Fallen One (Book three of Alfireán age)

- The Thieves -

Drakovian strolled back over to the corner of the tent where no one could see him. He had two options: one was to wake the others and inform them of the theft, which would probably result in quite the fiasco, or he could handle this quietly. A dark part of the prince relished the idea of Alf punching Zindelo in the face until he relinquished their stolen goods. However, Drake knew in his heart that it was not the best way to handle this.

Which meant... he had work to do.

Energy flowed through Drakovian, and the world shifted hues as he used what the maids had taught him to turn invisible. Thankfully, when Harold had first shown them Alf's medallion, the prince had placed a powerful tracking spell on it. His finger had smarted for several hours afterward as a result of the magical backlash, but now it turned out it had been more than worth it.

Drake snapped his fingers, and a gold light flashed briefly, lighting up the darkened corner of the tent. Like sun rays bouncing off a pane of glass, the tracking signal raced out in all directions. Seconds later, it rebounded off the spell placed on the medallion and pinged back its exact location.

Surprise, surprise. It was on the lead takoorah.

Drake abandoned his shadowy corner and quietly made his way to the front of their traveling device. Moving out from underneath the tent, he stepped passed the driver humming softly to himself and out onto the metal platform.

Drakovian gazed outwards.

Overhead, the moon slowly faded from view as the sun peeked over the rolling frozen dunes. Little dust swirls, created by the wind of their passing, danced on either side of the caravan as they sped forward. Already, the chill of the desert night had started to fade, and it wouldn't be long before the sweltering heat of the day made life almost unbearable out here in the desert.

Turning his eyes away from the seemingly endless stretch of sand, Drake knelt down at the front of the takoorah and focused on the task at hand. While the takoorah had the capability of projecting a channeled shield out in front of it, he had no idea how to turn it on. And even if he did, doing so would alert the driver—a gypsy Drakovian didn't recognize—that something was up.

The prince gazed at the racing strip of road flashing by between the two traveling devices.

Thanks to Zaphaniea's generosity, though, he had the perfect tool for the job. Waving his hand, Drakovian created several spheres and maneuvered them into place.

Then gazing at his makeshift bridge, he took a deep breath and stepped out onto the first sphere. The hard surface pressed against the ball of his foot as if it were a pointy rock poking through his boot, and Drakovian wished he'd had more energy to make them larger than he had.

He gritted his teeth through the pain and quickly made his way over the gap between the two takoorah. As he nimbly crossed the dangerous expanse, the road raced by several feet underneath him at impossible speeds. A wind from below grabbed at his legs, and fine bits of sand pelted him in the face as he pushed onwards until, at last, he reached the other side.

Stepping off his makeshift bridge and onto the lead takoorah, Drake's heart thudded like a drum beating inside his chest.

Holding his breath, the prince waited there quietly for several moments, hoping against hope that his extra weight wouldn't trigger the traveling device's weight sensors like Olivia's rock collection had done earlier.

It didn't.

Sighing in relief, Drake laid his hand against his chest, willing his heart to calm down.