Alfirean Age Book 1 - Inheritor of Strength

Combat Magic

Spy Master!? What exactly does that mean? Alf thought as Drakovian strode to the window and clasped his hands behind his back. He gazed out into the darkness. “The Brockovich’s have no standing army.”

Alf knew it was a statement, not a question. The Brockovich family line was well known for being the only High Lords without a personal guard. It wasn’t because they couldn’t afford one, though; it was because his forefathers, and he as well, had chosen to invest all their money into the people instead. In return, they'd had the citizens' full support, thus giving them a far greater political pull than any army ever could. Alf wholeheartedly believed that if the teleportation stones were still active, and he had not been officially declared dead, he could send a nationwide message and have a massive army overnight. However, that wasn’t an option now.

“How are your finances?”

Alf cast a sidelong glance at Harold. The butler, or rather Headmaster, had recently expressed his concern over the Brockovich estate being in debt for the first time in known history.

“Ah, we're broke.”

The imperial prince sighed, “It would appear, Mister Brockovich, that you are my sole asset in our fight against this usurper.”

Alf shifted his weight to his right leg. He was not exactly comfortable with being referred to as an asset.

“I need to know what you are capable of. Have you ever tested the limits of your new abilities?”

“No. Not really,” Alf answered.

“Then it is imperative we find out,” Drakovian stated as he headed for the door.

“Right now? It's nighttime.”

“There is no time like the present,”  the prince replied and stepped out into the hallway, leaving Alf with no choice but to follow.

***

Alf, along with Harold and Olivia, followed the boy down the stairs and out into the cool, crisp tropical air. The moon had just crested the top of the trees, and its bluish-white light bathed everything in an eerie but somehow enchanting glow.

As the four of them made their way through the courtyard and out towards the training grounds, a plethora of animal and insect noises from the jungle greeted them. Apparently, the nocturnal creatures had recovered from their earlier scare.

Once they passed the inactive safety pillars and into the training ground, Drakovian turned to Alf and said, “Tell me everything you know about magic.”

Alf knew the science behind magic quite well due to all his recent studying. In fact, he had grown rather fond of giving lectures as a teacher.

“Everything," he said, widening his stance and placing his hands behind his back, "is held together by frequencies, and our white blood cells can emit every frequency known to mankind. Thus, it stands to reason that if we can control the frequencies our white blood cells emit, we can control everything around us, including our own bodies. We do this is by scientific formulas we call spells.

“Each spell is like a program that tells your brain what signals to send to your white blood cells. These programs can be easily installed or taught by someone who knows the spell or from a magic book. However, certain spells require a unique item, orb, or another type of catalyst to cast.

“After you have installed a spell in your brain, it’s just a matter of using and understanding that program. As you master the program, a.k.a. the spell, it becomes easier and easier to use.

“Of course, this takes a lot of energy, and that energy is produced by our cells.

“Using the electricity in our body works to our advantage because humans are designed in such a way that the more energy we use, the more electricity our cells produce, and this happens at exponential rates. So if I use a lot of energy on a consistent basis, my body increases the amount of electricity it produces.

"The easiest way to use this energy is to have a high resting metabolic rate, RMR, which means the more muscle mass you have, the more energy you have. In other words, the stronger your physical body is, the more magical energy you possess.

"It's important to note that the usage of magic puts a strain on all of your muscles; hence the more magic you use, the stronger you become. It’s a win-win situation unless someone's pulling the energy directly from your core. In that case, your body will start to deteriorate over a period of time." Alf paused. That was why he had refused to stick around and feed off of Olivia and Harold. For those he'd helped achieve Patuah, the little bit of energy he'd taken had had no ill effects on them, but if he had continued, it could've resulted in their sickness or death.

Shaking off the past, he continued his explanation, “But we can't use this energy at first because it flows in conduits throughout our body, which prevents it from going anywhere else but to the muscles and other organs. That's why it takes a lot of training—or something terrifying—to make the energy flow freely.

“When Patuah happens, and someone’s magic is opened, they are, in reality, being permanently damaged, since one of those conduits are broken. This damage then allows their electrical energy to be stored in the core around the center of their body and not just flow back and forth to specific locations.

“This stored energy can then be used to power our white blood cells in any way we choose. We refer to this stored energy as magical energy, and the more magical energy you have, the more powerful spells you can cast.

“And that is how magic works.

“Oh, yes, there's one more thing. Some people have special white blood cells that allow them to cast spells other people can't, such as Dylan’s ability to teleport,” Alf added as he finished his explanation.

Alf looked down at the prince expectantly, quite happy with himself for his well thought out explanation.

“Modern magic is far more complicated than just moving around a few blood cells,” Drakovian said. “Though seeing as your primary audience is adolescents, I suppose your explanation is passable.

Alf frowned. Passable?

“Now, I know from personal experience that you are rather proficient with earth magic,” the prince rubbed his right upper arm where one of Alf’s clay soldiers had scored a direct hit earlier that day. “I would like to see how well versed you are in wind magic." Drakovian motioned to a motley collection of wood and straw dummies located at the end of the field. "If you would, please.”

Alf grinned. Despite the prince’s unenthusiastic assessment of his explanation, he felt a stir of excitement run through his veins. Since the very first day of his transformation, he'd longed to see what he was capable of and now was his chance.

Straightening his back, Alf flexed his arms and smiled in anticipation as he faced his target. Then, planting his feet, he raised his right arm, tightened his muscles until his veins showed, and activated his highest level wind spell.

With a rush of energy, the imprinted spell lit up inside his brain and commanded his white blood cells to congregate in his right palm. Millions of cells rushed down his arm and into his hand. Once there, the cells received a command from the brain to send out an intricate weaving of frequencies. The white blood cells then reached out and found the massive energy pool located in Alf’s core, and upon drawing it into themselves, they emitted two bursts of frequencies.

The invisible frequencies shot away from Alf’s palm and collided with the biometric pressure of the outside world. Separating oxygen from the nitrogen, the frequencies propelled the nitrogen into the upper atmosphere and the oxygen into the ground.

As the frequencies faded, the now liquid nitrogen rained down, and the superheated, moistened oxygen rushed up to meet it in an epic clash of hot and cold.   

A colossal disruption in the biometric pressure took place, and seemingly out of nowhere, a massive tornado formed.

Blotting out the night sky, the tornado raced forward and smashed into the targeting dummies. It ripped them off their pegs, sucked them up into its angry bowels, and as the targets collided inside its windy depths, shattered them into millions of pieces.

One by one, the tornado spat them out, slamming them hard against the training ground; then the wind storm faded away as if it had never existed.

Alf stood there in awe, absentmindedly massaging his strained arm. The spell had taken less than five seconds to cast, and the tornado had lasted no more than ten, but the results were eye-popping. The poor, wooden dummies lay broken and shattered, looking as if a rampaging herd of elephants had pulverized them.

“Wow! That was so cool,” a child's voice echoed in the night.

Alf spun around.

Little Danarc stood behind them in his elephant patterned pajamas, jumping up and down. His eyes, one silvery blue and the other golden brown glowed in excitement. “Can you do that again?” he asked, his voice brimming with enthusiasm.

The expression of amazement on Harold’s face vanished. “Why aren’t you in bed?” he growled.

“I couldn’t sleep," Danarc said, "so I decided to go to the bathroom. But on my way there, I saw him,” he pointed at Drakovian, “leading you out here, and I followed along to see what was going on.”

That’s an obvious lie, Alf thought, especially since the orphanage is on the entire other side of the estate.

“Do not lie to me, young man,” Harold said, looking the child straight in the eyes.

Danarc squirmed. “Well, I, ah...”

“The truth,” Harold demanded.

Danarc glanced to the side as if contemplating making a run for it. He then glanced at Harold and his shoulders wilted. He bowed his head, his pale blonde hair looking silver in the light of the moon. “Hailey said her mommy found a dead guy and helped bring him back to life. I told her she was a liar, and she said she wasn’t, so I told her I was going to prove she was.”

Olivia smiled and knelt beside the boy. “Well, she is right. Her mother did help save a man’s life tonight. Now go back to bed before one of the den mothers catches you.”

“No," Danarc shook his head back and forth. "I want to stay and watch Alf cast big magic.”

“Not tonight. Now run along.”

“But how come he gets to stay and I can’t?" Danarc crossed his arms and jutted his chin at Drakovian. "I’m older.”

The prince raised an eyebrow in amusement. To all appearances, Danarc did, indeed, look older than him.

Running her fingers through his messy hair, Olivia straightened out his tangled knots and wiped the sandy dirt off his knees. “He has achieved Patuah, and you haven’t yet. This is a private lesson to help him with advanced magic,” she said.

She looked him straight in the eyes. “Now, don’t make me call Matilda. If I do, you know she'll make you help Hailey’s father in the stables tomorrow for sneaking out after hours.”

Danarc's lower lip protruded in a childish pout, and he planted his bare feet in the sand.

Olivia stood up and crossed her arms. “You have ten seconds to march yourself back inside, or Harold will be the one deciding your punishment,” she threatened.

The little boy glanced up at Harold’s stern face, then turned and slowly trudged away as he pushed his hands in his pockets and muttered, “I never get to do anything fun.”

When Danarc disappeared from view, Drakovian said, “Excellently handled. That child’s mouth had the potential of creating a volatile situation, but you diffused it well.”

Olivia unfolded her arms and smiled.

“On the other hand, Alf, I am rather unimpressed with your performance. Your spell was lacking, to say the least.”

Olivia’s smile vanished and she answered before Alf could. “What do you mean lacking? He just effortlessly wiped out ten to fifteen men... if they had been men, that is.”

“It lacks because I’ve seen better. All seven combat types of magic—wind, earth, lightning, fire, water, dark, and light—have seven levels. Alf’s wind spell was a level five at most.

 “I had hoped he could cast the seventh level, which is a giant spear of wind that explodes out with compressed waves of air and slices everything in its path to shreds. The explosion covers an area two times larger than that of Alf’s wind tornado, while at the same time possessing one point five times more wind pressure."

“Oh,” Olivia replied in a quiet voice.

“I’m sorry if I sound harsh,” the prince continued, "but with Alf being my only asset in this fight, I’m compelled to be straightforward. My resources lead me to believe Vackzilian has mastered all five basic types of combat magic, along with mastering the art of melding elements. And while yet unconfirmed, we believe him to have other magic we possess no knowledge of.”

At the mention of Vackzilian, an image of the wizard standing at the foot of his tower, his dark robes rippling like liquid metal on his lean frame, flooded Alf’s mind. A shudder of fear ran through him as he realized who had taken over the Empire and who the crown prince was planning on pitting him against. Before he could stop himself, he found himself saying, “Maybe this isn't a good idea.”

The heir to the throne turned to him. "I'm not as foolish as to think this will be as easy as you storming the palace and assaulting Vackzilian directly. However, I foresee several circumstances in which it may be possible for you to assassinate him. Your raw magical talent, force of will, and massive energy pool will give you a fighting chance in such an instance. As it stands now, though, your abhorrent energy control and total lack of combat experience are an issue.”

That didn’t make Alf feel any better, especially the thought of having to assassinate someone, much less Vackzilian of all people.

“Why not try something you’re more experienced in?” Harold offered as he picked up three of the dummies lying on the side of the training field. The butler walked to the middle of the training ground and pushed the stick figures into the dirt. “How about earth magic?”

"I don't know," Alf said, his voice full of uncertainty.

Drakovian glanced at Harold then back at Alf. “I believe the Headmaster's suggestion is wise. My father once said, ‘A fool only worries about the future, but a wise man plans for it.’ It is important to keep your eyes on what you can accomplish now, which is to focus on what you can do, not what you cannot do.”

Alf pushed aside his conflicting thoughts. “All right," he said, "but earth magic is the only charged combat magic that can be infinitely charged. So how long do you want me to hold it for?”

“Considering I am trying to gauge your combat prowess against Vackzilian, it is unlikely you will be able to focus on one spot while fighting him for long. For now, let's go with three seconds,” Drakovian suggested.

Alf nodded and waited for Harold to return and step behind the safety line. As soon as he was out of the way, Alf gathered his energy and charged the area beneath the dummies.

For three seconds, every muscle in his body tightened as he poured all of his strength into charging the spell.

Then he released it.

Giant talons erupted from the ground beneath the targeting dummies, and like the claws of a dragon, the razor-sharp hooks pierced straight through the stick figures and lifted them high into the air as it disemboweled them. As they hung in the air, red light emanated from the obsidian fangs, illuminating the horrifying image of half-clothed wooden structures pierced multiple times through the stomach and sides. With a groan, the spiked talons curled and pulled back, ripping the wooden scarecrows to shreds. Then, as if just for spite, the spikes exploded into tiny chunks of rock shrapnel, shredding what little was left.

“Ooph,” Olivia cringed. “That looked painful.”

“Indeed," Harold formed a scrying and zoomed in on the destroyed pieces of flotsam. "Even I do not think I could have withstood such an attack.”

Drakovian strode to the middle of the field, leaned over, and examined the area. “That is very close to the final level. I can tell by the exploding spikes at the end. Why don't you think about it and try again.”

“Really?”Alf asked.

“Yes. I believe with your knowledge of earth magic, you should be able to comprehend its final form.”

“Okay, if you say so.” Alf brushed the dirt away at his feet then kneeled down. Resting his hands on his thighs, he closed his eyes and brought up the earth magic program imprinted on his brain.

Mentally spinning and twisting it around, he looked at it from all angles. Combat spells were one of the simplest types of programs. Their ingenious designers had sought to make them easy enough for everyone to understand how to cast—and manipulate—the basics of the intended element. The first two levels of each attack spell were as simple as forcing energy through a laid out spell pattern. The higher-level ones, though, were far more complex.

Up to this point, Alf had just used his massive energy store and force of will to light up the entire program until he achieved his desired outcome. Using this dangerous but effective method, he had learned in days what took most years.

Now, however, he carefully used what he had learned to trace out every node and intersection until, like a jigsaw puzzle emerging from a forest of equations, the seventh level of earth magic revealed itself to him.

“I've got it,” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

Olivia looked up from helping Harold stake in more targeting dummies. “That’s great, Alf. I knew you could do it.”

Alf's chest warmed. It was the first nice thing Olivia had said to him in days. “Just wait till you see it," he yelled across the expanse. "This one will knock your socks off.”

Wait, Alf thought with a wince, Did I really just say that?

Olivia smiled at him, her eyes holding a hint of the humor she had before 'the incident.' “Perhaps Harold and I should get out of the way then.”

“Indeed,” Harold agreed as he quick-stepped back to safety.

Heart overflowing with happiness, Alf turned his full attention to the newly placed scarecrows. Stretching forth his arms, he focused all of his energy on the ground beneath the dummies and activated his spell.

Energy flowed from his outstretched hands, and at first, everything appeared normal; the field lay quiet, bathed in the gentle glow of the moon, and the intoxicating scent of the night-blooming moonflower wafted in the wind. Then the air between Alf and his targets started to glow blue, and an audible hum sounded as the frequencies from his hands grew in a crescendo. Gravity distorted around him, and Alf floated off the ground.

As he reached the max of his charge, the air crackled and popped, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

And then, he released the spell.

The trees shook. The earth trembled. And with a sudden tearing sound, the ground ripped apart like a fearsome monster opening its fanged jaws.

With a roaring screech, the stick figures tumbled to their demise as hundreds of spikes shot up to impale them from below. The jagged spikes yanked them back into its dark depths, and with a thunderous smack, the gaping hole in the earth slammed shut, rocking the entire estate and knocking everyone off their feet.

A cloud of dust rained down upon Alf as the ground beneath his hands and feet continued to rumble and shake. Then, with a giant belch, the training ground spit out the remains of the targeting dummies. A mixture of finely ground splinters and scraps of fabric drifted in the wind. 

“Well, that was earth-shaking,” Drakovian grumbled as he stood up and wiped the dirt off his new uniform. 

Alf scrambled to his own feet, staring at where the scarecrows had once stood. “Ha-ha...yeah,” he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I believe you may have woken up the estate,” Harold said as he helped Olivia up.

Alf glanced back towards the manor to see lights flickering on in the windows.

“Do you think the children in the caverns are alright?” Olivia asked, brushing the soil off her legs and straightening her long healer's tunic.

Alf's eyes trailed off towards the mountains where the cavern resided. “They should be okay. They're a good distance from here, and the architect made sure I reinforced the walls."

“I am certain they are fine,” Harold added. “Though I doubt anyone could have slept through such a moving experience.”

“I feel that may be for the best,” Drakovian said.

Harold raised his eyebrows at the young prince's statement.

“I’ve been attempting to calculate Vackzilian’s next move, and I believe he will move to secure the support of as many political figures as possible. By oath preferably.”

Olivia gasped.

“I see,” Harold replied, looking off towards the students' dorms.

 “Wait, you don’t think he would...,” Alf stopped himself from finishing the sentence.

“I would put nothing past him,” the prince said without blinking an eye. “I believe it is imperative we secure the town tonight.”

“Understood, I will send someone to assemble the townspeople immediately,” Harold said and turned to leave.

“Wait.”

Harold stopped.

“My identity is to remain hidden.”

Authority resounded in the prince's voice, and Alf blinked. It was so strange to hear a ten-year-old boy speak in such a way, but then again, Drakovian was forty, not ten. Alf shook his head. I don't think I'm going to ever get used to this, he thought.

Harold bowed from the waist down. "As you wish, Sire."

At that moment, the silver-haired head maid of the estate appeared in the courtyard's entrance, holding a squirming Danarc by the ear. An intensely bright magic light appeared from her other hand, and she exclaimed, “I hope you children’s tomfoolery was worth it because once I'm through with you, you'll be part of 'The Lost History.'"

Harold straightened up and stepped into the light cast by her spell. “There is no need for that. It is Alf, Olivia, and I.”

The head maid loosened her grip on Danarc, and he pulled away, dashing back into the manor.

As the boy disappeared from view, the light from the woman's spell dimmed till it cast a gentle glow on her face, outlining her young features.

“How bad is it?” she asked.

How did she know something was wrong? Alf thought.

“The empire…,” Harold swallowed, “has fallen.”

His voice echoed in the vast expanse as the maid placed her hand to her mouth, and the light from her spell faded away, plunging the courtyard into darkness.

“Vackzilian?” she asked from the shadowy depths.

Alf’s eyes readjusted, and he saw Harold nod. “He has killed Drakovian the second and declared himself as the new Emperor of Alfireá.”

Silence met his declaration.

“Would you and your sisters please gather everyone and bring them here?” Harold asked.

Her light flared back to life. “At once,” she said, and with a flick of her long silver braid, she disappeared back into the mansion.

As all of their eyes readjusted to the dimness of night, Olivia asked, “Wouldn’t it be better to use the town meeting hall?”

“It is too small to contain everyone, and I do not want the students traipsing all over town at this time of night, especially now,” Harold answered.

“Agreed,” Drakovian stated. “And with that in mind, Alf, let’s continue.”

Alf frowned. “Really?”

“Yes, you have proven to be rather adept at noisemaking, and in my experience, children always run to the noisiest point of interest.”

“Oh.” I guess it beats trying to make the students get out of bed, Alf thought. The adolescents were notorious for sleeping in and skipping morning classes, a problem Harold had remedied by creating a special water wake-up spell. When it came to the teenagers' reactions, the saying 'angry as a wet hen' came to mind. Alf chuckled. Of course, the spell wouldn't work at this time of night since it was triggered by external stimuli, a.k.a. the rising of the sun. But that didn't mean Alf was without his resources.  “Lightning magic then?” he asked with a grin.

“That would be excellent. Olivia, Harold, if you would please?” The prince motioned towards the stack of dummies.

As Olivia and Harold placed the targets once more, Alf looked over the lightning combat program imprinted on his brain. He hadn’t used it that often because it reminded him too much of an evil overlord stretching out his hands and ruthlessly shocking a fallen righteous warrior. With a shiver, Alf pushed the ancient image aside and chose the loudest spell in his repertoire.

Raising his arms towards the star-filled sky, Alf activated his lightning spell. Once again, energy flooded into his hands.

Blue electricity danced back and forth over his fingers, crackling and hissing. The air buzzed, and the acrid smell of charged ions tickled his nose. This ought to get their attention, he thought as he released his spell.

A massive arc of lightning leaped from his palms and slammed into an invisible force above the unsuspecting dummies.

In a staggering explosion of light and sound, the lightning rent itself into thousands of spidery-fine filaments.

For a moment, the electric web hung suspended between earth and sky, blotting out the heavens; then it rained down upon its hapless victims. Like a gigantic Tesla coil, the lightning jumped from dummy to dummy, back and forth again and again, in strike after strike, decimating its foes.

Within moments, each of the wooden figures lay in a pile of burnt, charred ash, destroyed by thousands of lightning bolts.

Alf lowered his hands, and the lightning disappeared. But the sound of thunder continued to boom and crash throughout the valley, shaking the ground and vibrating the windows in the adjacent manor.

Drakovian cupped his hands over his ears. “It seems my earlier assessment of your noisemaking capabilities was an understatement.”

“That should wake up the townspeople. Even Mister Dinwiddie can't possibly sleep through such a racket,” Olivia commented.

Alf laughed as he massaged his eyes with his fists. “I don’t know. He slept through that pig incident, remember?”

“Oh yeah, I remember that,” Olivia laughed. “I don’t think I can ever forget the look on his face when he woke up to see a boar’s head sticking through his front door.”

“Ah yes, he has been most adamant against Mister Cleaver’s fresh meat policies ever since,” Harold said as he pointed towards the tree line. “It appears our company will be here shortly.”