Secrets of Magic (Soul of Magic Book 3)

Nicolas stared straight ahead as the gentle afternoon spring breeze blew across his face, the only thing on his mind being the sight in front of him; the Blessed Isle. Ever since he was a child, the crown prince of the great kingdom of Cyrian had wondered about that name, the Blessed Isle; about why the wizards had decided that name was appropriate for the site of their seat of power. But sitting upon his horse that afternoon with him and the famed island right in front of him, Nicolas began to feel a sense of understanding creep upon him. Thing is, at first glance, the Blessed Isle didn't seem that much to behold. It was small; in fact, it was most likely one of the smallest islands in the realm if not the smallest. It was a kind of wonder that it could even manage to accommodate the population, numerous structures and activities that the wizards had made on it in accordance to their political and religious affairs. But what the island lacked in size, it more than made up for in a majestic presence. All around the Blessed Isle, massive willow trees grew in a circular pattern that looked as if nature itself had planted them as sentinels to the island. And coupled with the sweet songs of the numerous birds of different colours and breeds that flew to and resided in coiling branches of the willows, the lively aura from the Blessed Isle was guaranteed to be felt even from afar. The gigantic and domineering, straight-to-the-sky four floors high rectangular stone structure of the Wiccan tower, home of the current Head witch and her council of magic, could only add to the beauty that the island already had in abundance on its own and Nicolas almost felt bad that all of it would soon be reduced to nothing but a pile of rubble; almost. Just then, a black-haired man dressed in full steel armour rode up from behind to join the crown prince. His light blue cape bearing the insignia of a Unicorn standing on its hind legs identified him as a knight of the great house of Tramenton; one of the seven great houses that founded and held power in the great kingdom of Cyrian. "What's the report, Commander Milton?" Nicolas asked as soon as the man had reached him, turning his horse away from the Blessed Isle to fully face him. "The men are ready and in position, sire. All five hundred and fifty of them accounted for," he replied, bowing. "You give the signal and they’ll move." "Good," Nicolas nodded with a pleased smile on his face. The crown prince turned and would have continued in his reverie of the island in front of him if not that he suddenly saw what appeared to be an unsure expression on the commander's face. The latter was trying very hard for it not to be noticed but whatever bothered him was really strong and wouldn’t let him be. "What is it, Commander?" Nicolas asked after seeming to understand that the commander wouldn’t be broaching the subject on his own. "It's nothing to concern yourself with, your Highness," the latter replied, trying to dismiss the subject as quickly as he could. But Nicolas wasn’t buying it. "Come on, Milton," he said, dropping all the formalities. "You and I have been friends and comrades since we were old enough to handle a sword. We're best of friends even though we come from two families that are always at each other's throats. Surely, you know by now that you can tell me anything without fear or repercussion." Milton smiled at what Nicolas had just said. In that moment, neither of them was commander nor prince; just two friends discussing. And he did love and respect his friend very much. "Alright, old friend, I'll tell you what’s bothering me," he finally replied after a while. "Look, I believe in your mission for a magic-free world. Truly, I do. But how do you plan to take down the Blessed Isle and its High wizards with just five hundred and fifty men?" In truth, Nicolas understood Milton's concern; it was only normal that he had it. As it turned out, the Blessed Isle wasn't just famous for its scenery. It also happened to be a fortress and one protected by nature itself. Though small and easily encompassable, at least on paper, the isle was actually surrounded on all sides by deep and very hard to navigate waters even for large ships; the only way onto the island itself being a very long but narrow bridge. Nicolas suspected that the wizards purposely made the landing bridge very narrow so as to deter invaders, like him, from leading a large army onto the island without the wizards knowing. And it was no fable that the High wizards were so powerful to the extent that they could destroy the entire bridge with just a flick of their fingers; the prince himself knew of the capabilities of the Head witch. But despite the odds, Nicolas the Mighty wasn’t worried about the size of his army or the seemly impenetrable island and its powerful inhabitants. And that more than anything puzzled Milton. "I know victory looks impossible from this stand, Milton," Nicolas said before putting a reassuring hand on the commander's shoulder. "But trust me, my friend, when I say that we have something that will surely make that victory ours." "Which is what exactly, your Highness?" he asked. "Secrets, Commander." And a very wide smile with a deep meaning suddenly came onto the crown prince’s face. "The secrets of magic itself."