last visit to the Throne of the Wolf, and had come to a painful decision: he would ask the college be moved out of the area. Some strange events had been bothering him, and the latest, concerning his counterpart within the Dark Mages, had troubled him. He considered all his information once again, and decided to call a meeting of his staff, involving only the highest members of the order for the next morning, at prime. Some of these lazy gits would not appreciate being out of bed before sunrise, but it was time some lard was spent on other things than couches.

But first, he needed some help, to eradicate the last traitors in their midst. Taking into account the time difference, he decided to place his call on his ambassador to the Wolf Throne around an hour before matins; it would take his man just after dinner, and it would be unlikely Ambassador Ferriday would be riding or involved in any activity requesting attention or otherwise embarrassing.

Nestor ate lightly that evening, as he did not want to feel sleepy when he talked to Ferriday. He took a quick bath and went through all the ceremonial that accompanied going to bed as soon as possible, even sending off his pages so he could focus on establishing an unscheduled call. He thought, for a moment, about contacting that charming little boy, Harp, he remembered now, which he had grown particularly found of, but decided to follow the civil hierarchy rather than risk hurting Ferriday's feelings.

As the bell rang the eleventh hour of the day, Nestor sat down on the floor and took a position of relaxation, one the old masters of yoga called the Position of the Lotus. Using a mantra to empty his mind of all earthly and heavenly preoccupations, he created a void in which he gradually built an image of Ferriday as he last remembered him. Half an hour later, he finally established telepathic contact with someone. Now, to establish who was really there, and also focus the transmission so it did not stray into unwanted eavesdroppers.

«Cosa Nostra²² ("Cosa Nostra: Italian, 'our cause'.") », began Nestor, indicating he wanted the conversation to be encrypted at level fifteen.

«Mare nostrum³³ ("Mare Nostrum: Latin, 'our sea'.") », replied the individual, acknowledging Nestor properly, according to the established protocol they had set up at their last meeting. The words had been chosen to reflect ancient, dead languages, with minimal, disjointed meanings. The first in Italian and the second in Latin; the next recognition would be in another pair of dead languages, according to a set order known only by Nestor and Ferriday. Mutual identity ascertained the two began exchanging information, using a pseudo-random pattern of noise they had also prepared in advance to encrypt the transmission. It would mean longer messages, more time, but since Nestor had requested such a level of encryption, Ferriday figured it must be worth the effort.

«So, Nestor, what brings you to contact me? Usually, it's me doing the contact to report. Nothing bad, I hope?»

«I'll be direct, my friend. I've decided to move the college. But I need help.»

«Move the college? Why?»

«It's too long to explain this way. I would like you to ask Harp and possibly others to join me on the premises. I need help in eradicating all these spies the Black Mages have put in our midst, and possibly move the college. After all, if they can move cities, I see no reason they cannot move the college itself.»

«I will have to talk to Samson or Harold. The princes are with the western army, a few hundred miles off; we are going to merge again around that big lake at the heart of Solon in a few weeks. From your request, I gather it cannot wait.»

«No, it cannot wait. There are too many things that do not add up. I sense some disaster. Please rush things.»

«I will talk to them later tonight; for now, the kings are discussing what has transpired from the western army, and they seem a bit miffed. I do not think it would be proper to add to their worries.»

«I suppose Harp did something they did not expect.»

«Probably, Nestor. I am too far to follow what is being said, but their big eyes tells me it must be another one of these fireworks he has grown us accustomed to. Anyway, I will talk to you later. Rest, but do not fall into deep sleep!»

***

It took a couple of days before Ambassador Ferriday managed to meet with Harold, as the two kings had mysteriously vanished for these two days, leaving the command of the eastern army to a duke. On the second morning he was met with the worrisome blank look of another guard, he happened to collide with Harold as he left his tent for his morning exercises.

"Your majesty? May I have a word with you?" said Ferriday, as he picked himself off the ground.

"Certainly, Ambassador Ferriday. I am going to take a run. Would you like to accompany me?"

"A run, your Majesty? To where?"

"Oh, just around the defence perimeter. I do it every morning, when I can, then I dive in the river!"

"Around the perimeter, Sire? But that is five miles!"

"Yes, I know. I wish we had a flatter ground, but running in a forest for five miles is just about as tiring as running ten on a flat road. Ah, here comes Samson and our escort. You will be able to talk to me while we run. We have a long day today since we are running late on my sons' army if we are to meet on time!"

A feeling of dread overtook Ferriday, as he found the current military regimen more than hard enough as it was; thinking of going back to the old eighty-eight miles a day that had characterised the army's movement at the start of the campaign sent shivers down his spine. Oh, he knew he was fitter than before; he had lost his belly, he could breath and run some, but he had grown accustomed to the ease of life Mages easily fell prey to.

On the other hand, Nestor must be growing impatient, and Ferriday, for all his capacity as Mage, was not willing to displease the Great Grand Master. He resigned himself to the upcoming torture, as his legs made their protest known even before the run began. Old age seemed to spare no one; but then, who was he to complain, since king Samson was way older than he, and seemed to rejoice at the prospect of a good run?

The group moved in front of the royal tents and began their warm-up exercises. After twenty minutes of ever-harsher moves, they began the run. Ferriday was already breathing hard, wetter than a towel dropped in a pool. By the time they reached the inner perimeter, Ferriday was ready to die, but he valiantly kept up the pace. He noticed one thing: the others were barely sweating, and the kings chatted with everyone without even giving the impression of being out of breath. At some point, the royals stopped talking and both looked at Ferriday. In the silence, the only thing that could be heard was the puffing from the Mage.

"You are not very fit, Ferriday. You need to get that body in shape. A fit body gives more resilience and a more powerful magic as well. Since we began this, our powers have multiplied by at least a hundred. I know my boys run all day, and are so fit they could put to shame even the most hard-boiled legionnaire."

"I I am sorely aware."

"Now, what was it you wanted to discuss?" asked Harold, smiling at Ferriday's stuttering.

"Nestor Nestor wants help to move the college."

"Has he told you why?"

"Not exactly. But " replied Ferriday, taking a breath to stabilize his galloping heart rate, "But he says he senses something is going to happen and that the college must be moved for safety."

"Is that all?" commented Samson offhandedly, as if it was a day-to-day occurrence.

"No."

The two kings looked at Ferriday, waiting for further clarifications.

"He needs some people to eradicate spies in the College."

"I see; what he wants is the use of Mitsuko, which happens to be in the hands of Paschal presently, since he needed it while rescuing some people."

"Probably more, your Majesty. I think he needs the princes, all four of them."

"Had we known you needed to talk to them, we would have taken you on our side-trip to the western army a few days ago."

"Side-trip?"

"Well, we decided to look into what our four terrors were doing. We were quite pleased, if you want to know."

"And it gave me some time to spend with my son Ian. That little devil has grown! It seems wolf milk fits him well."

"Not to forget raw meat, and an appetite to compete with the trolls, Harold!"

"Yes, I noticed. And I thought the four terrors were bottomless pits! Ian would put all four to shame!"

"Interesting, your Majesties. And yes, I wish I could have talked to them. The feeling I was getting from Nestor spoke of dread, and imminent danger."

"Let's finish this run, and we'll contact the four terrors. According to them they still have four days to reach the shores of the lake and then at least a couple of days to reach Solon's capital. From what I understood, they were going to find the entire walk rather boring and would probably welcome some sport."

"Sport?"

"They have a running tally of how many people they have disposed of, and consider it a competition."

"That sends shivers down my spine."

"It sends shivers down the spines of the bad guys, mostly. There were a few deserters as they entered the dense forest at the border of Solon, and they hunted them down. Their way of marking their displeasure was to behead them, and put the head on pikes at the head of the conscripted units, encased in a stasis field. I am sure the view of these heads has discouraged quite a few potential deserters."

"I have a mind of doing the same thing if ever we have any," piped up Samson.

"Go ahead. We both know how to make mobile stasis fields, after Harp so brilliantly explained the principle."

The run continued for a while more, as Ferriday prayed he would not make a fool of himself and break a leg by tripping on a tree root. How agile the kings seemed, barely touching the ground as he lumbered on. Finally, they reached their starting point, and to Ferriday's horror, the entire entourage stripped nude and jumped in the icy stream to cool off. How could they do that and survive? The stream was even partially covered with ice! As he looked on wide-eyed, the kings watched him with laughter in their eyes.

"Come on, join us! It's perfect!" exclaimed Samson.

"Perfect to kill, yes!"

Looking at each other the two kings blinked and smirked. A second later Ferriday found himself nude, suspended six feet above the stream, and then, in a resounding splash, hit the stream bottom. Had he been whipped, he would have been less shocked. Sputtering, the Mage stood up and began turning blue almost immediately.

"So, Ferriday, isn't this refreshing?" roared Samson, to an explosion of laughter from their escort.

Ferriday was unable to respond, as his teeth were playing the castanets.

"Hey, maybe we should include him in the royal fanfare. He has a good rhythm!" Harold commented.

"I just wonder if he should be with the female fanfare? We always thought he was a male, and from what I see, the jewels took refuge in a cave!"

"Stop teasing the poor man, Samson."

"Look at who is talking!"

Laughing, Harold looked at the poor Ambassador and decided to take pity on him.

"Ferriday, I have yet to figure out why you do not use your magic to keep your body warm? I figured it was possible after seeing Ian play in the snow naked."

"Let's warm him up ourselves, Harold. He seems to have had a shrinkage of more than his male attributes!"

"Yes, we better hurry, or we will have a severe case of cold burns."

The two kings teleported Ferriday to his tent, dried him up and warmed his body from the inside out. After ten minutes of intense work, they noticed that the Ambassador had stopped playing the charge with his teeth and his colours had returned to normal. Ferriday still seemed catatonic, so they clothed him with warm wool and furs. They created a portable chair that could be set between four horses and set him up in it; they quickly had his camp disassembled and packed for the trip, and returned to their own encampment to cloth up and get ready for the day.

"I think we outdid Harp today with our dunking of Ferriday," said Harold, laughing hard.

"I just hope he doesn't hear of it!"

«Too late, Dad! Francesca sent us a play by play of the dunking! You know, this means war! We are planning our revenge! No one out-tricks us!»

"I shiver at what these four monsters will come with! Should we warn the poor victims of their impending doom?"

"No, Harold! We got Ferriday fair and square. If their tricks teach people not to be too lax, it may eventually save their life or the life of others. Had Ferriday been attentive, he could have countered the entire process."

"There you have a point. Let's finish preparing, and I will be calling them for a conference about Nestor's need while we ride."

***

«Boys, stop laughing at the expense of Ambassador Ferriday; it seems he is in shock.»

«We cannot help it, dad», replied Sitar between giggles; «Ferriday's wide eyes, look of utter horror, and then shock after the dunking is too much to forget. Paschal has even drawn a picture of the scene from the memory he collected from you guys! And, if I can say so myself, it will go down in the annals of the funniest cartoon.»

«What are you up to?»

«I plan to create a portfolio of the best faces and circumstances as we move on, dad. I already have a wide range, as you have seen, but I figured some funny scenes might be in order», replied Paschal.

«Anyway dad, what can we do for you?» interjected Harp.

«Nestor wants help, and, according to Ferriday, it is urgent. Apparently he would be in need of Mitsuko to do some clean up, and he wants to move some stuff.»

«You seem to take a lot of round about ways to say what you want, dad.»

«Well, apparently, Nestor believes there might be eavesdroppers on our communications.»

«Given how they lack focus in their transmission, I agree their transmission can be listened to quite easily. They should yell them from roof to roof! As you know, we use a narrow, coherent thought projection method, except on public broadcasting.»

«Nonetheless, let us honour his worries. What do you plan to do?»

«We will pay him a visit. It is still a bit early, and I do not want to wake him up.»

«It is thoughtful of you, Harp, but I doubt he sleeps much, given his worries; and the lack of immediate response from us must have compounded his misery.»

«OK, please tell the Ambassador we are off to visit Nestor in a few minutes. Time to dry up brothers! Hey, Paschal, no ice throwing! It's supposed to be a snowball fight! Enron, stop playing with your smoking pole!»

«Bossy, this morning, are you not, Harp? I just finished taking a quick pee!»

«Sure! Spelling your name in the snow! Luckily, Enron is a short name or you would need to be a race horse!»

After a good laugh, Harold replied, «Too much information, boys, way too much information!»

***

Nestor had been worried sick: not only were things getting worse by the hour, but also he did not hear back from either his ambassador or from the Throne of the Wolf, or the Throne of Nature. He had barely slept, and dark black circles marred his usually serene and elderly features. Stress could be seen in every movement. The meeting of the Order had not gone too well, and, with the lack of support, he had barely escaped being demoted by a group of power-grabbers. Debate and denials of facts, and downright blinding to reality had been the order of the day.

As he woke up from a short, restless nap, Nestor heard a knock at his door.

"Yes?"

"Grandpa Nestor? It's me, Harp! Can I come in?"

"Please wait a minute, I got to dress more formally, Prince Harp!"

"Oh come on, grandpa! I've seen a lot of nude men since I have come to my power, doing all sorts of fun things! I just can't wait to grow up! You have nothing I have not seen at work!"

"Nonetheless, I have to dress, if only for the formal occasion. I have to introduce you to the Council, and I doubt they would be as forgiving as you. I'm almost done!"

A few seconds later, Nestor opened his door to the four princes.

"I am surprised to see you this morning, Ferriday should have given me some warning! And all four of you?"

"Oh, Ferriday is broken. He took an icy bath after a run this morning and has yet to recover. I am sure he is physically fit, but his dousing shocked him. How much time do we have before the meeting?"

"In about three hours. It is barely past lauds, and we meet at prime. The Council members hate it, but it has always been the custom, and they are more conservative than a mountain, prince Sitar."

"And what are the issues?" asked Paschal.

"There is a rebellion within the Council; they refuse to see the danger we are facing, believing that the College is safe; they want to remove me from my role as leader of the Council, more because I have called a meeting and they see it as an occasion to advance their own position rather than because I did anything warranting my impeachment and removal. They are blind to the signs of the Earth as well; there is an enormous tension and I can feel it crack from everywhere. For them there is nothing wrong. And the cherry on the cake is the numerous attempts at undermining the College's very existence coming from infiltrators, not all of which are Black Mages; king Edward, by the intermediary of his con man, has placed a lot of moles everywhere. There is even a flagrant violation of our extra-territoriality by the presence of a division of legionnaires at our doorsteps, which regularly intercept our students when they go out for herbs, search them, or otherwise push them. I have managed to keep the fire down, but one of these days, a student will blow his top, and I will have to fight Edward. Not that it wouldn't be fun to set that bastard down a few pegs, but from the presence of numerous Black Mages within his units, I think it might not be so easy."

"Go freshen up, Grandpa, and order yourself some food. You look like you met a boxing champion and lost. We will look at the Earth's state and tell you what we found."

"Oh yes, I almost forgot; my counterpart in the Black Mages, the Minotaur, is travelling; his behaviour is erratic, as if he did not know where he is going; and three days ago, he expanded a lot of magic in what I can only describe as destructive fury. I can follow his displacements because he is so cocky he does not even bother hiding himself and reducing his wake the magic field."

The four princes followed Nestor to his study, and he left them there while he went to the refectory to have an early breakfast.

"Harp, what do you make of this?"

"Enron, I think the first order of the day is to look at what is going on under our feet. I remember that signature from my fight with Meagan, but it has changed slightly. The cave where I defeated her is on the opposite side of this mountain, and this is where the Black Mages have their own College. I suspect they are the ones responsible for the change. Some power hungry idiot has tried to manipulate magic for some unknown goal and it's now twisted; if it is so, it will rebound violently. As you all know, magic cannot be coerced, it can only be directed if one wants smooth results. I have twisted magic when I blew up the dam; I have also twisted it when we built that wall, but never to that extent! I understand why Nestor is worried!"

The four princes quickly explored the field and came back from their trance a lot more worried.

"The fools! The natural flow is so twisted it has bottled up. There are nodes of magic everywhere under us! No wonder the Earth is cracking, as Nestor said. What can we do, Harp?" asked a worried Paschal. "The tension is so great any more handling an all hell will break loose."

"We will move the college from here as soon as feasible, building and students alike. But in order to do that, we must get rid of the moles and black mages. I have no intention of bringing snakes within our midst."

"And after that, Harp?"

"They get what they bargained for!"