by Gregory Heal
“When you become denser than earth, you will not break,” Victor said as he looked into the crater his tenderfoot had made.
Jen laughed. “You sound like a fortune cookie.”
Victor leaned on what was left of the boulder and added, “And your lucky numbers are: six, fourteen, twenty-eight, and forty.” They both laughed at that, enjoying a moment of respite.
When the laughter died down, he said, “The last ability is to match your strength with that of the earth’s. Think of Sir Isaac Newton’s third law of motion: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.”
He walked to a slightly bigger boulder, waving Jen over. She followed and watched as he slid into a deep walking stance. In one fluid motion, Victor brought his hands down to the right side of his hips and thrust them out at the boulder. When his open palms made contact, the massive boulder, which had to have weighed close to four tons, immediately slid ten yards across the rocky plateau before coming to a halt.
“I enacted the same amount of density that the boulder has, causing it to react by sliding away, much like how pool balls interact during a game of billiards.”
Jen followed the trench made by the enormous boulder to where it now rested. “That’s amazing!” She looked at Victor and eagerly asked, “My turn?”
“You read my mind.” He smiled tightly, waving for her to begin.
Jen made her way to the other side of the boulder and said, “I’ll try to push it back to its original spot.”
“Sounds good.” Victor crossed his arms and stepped out of the way.
Copying what Victor had done, Jen placed her feet into a walking stance and focused, touching the boulder first to pick up its exact level of density. After she was satisfied with what she felt, Jen took her hands off the boulder and brought them down to her right hip, as though she were holding a large softball. She opened her eyes, fully primed, and drove her palms into the hulking mass in front of her.
At first, Jen thought she missed the boulder, but then it flew away from her. Like a rocket, it sped across the open space with such force that it tumbled over. End over end it rolled, creating deeper depressions in the ground. With no intention of stopping, it zoomed past its initial resting place and clear off the rocky plateau, digging up large chunks of sod. It stopped when it finally careened into the Pentarena’s back wall, transferring the kinetic energy to the barrier, which sent waves of prismatic light rolling away from the point of impact.
Jen remained in her stance, too shocked to move.
Victor blinked a few times before slowly turning around to face Jen.
“I think it’s time for a break,” he declared.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Malcolm knelt in front of the Throne of Dragons, meditating. Breathing in, breathing out. Trying to focus . . . trying to push Jen from his thoughts.
But he could not.
He couldn’t help but remember all of the fond memories they had shared, even when he knew that it was a means to an end. He shouldn’t have let her affect him so, but he’d let it happen anyway, foolishly thinking he could forget about her as easily as tearing off an old bandage.
Now he was stuck paying the price, and it was affecting his performance and mission. He didn’t know how many more chances he had left.
The soft beating wings of Madame Diamea sounded as she fluttered around him, finally swooping across the room to hang on her branch next to Draconex’s throne. He took in a deep breath, letting his lungs fill to capacity, and held it for a count of five seconds, then released it slowly as he focused on his calm heartbeat.
“Obediently waiting for your master to return, Mal?” the sing-song voice of Diaema cut through his focus.
Several seconds passed as Malcolm tried to regain focus, ignoring her loaded question.
“You must be uncomfortable down there,” Diaema teased.
Malcolm could smell her perfume now, which meant that she must have already changed into her human form. Realizing that his mediation was over, he finally said, “It’s not that bad.” He opened his eyes to see the wickedly elegant Madame Diaema sitting on the throne’s right armrest.
“If you’re only waiting for a few more minutes . . . but what if Draconex doesn’t return for another hour?” She crossed her long legs and let them dangle.
“I don’t mind waiting,” Malcolm said indifferently.
“But you should. Your time is just as important as his,” Diaema pointed out. “Especially with what’s at stake.”
Malcolm searched for the angle she was playing. “Lord Draconex knows how sensitive our quest is. He wouldn’t waste valuable time if he didn’t deem it worthy.”
“True . . . but what if he doesn’t think you’re worthy enough to include you in everything he does in your little ‘quest’?”
Malcolm’s eyes widened in surprise and flashed with annoyance. “He does find me worthy, because he’s training me. What’s more, he’s even shared with me every step in his plan to retrieve the Halostone.”
“Maybe . . .” Diaema inspected her long nails. “Maybe not.” She looked straight at Malcolm.
He swallowed, feeling doubt creep into his mind.
“He’s told you about your late friend Archie Blake and his demise at the hands of the Grand Mystra Cindergray?”
Malcolm looked to his knees, feeling mixed emotions. Even though he had been furious to find out that Draconex had sent another Dark Watcher to kidnap Jen, Blake was a good friend and loyal to the cause. Malcolm was beside himself when he’d heard Blake had died.
“Yes.”
“Of course. What a shame.” Diaema shook her head, letting her silky blond hair brush across her shoulders and back. “Surely, then, he filled you in after he returned from his own attempt to capture the Lancaster girl, right?” She waited, not moving a muscle.
Malcolm blinked, making sure he’d heard her correctly. “He went after Jen? Draconex did?”
Diaema put on an injured expression and pouted. “I was hoping he told you, though I’m not surprised he didn’t when he returned without his prize.”
Malcolm felt his face flush red with anger and betrayal. “What happened?” he demanded.
“Draconex took Volcanor to ambush her when she was alone, but she had company.”
“Victor,” Malcolm seethed.
Diaema didn’t say anything to that, only snickered. “After separating Lancaster from her company, he had Volcanor grab her . . . or so he thought.”
Malcolm’s annoyance grew—not at how Diaema was dragging the story on, but at how Draconex had kept it a secret from him.
Diaema sighed dramatically. “Turns out, Jennifer used the moltic spell on herself to escape. Draconex flew all the way back here with a cheap imitation mold.”
His anger now boiling, Malcolm scoffed, too angry to appreciate the well-deserved irony. Draconex had been mercilessly scolding him for constantly failing to capture Jen, but now, not even he, Draconex, the great Dark Watcher commander, could succeed in the same endeavor. That double-standard fanned his anger into rage and he jumped out of his kneeling position and yelled at the top of his lungs.
Diaema smirked as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Are you beginning to see how he plays people? Even the ones closest to him?”
Malcolm felt that she was speaking from experience.
Watching Malcolm pant, she hissed, “Want to get back at him?”
Malcolm coughed in surprise. After struggling to regain his composure, he silently stared at the ghoulishly gorgeous vampire, afraid to ask but also curious to hear what she had in mind. “How?”
Diaema’s smirk stretched into a full smile. “First, sit next to me.” She rubbed the Throne of Dragons’ cushion next to her.
A chill shot through Malcolm’s spine. His rage melted away and was replaced by dread.
I couldn’t do that . . . could I?
“What if he finds out?” Malcolm asked, trying and failing to hide his fear.
>
“He’ll never know.” Madame Diaema mimed zipping her voluptuous lips and throwing away the invisible key.
Warily looking behind his shoulder, Malcolm walked slowly toward the Throne of Dragons.
“You’re almost there,” Diaema urged him on. She softly patted the cushion now.
Fearing that Draconex would walk in and catch him at any moment, Malcolm shot a look over his shoulder every five seconds until he was standing in front of the throne.
Diaema placed her hands on her lap and winked.
Malcolm shut off his hesitation and sat down, surprised at how comfortable it felt. For some unknown reason, he felt more confident, sitting high on the Throne of Dragons.
“Isn’t it intoxicating?” Diamea asked, breaking Malcolm out of his daydream. “That feeling of power?”
“Yeah—” Malcolm cleared this throat. “Yes.”
Still sitting on the armrest, Diamea giggled. “Oh, honey, you’re sitting on the Throne of Dragons. Act the part.”
She slid off the armrest and stood in front of Malcolm. Slowly, she leaned over and gently grabbed both of his wrists, then paused with her face inches away from Malcolm’s. His heart began to pound as strands of Diaema’s hair fell from her shoulders and dangled just above his thighs, sending wisps of her perfume in his direction. Without blinking, she picked up his arms and placed them on the throne’s armrests. Once she felt confident that he wouldn’t immediately remove them, she let go and took a few steps back.
Malcolm looked down at the new placement of his hands. The more time he spent on the throne, the more he noticed that his body language and demeanor began to transform. As he clenched the cold, hard dragon heads at the end of each armrest, he relaxed his shoulders, moved his feet farther apart, sat up straighter, and even puffed out his chest. The familiar sense of crippling fear was quickly replaced by one of powerful confidence as he envisioned himself doling out punishments to his genuflecting underlings begging for his forgiveness.
Diaema crossed her arms and smiled. “And that’s why Draconex never allows anyone to sit on his throne—if they feel its ancient power, they develop a desire to possess it.”
Malcolm shook his head, finding it hard to believe that seconds ago he was scared of Draconex, like a mouse to a cat; now, he felt like the lion. “I’ve heard stories about the power of this throne. I’ve never thought it to be true.”
“That’s the hidden power of the Throne of Dragons. It holds powerful traces of every dark sorcerer who has sat where you sit now,” Diaema said, then added, “including Lord Ferox.”
That caught Malcolm’s attention. “Why are you telling me this?”
Diaema looked away as if silently replaying a painful memory, then returned her gaze to his and said, “To make you realize that Draconex isn’t this all-powerful sorcerer you make him out to be. He’s just like you, except he has limitless ambition.”
Her comment stung Malcolm, but he held his tongue because he knew it was true.
After sensing he was not going to respond, she continued. “See, you expect to be given everything instead of earning it through patience, hard work, and the shrewd ability to play politics. How do you think Draconex became the high commander of the Dark Watchers? He played the game and waited until the time was ripe to usurp the throne and begin his reign.”
“If I’m lacking ambition to succeed, then why are you helping me?” Malcolm questioned, his spirits sinking as a ship with a massive hole in its hull.
She strutted toward Malcolm and lifted his chin with a pale index finger. “Because I’ve seen the way he treats you, and you don’t deserve it. Hopefully, by giving you a taste of what you can become with the Throne of Dragons, you’ll find enough ambition to play his game until you are ready to claim your own destiny, Malcolm.”
Malcolm . . . she called me Malcolm. Not “boy.”
Diaema leaned in and kissed his forehead before resuming her place on the armrest.
Malcolm tapped his foot, thinking.
Draconex was just like me . . . and I can be what he is now. But first, I need to earn my place and play his game until I’m ready.
He let a smile form on his lips as he began plotting.
Chapter Thirty-Five
After the impromptu rockslide, Victor and Jen took a quick break in the Pentarena’s central courtyard, underneath the shade of one of the Arbor Sacré’s towering branches, giving them full viewing access to each of the five training sections.
“See those veins in the Arbor Sacré’s trunk?” Victor pointed out. “Magic is taken from reserves deep within its trunk and sent throughout Camelore. It’s what keeps this haven of ours aloft.”
“Wow,” Jen marveled as she munched on some of Mira’s trail mix. “How much magic does it store?”
“Limitless, as long as the Arbor Sacré remains alive,” Victor explained, placing a hand on the tree’s ancient bark.
Jen looked up and followed the shimmering veins as the ancient magic coursed from its prismatic leaves and strong branches down to its trunk. There, partially behind the Arbor Sacré, she noticed movement in the astromancy section. She stopped in mid-chew when she realized that it was Gavin, doing some drills with his totem orb.
Victor, seemingly reading her mind, said, “Hey, let’s go say hi to Gavin!”
Jen choked, nearly coughing up some half-chewed pretzels and nuts.
“You okay there, Jenny?” Victor asked, holding out her water bottle and back a chuckle.
“Yeah,” Jen said, taking the water. “Something went down the wrong pipe, is all.” Handing it back, she wiped tears from her eyes and cleared her throat. She set the trail mix bag down and said rather unconvincingly, “Oh, is that who it is?” Jen squinted and slightly leaned forward for extra measure, feigning disinterest. “Nah, he looks busy. We shouldn’t interrupt his training.”
To her embarrassment, right as Jen finished making the excuse, she saw Gavin put his orb back into his necklace casing, pick up his things, and walk toward the exit.
“Looks like he’s all finished,” Victor pointed out, clearly enjoying watching Jen squirm. He got up from the bench, but she stayed seated, looking at him with reluctant eyes. Victor laughed and said, “Come on. He’ll appreciate it.”
Jen pushed herself up and followed Victor, absentmindedly playing with her hair.
As they made their way to Gavin, Jen noticed he had his shirt in his hand and a towel hung around his neck. His toned shoulders and arms glistened in the sunlight as he let the scanner read his handprint to exit the astromancy section. He looked up and smiled brightly at Victor and Jen.
“Hey, what a surprise!” He shook Victor’s hand, then waved at Jen.
She felt her cheeks warm up, but didn’t look away. “Good to see you, Gavin.”
“Likewise,” he said, then asked Victor, “What brings you guys here?”
“Jen’s first official training session.” He smiled proudly at her. “We’re taking a break after she caught on a little too quickly.”
Gavin raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Is that so?” He set down his shirt and pack and grabbed the ends of his towel with both hands.
Jen brushed a strand of curly hair behind one ear, not missing the way his muscles slightly bulged with his movement. “I sorta slammed a boulder into the back barrier.” Out of habit, she reached to fiddle with the ring on her necklace, but when she only felt the thin necklace, she remembered it was in Watercress’s Sacrarium.
He smiled again and Jen felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her chest as she then started to fidget with her charm bracelet. “On your first day, too? Very Impressive.”
She smiled back at him, desperately trying to think of something to say back. “Hopefully we’re not interrupting you or anything?”
“Oh, not at all. I just finished up a little training as well. Gotta keep the mind and body strong.” He tapped his temple with one finger and pointed up at the sky.
“Totally,” Jen agreed, no
dding.
“Do you have an astromancer teacher yet?” Gavin asked.
“Mystra Étoilier,” Jen responded, still playing with her charm.
“He personally asked for Jen’s permission,” Victor added.
Gavin was clearly impressed. “He’s the strongest astromancer I know. Not many tenderfeet get his approval. You must’ve shown significant promise when you met him.”
“I guess so.”
Yep, I’m definitely blushing, thought Jen.
“Well, we don’t want to keep you. Jen just wanted to say hi,” Victor said.
Jen shot him a quick look before Gavin said, “I’m glad you did.” He smiled again at Jen and held her gaze before breaking off toward the exit pathway, waving goodbye. “Time to hit the showers!”
“Bye!” Jen waved, then quickly turned around and said, “Can we get back to training now, Vic?”
“Totally,” Victor said, his eyes twinkling.
“Oh, stop it!” She rolled her eyes and lightly slapped Victor on his arm as she made her way back toward their section.
Victor picked up his and Jen’s water bottles that were left by the bench, then caught up with her just as she scanned herself into the arena.
She looked at him. “Not another word.”
“Okay,” was all Victor said, putting a finger up to his lips.
“Thank you.”
Jen was surprised that she was having feelings for Gavin—feelings that only seemed to amplify whenever she ran into him—especially after her dysfunctional relationship with Malcolm. She honestly thought that she’d need more time to heal after his utter and complete betrayal; but deep down Jen realized that what she truly needed was someone to fill that void in her heart, someone she could love unconditionally—and who could love her back equally.
Promising herself that she’d sort out her feelings later, Jen reverted back into training mode. “So . . . what’s next?”
Victor nodded and walked through the semicircle opening in the barrier, shaking Jen’s water bottle then handing it to her.