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  THE THIRD POWER

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2017 by Robert Childs

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

  First printing: 2017

  ISBN: 978-0-692-82880-9

  Chapter I

  The weak light of their torch pressed against the blackness all around them as they each stole quietly down the dark corridor like fleeting spirits. Even in these dank catacombs beneath the palace, they could still hear the steady thunder of the siege engines laying waste to the castle’s outer defenses above.

  “Hurry, Your Highness,” the lead man urged.

  The princess quickened her pace yet again, though the apprehension in her heart grew with every step. “Captain,” she said as loudly as she dared, “why is my father sending me away?” She slowed a bit as her gaze followed her thoughts to the battle above. “I’m worried about him.”

  In her heart she knew the truth. Why else would her father send her away unless he feared the castle, her home, would fall?

  Imperial Guard Captain Soloman glanced over his shoulder at her, his frown clearly showing his impatience. He reached back and took his princess by the hand. “Your father will do all he can, Highness. The most important thing now is to see you safely away from here.” At that, he pulled her along behind him quickly, the princess taking two steps for every one of the captain’s own.

  His answer did nothing to allay her fears; he was deflecting but she knew why. The good captain did not wish to admit he remained as uncertain about his Emperor’s fate as any. The princess glanced behind her to the pair of elite Imperial Guards bringing up the rear of their small party but if they shared her concern they gave no outward signs.

  The four of them pressed onward, farther and deeper into the catacombs until the depth of their descent reduced the sounds of the siege above to an occasional, ominous vibration in the stone. Their booted footfalls now predominated as hollow echoes on the cold stone floor, marred only by the occasional squeak of a protesting rodent.

  With a sharp upward motion of his hand, Soloman signaled them all to an abrupt halt. Surrounded by so much darkness, the sudden glow of the luminous, white light shining from around the next bend was a beacon in the black. Particularly disconcerting was the way it moved. It did not sway or bob as might an ordinary human carrying a lantern, nor did it flicker like a torch. It simply advanced, smoothly and steadily, growing brighter as it approached.

  Weapons flashed as they came silently from their scabbards and Soloman motioned them hastily to retreat back the way they had come with three quick jabs of his hand. The two men at the rear turned—and bumped into an invisible wall.

  “What are you waiting for?” Soloman whispered harshly. “Move!”

  The two men looked to each other, concern and confusion apparent on both their faces, and then alternately threw their shoulders against the impenetrable barrier with a loud clamor of armor and buckles.

  Suddenly the princess feared for them all. “Captain, what is happening?”

  The muscles in the soldier’s jaw flexed several times as he ground his teeth and stared hard through the invisible wall. “Magic, princess,” he growled. “It seems the Dark One has found us after all.”

  He whirled then, facing the advancing menace with a resolve as hard as stone. “Sergeants,” he beckoned, and a moment later each of the other soldiers took a position to either side of their captain, forming their own protective wall in front of their princess.

  “If he seeks to have you,” Soloman said icily, “he’d better have brought with him all the demons of Hell.”

  All too soon the light engulfed them, shining like a white hot, blazing sun that filled the passageway with a blinding intensity. Soloman shielded his eyes against the brilliance with his left hand and held his blade ready to strike in his right.

  A strange mist then coalesced over the three men and held them fast like ants in amber. Muscles frozen, heartbeats stilled, they might have been statues in Medusa’s lair for all the signs of life they showed to the princess, who alone remained free.

  She rushed forward in a panic and seized Captain Soloman by the arm and shoulder, desperately attempting to break whatever magical hold had taken him but he remained solid and unmovable as a pillar of stone. She stopped then and took several deep breaths. “A rational mind prevails,” she said softly, remembering the oft-spoken mantra of her father. That memory calmed her, steeled her. She wiped away the tear at the corner of her eye and stood to face the menace that had trapped them.

  “What is it you want?” she asked, her voice finding the strength not to crack.

  The luminescent being answered her in a language both alien and beautiful, its voice a chorus of three that scattered her fear like a cloud of butterflies on the wind. The young woman’s eyes widened in recognition and a familiar love washed over her in answer.

  “I knew you would return,” the princess said. “I knew you would never abandon me.”

  Though he could not move, sweat poured down Soloman’s face as his princess slipped past him. He fought desperately to break free, to scream, to do anything but watch helplessly—not while there was still the slightest chance to save her.

  The princess walked straight into the intense brilliance of the white light and vanished within its spectral depths from the eyes of those soldiers sent to protect her. At the center she could see more clearly, as though passing through some invisible barrier marking the blinding luminance outside from the soft glow emanating from the humanoid being before her now. She stepped forward into its loving embrace and let her temple rest against the supernatural being’s chest.

  “Where will we go?” she asked, feeling less alone and afraid now that she was reunited with the one she trusted above all others.

  The being turned slightly, releasing one arm from the embrace and extending it toward the direction from which it had come. The princess looked and there the air wavered like desert heat. Then the veil of her world opened up and parted with a watery shimmer, like the surface of a lake pulling apart.

  The princess gasped and her mouth dropped open in wonder at what she beheld. “I have never seen such a place,” she breathed.

  Together the princess and the luminous being passed through the magical gate arm in arm. In another moment, the wavering rift sealed itself behind them with a sharp retort and brilliant flash of light.

  Then all was dark once more.

  Soloman burst forward, no longer restrained by whatever magic had bound him, but far too late. The princess had vanished. Taking a knee, he peered down where she had stood and examined the thin film of dust on the stone floor. Where the princess had stopped was plainly visible, but now…

  “The wall,” one of the other soldiers spoke as he waved his sword experimentally in the air. “It is gone.”

  As there was no need, Soloman did not turn. Though no longer sure if it had truly been the Dark One after all, who, or what, it was now had what it came for.

  The princess was gone.

  Chapter II

  “I don’t get it,” Steve whispered beneath the droning of his teacher’s latest lecture on the American Civil War, this one on the Battle of Gettysburg. “Why would they insist on taking me with them?” The newly-turned eighteen year-old blew a lock of his otherwise short, yellow-blond hair away from his blue eyes with a huff that was equal parts impatience and frustration. He felt torn, really. Granted, he passed his eighteenth year only last month but, regardless of that fact, he was now legally a man, thereby capable of making his own decisions about how he would spend his tim
e and with whom. At the same time, however, he felt an annoying responsibility to respect his parents and attend the reading of the recently deceased man’s will—even if he still was a little fuzzy about just how the dearly departed had even known his mom and dad. Still, a convenient excuse would be a God-send just then.

  John shrugged his indifference. “I can’t claim mind reading on my resume—particularly when it comes to parents—but I think you’re complaining for nothing. Dude, you’re getting out of school early.” He said this last as though that alone justified the infringement of his friend’s time and so much more by the parental units.

  Early or not, Steve’s mind raced for an excuse. Homework was definitely out of the question, as his parents would never believe in his sudden conversion to studiousness. A part-time job would be convenient about now but that too was not a reality. Hard as he tried, there seemed no credible way out of what was sure to be a monumental waste of time.

  “None of my family even knew this guy when he was alive, but mail them a fancy invitation and suddenly they can’t say no.” Steve recalled noting the invitation when he carried it inside from the mailbox a few days earlier. It was the envelope that caught his eye; made from hand-pressed paper, it had a different look and feel from the rest of the mass-produced mailings he had also carried. Steve had tossed the pile on the kitchen table and his father noticed it right away too. He opened it first out of curiosity more than anything, and the card within briefly detailed the passing of a sketchily distant relative, Mr. William Jacobs, in flowing hand-written calligraphy. “Even if there was some remote, tenuously thin, thread of familial connection,” Steve continued, “it’s not like my parents stand to gain anything out of this. They never even knew him. Why not just skip the courtesies and pretend we were never told about it?”

  “Mr. Walker!”

  Steve sat bolt upright in his seat.

  “This is my history class and unless you have a photographic memory I expect you to be listening as well as taking notes. Class isn’t over until the bell rings and you are mine until that time. Am I clear?”

  Mr. Eron peered at Steve from behind little round glasses which always managed to slip down the bridge of a pudgy nose that seemed too large for his face. Steve wondered off-handedly how somebody could possibly possess so many chins.

  “Very clear,” Steve replied with a nod.

  Satisfied, Mr. Eron pushed up his glasses for the hundredth time and continued the lecture.

  John lowered his voice to a whisper. “Just how far removed is this dead guy anyway?”

  “As far as I know he isn’t even a real relative.”

  Mr. Eron whirled, cheeks flushed red in anger. “Steven Walker!”

  The stress of the day, mixed with his compounding irritation, allowed the young man’s temper to flare for one regrettably uncontrolled moment and Steve responded without thinking. “What?!” he shouted back.

  The entire class, John included, stared wide-eyed and silent. Steve silently cursed himself for letting his frustration get away from him but there was nothing to be done about it now. Mistake or no, the deed was done. Best to just face the music and move on.

  The silence between teacher and student broke as the dismissal bell sounded. John was out of his seat like a bottle rocket. His own book bag already on his shoulder, he grabbed Steve’s bag in one hand and practically hoisted Steve out of his seat with the other. In the next two seconds, John pulled his friend out the door of the history class and into the hallway beyond. A dozen feet down the hall, John handed Steve his book bag with a smile on his face that showed his barely contained mirth.

  “I appreciate your effort but you know this isn’t over,” Steve said slipping his bag over one shoulder.

  John’s voice squeaked as he tried unsuccessfully to suppress his mirth. “I’m sorry, but--but did you see his face?”

  Steve walked on somberly, well aware of the consequences yet to be faced. Tomorrow’s class would likely kick off with a rousing trip to speak with the principal.

  “‘What?!’” John imitated, a near perfect mimic of Steve’s tone, if not volume.

  Steve couldn’t help but smile. I suppose it is kind of funny, he admitted to himself, even if it was going to be costly tomorrow. He clapped his friend on the shoulder, “Look, I have to get going. My parents know I don’t want to go and they’ll think I did it on purpose if I’m late.”

  John glanced at his watch and nodded. “Yeah, I have to get to fifth period. I’d walk with you but if I get another tardy it’ll be detention for sure. I’ll see ya’ later.”

  The rest of the afternoon passed much more smoothly than Steve had expected. After checking out at the school’s main office, he found he still had time to stop for a bite to eat. That and the fact his parents didn’t try to squeeze him into a suit helped to brighten—if only slightly—an otherwise dreary Friday afternoon.

  Oh, that’s right! Steve thought to himself. Friday. I’ve been so annoyed about this thing with the will I almost forgot about my date with Amy. I can’t avoid going with my parents but maybe I can duck out early.

  During the next hour, Steve, his father, mother and five year-old brother dressed and drove to the legal offices of Dunn and McCracken, Steve in his 2009 red Mustang and the rest of the family in their four-door, blue Ford Edge. Once inside, Steve made no effort to disguise his resigned sigh as the elevator climbed higher into the steel and concrete tower. On the seventeenth floor, the elevator halted and the doors opened with barely a sound. Not surprisingly, Steve exited last.

  Bill, Steve’s father, crossed the hall to the double doors directly in front of them and opened one with his right hand and a simultaneous, good-humored flourish of his left hand, bidding them all to enter. This was unmistakably the right room, for it teemed with people and, as expected, Steve didn’t recognize a single one of them.

  “Dad, ask yourself, is this really necessary?”

  His father only rolled his eyes and pointed into the room.

  Another sigh. “Guess so.”

  The pungent scent of cologne mixed with the dusky odor of a recently extinguished cigar washed over them all. Steve waved a hand in front of his face to try to clear the air without effect and, suddenly, he remembered why he hated crowds.

  Rows and rows of fold-up chairs stretched from the left wall to the right, leaving only a single three-foot wide aisle down the center for passage. A hardwood desk stained red sat at the end of this aisle; most likely, Steve surmised, where the arbiter of the will would read.

  Steve and his father had just taken their seats when his little blonde-haired brother next to him jumped to his feet. “Steve, I gotta’ go potty.”

  He ruffled the younger’s hair saying, “Billy, can’t you wait? It looks like they’re going to start soon.” The doe-eyed boy shook his head and made a fist around each of Steve’s thumbs, pulling with all his might to get his older brother up out of his seat.

  The youngster led the way as if he had been there a hundred times before. Once inside, Steve leaned on the counter to wait for Billy to complete his business. “Use the shorter one,” he directed.

  Billy often attempted to use urinals too tall for him to reach effectively. Reluctantly, he moved in front of the shorter one.

  Steve turned and straightened himself in the mirror. Wearing his favorite white knitted sweater—his favorite because his girlfriend, Amy, liked the way it looked on him—he ran both hands down the front to smooth the weave. According to Amy, she liked the way it brought out his iceberg blue eyes and yellow-blond hair.

  “I’m done,” Billy said from behind.

  Steve waited for his little brother to wash his hands and then said, “Let’s see if we can’t get this done and get out of here.”

  Not-so-surprisingly, they returned to find the senior partner of Dunn and McCracken, James McCracken, already seated and reading. Glancing left and right, Steve estimated nearly a hundred chairs and a butt occupied almost every one. He quickly le
d the way back to their seats and turned his attention to the dusky-voiced man at the front of the room.

  By his demeanor, James McCracken was no more enthusiastic about his presence at this particular gathering than Steve, and he read with all the excitement and variation of a droning air conditioner. Steve tried to listen at first, but lost interest quickly in the names he did not recognize receiving piecemeal largesse from a man they very likely never knew well in life themselves. Though his eyes remained fixed ahead, Steve’s mind wandered; first to his favorite sport of fencing, where presently he reigned undefeated as the west coast champion in saber. There was just something about the martial sport he found absolutely liberating and, as far as he was concerned, that made it the greatest sport on Earth.

  His thoughts drifted further still to his girlfriend, Amy. Her dark brown hair lightly touching her shoulders, eyes like chestnuts set in pearly white, and the way she always smelled of jasmine. Though she attended school in Seattle and wouldn’t graduate for another year, Steve often made the drive up to see her and planned to go to college locally, thus saving them both the difficulties of a long-distance relationship. He could almost see her now, standing before him, quietly calling his name.

  “Steve. Steve, wake up. Come on, wake up, it’s over.”

  Steve roused slowly, only now aware he had dozed off at all. He rubbed at his eyes and checked his watch, his eyebrows rising in pleasant surprise the meeting had ended sooner than he expected. Steve filed out of his row with the rest of his family and started milling his way toward the double doors as quickly as the rest of the departing crowd would allow.

  “Ah, excuse me! Mr. Walker!”

  Both Steve and his father turned to find James McCracken motioning in their direction. Seeing both of them turn he shrugged apologetically saying, “Sorry, I meant young Mr. Walker. A moment of your time, if I may?”

  Steve pointed to himself in surprise. “You sure you’ve got the right guy?”