The Dark Prince's Prize

Chapter 3-2

Adalard flexed his hand when he noticed the usual colors of his aura swirling with an ominous dark red. He forced his mind and body to relax. The last thing he wanted to do was take out half of the power grid on this side of the planet.

Instead of thinking about the tracking device and who might have installed it, he surveyed the landscape below. Lush forests, winding streams, and snow-capped mountains greeted him. He could see signs of habitation from the local species, but they appeared to be separated from each other.

If he followed the road, it should lead him to Paul Grove’s place. He glanced at the computer readings. Arrow’s cloaking device was still shielding his transport’s presence from Earth’s military and civilian population.

Spikes of red energy surged through him again, causing the transport to shimmer. A warning light flashed on the console. There was something in the transport draining his powers. If he didn’t find a place to land soon, he wouldn’t be able to.

“Caution, shield instability detected. Shields at twenty percent. Cloaking device instability detected,” the computer reported in a calm, male voice.

“Tilkmos,” Adalard cursed.

He scanned the detailed holographic map of the terrain. Up ahead, near a river, there was a clearing that was barely large enough for the transport, but it would have to do. It was at the bottom of a ravine and wouldn’t be easily accessible, which made it even better. If his readings were correct, he was on Paul Grove’s property.

He focused on trying to regulate the energy flowing from him to the transport. By the time he dipped below the treetops, sweat had covered his brow from the effort of keeping the surge that was running through him from shorting out the craft’s entire electrical system.

He was livid by the time he landed. An unexpected feeling of weakness coursed through his body, and he frowned at his trembling hands as he shut down the transport.

What the hell just happened? he wondered, clenching his hand into a fist.

Adalard flexed his fingers and made the decision that until he knew what was going on, he wouldn’t use the transport. He would take a portable unit and contact the Rayon I from Paul’s ranch. An irritated sigh slipped from him.

“There goes my relaxation time,” he muttered.

He released the straps on his seat and stood. In minutes, he had a bag packed and was striding down the platform. He cursed when he realized that the transport was visible. Without power, the cloaking device wouldn’t work.

“Back to the old-fashioned way,” he sighed.

He lifted his hand and focused on the surrounding energy. In seconds, a large reflective screen appeared above the transport. He closed his fingers into a fist and the screen floated down, covering the transport. By the time he finished, he was breathing heavily from exhaustion.

He studied his creation while he waited for his body to quit shaking. From the air, his transport would be virtually invisible. On the ground, it was another story.

This must be the work of a saboteur. This person was likely affiliated with Kejon, the Curizan assassin who had targeted Ha’ven and kidn*pped Emma several months back. Adalard and his brothers believed Kejon was part of a larger, deadlier group. He thanked the Goddesses that the bastard was dead now, but there were still others out there that remained in the shadows. He couldn’t stop until every one of them was captured or killed, preferably the latter.

Looking around, Adalard found it difficult to believe that with so much untapped power in the air, Emma’s species didn’t know how to harness it. Emma swore that humans couldn’t control the surrounding energy, but he knew she could. The power Emma interwove with his brother’s was a remarkable sight.

He shook his head in disbelief at the thought and refocused on getting out of the ravine and up to the road. He moved the pack on his shoulder to his back and carefully surveyed the area. There didn’t appear to be any evidence of human activity.

He looked up and exhaled. Normally he would use his Curizan powers to get out of the ravine. Unfortunately, whatever had happened in his transport left him unwilling to risk it.

“It looks like it will be the old-fashioned way again,” he sighed with a shake of his head.

He estimated that it was about eight hundred feet to the top of the ravine. He felt lightheaded already.

He broke the climb into three parts, stopping to breathe through the weakness that made his limbs feel like a pile of gelatinous mush, but it slowly faded the farther away he was from his ship. The rugged cliff face provided plenty of hand and footholds that allowed him to pace himself. Even so, the climb to the top left him exhausted.

“Son of a two-headed Tiliqua,” he groaned as he pulled himself over the edge and rolled onto his back.

He stared up at the heavy gray clouds. All thoughts of having a relaxing, fun time looked about as promising as the darkening sky. He muttered another curse, rolled to his feet, and wiped his hands together. Standing there wasn’t going to get him to Paul Grove’s ranch.

Half an hour later, he emerged from the woods along the roadside. He rolled his shoulders, easing their stiffness. The hike through the woods took longer than he had expected. He paused and looked back and forth. He wished he had brought a hoverboard.

“I’m getting really tired of doing things the old-fashioned way,” he sighed as he turned and began walking along the white line at the edge of the road as cold wind pushed against him and the first fluffy dusting of snowflakes began to fall.