The Circle of Sorcerers: A Mages of Bloodmyr Novel: Book #1

by Brian Kittrell

Ismerelda led him into a parlor just beyond the doors. His eyes wandered amongst the many fine paintings, rich furniture pieces, knickknacks, and princely sofas decorating the room. The domed ceiling had a mural depicting Azura standing atop a hill, using her powerful magic to decimate her enemies in the Great War. It had been painted with great care and the eye of a true artist, as if the creator had been present at the battle.

  Free of blemishes and any sign of dirt, the floor sparkled and shined with a glimmering ambiance. Feeling somewhat uncomfortable in his unclean boots, he trod behind her as she continued into a wide common room.

  Taking a seat on a silken sofa, she offered a soft leather chair to him. “I was just having tea, if you don't mind. You may have some if you like.”

  The journey to Westmarch had made him thirsty, but he declined. Being too nervous to hold a glass of tea, he was afraid he might spill it on the chair or the rug. He sat and waited for her to speak.

  “Laedron, is it?” she asked, trying to pronounce his name as he had.

  “Yes, ma'am.” His glance met hers for a moment before he glimpsed the large tapestries on the far wall.

  “I'm pleased that you could come early. There are dark times ahead, I fear. Your training mustn't wait.”

  He stared at her, again noticing her hair was without a vestige of gray and her skin without a mark or wrinkle. Her eyes were vibrant like those of a youthful girl. “May I ask a question? My ma told me she trained under you. How can that be? You can't be more than twenty-five years old.”

  With an uninhibited kindness, she smiled. “We live longer than your kind, Laedron. I'm Uxidi.”

  He remembered tales he had heard of the Uxidin. Some described them as a separate race, while most considered them a type of human. Either way, the race was known for its extreme longevity, beauty, grace, and magical prowess. Though uncommon to see one, it was rarer still to speak to one who would reveal themselves as such. “I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

  “Then Filadrena Telpist has kept her promise of not revealing me over these long years, and loyal she is. She didn't reveal me even to her own son coming to tutor in magic under my care.”

  “I suppose I'm bound by the same promise, but why? Are you afraid to be known here?”

  “Let's just say it is better for me not to be known as Uxidi in this city. It keeps my privacy and my origins secret, two things I'd prefer not to have everyone know. That's why I live in this out-of-the-way place.”

  He nodded. “I think I'll have some tea after all.”

  She leaned toward the end table, which contained a tea set atop a silver serving tray. Pouring the tea into an empty porcelain cup, Laedron was enraptured by its etchings of strange and colorful flora.

  “I hope you like it,” she said.

  With his hand beneath his chin to catch any spills, he lifted the teacup to his lips and sipped it. The warm liquid excited his taste buds with sweetness at first, followed by a tame bitterness and the tingling of mint. It was unlike anything he had drunk before, but it was such a peculiar flavor that he continued as she spoke.

  “As I was saying before, interesting things are happening in lands far away from here which may involve us mages in the not-so-distant future.”

  “But, I'm not a mage. I'm just a neonate.”

  “With my thorough tutelage and your eagerness to learn, we can hopefully change that unfortunate circumstance.” She placed her teacup on the end table, and he followed suit. “The Grand Vicar has died, and the new has taken power.”

  “The Grand Vicar is dead? There hasn't been any mention of it in Reven’s Landing,” he said.

  “There wouldn't be. He died two nights ago, my boy.”

  He looked at her suspiciously. “And how could you know the happenings in lands over a thousand miles from here?”

  “You have much to learn about the ways of magic, Laedron,” she chuckled. “Our spies in that country have reported that the five lanterns have glowed in the tower. His final moments came sometime that night, so I called for you.”

  “What does the Grand Vicar's death have to do with me, though?”

  “More than you know, young man. It has unknown implications for all of us. I do know this: a new Grand Vicar has been chosen, and that could be dangerous for our kind.”

  He took a sip of his tea. “Who's the new one?”

  Lowering her eyes, she said, “His name is Andolis Drakar, and he's been consecrated as Tristan IV.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Consecrated?”

  Patting her mouth with a silk napkin, she nodded. “Yes, consecrated. For a Grand Vicar, it's the process of receiving the highest position in the Heraldan church. It is also when they select their Vicariate name.”

  “Does the name have any significance?”

  She dipped her head in affirmation. “The first Tristan stood with Azura on the battlefield and tried to persuade her not to use magic in the final battle of the Great War. His opinion was that magic could do great damage if not used with restraint. Grand Vicars who are consecrated in his namesake are very much against sorcery.”

  “Isn't that a lesson Azura has passed down to us mages?”

  “Yes, but she didn't follow her own advice when it came time for the battle. She met the enemy forces with a small army east of the city they now call Azura, in the place that is called Azuroth.”

  “She didn't follow her own advice? Why should we be obliged to follow it now?”

  “She was under different circumstances at the time. We don't normally face legions of enemy soldiers in battles which might decide the fate of everything. Besides, her folly should be evident that it applies to everyone, even the most powerful.”

  “You speak as if you witnessed it first hand.”

  She paused for a few moments. “I was there all those years ago, and I stood with Azura on the mound against the tide of darkness.”

  Summing the difference in his head, he was surprised at her apparent age. From every account he’d heard, the Great War had taken place over a thousand years prior to his own birth.

  “I'm Uxidi, and as you know, that means I'm blessed with immortality. I've taken care of myself and hidden while others have fallen along the wayside. I remember Tristan and Azura arguing the matter as if it were yesterday.” She turned a blank stare to the wall.

  Closing her eyes, she told the story, her eyelids twitching. “When it came time for the fight, Azura stood upon the rock where she could observe the formations of that dark army surrounding their encampment. Thousands of them formed battle lines in every direction, and it seemed that all hope was lost.

  “Tristan demanded she allow him and his few soldiers to do battle, but fine and brave as they were, she doubted they could turn the tide against such a vast force. She cast two spells at the same time—a feat no mage since has been able to reproduce, mind you—and killed most of the advancing defilers.

  “She called forth the very power of the earth to drive spikes up to impale them, and she filled the lowlands with a tidal wave of seawater. Thus, the Sea of Pillars was formed, and in the center of that sea, Azuroth lies, the place where Azura's wrath was felt by those who dealt only wickedness and pain unto the world.”

  Pausing, she opened her eyes. As she continued the story, he daydreamed of the people and places her words depicted. “Afterward, they returned to the city that is now known as Azura, and the tale was told of her great and powerful magic. Though he was pleased at the victory without a loss of any of their own troop, Tristan still chastised her for the destruction of so much. Also, her visage had changed; the permanency of the sea and the pillars had caused her to age in an instant. Some said she was taken aloft into the heavens, and she was the Creator in disguise. I knew better, though. She simply went into hiding to ease her heartache.”

  He leaned forward eagerly. “How did she get her heart broken?”

  “She was in love with Tristan. His opinion of her actions drove her to the wilds. She was a powerful mage—no, the most
powerful. He fell out of love with her for both her disobedience and her spectacular abilities. Threatened by the greatness of his lover, he felt he needed to put her down to feel more impressive himself.”

  “That sounds terrible. Why would anyone want to take the name of such a cold man?”

  She chuckled. “Modern Heraldans know nothing of what happened on those old battlefields and in those ancient cities. History is written by those with great power and influence, Laedron. They recorded only the finest points about Tristan and his opinions on magic. His hatred of sorcerers remained, but his mistreatment of Azura has been obscured by the flowery words of his disciples.”

  “This new Grand Vicar will want to limit magic then, I assume?”

  “There has been a movement gaining interest of late amongst the Heraldans outside Sorbia, a movement to get rid of mages altogether. The most extreme would see us dead, while others would settle for us simply destroying our wands.”

  “They want to exterminate us? But why?”

  “Those who would want that see us as a threat, my boy. Most people don't realize that the Heraldan clergymen, with their holy facade, are nothing but mere mages themselves. They cast spells and learn of magic, but it goes by a different name—divine miracles and blessings. The Heraldan church sees us as a threat to them, another mage order which could pose a problem in the future if not culled.”

  “Do they actually plan on getting rid of us? I mean, how soon is this plan to be carried out?”

  She ran her finger across her eyebrows. “It won't be long. Now that they have appointed a Grand Vicar with such intentions, they will likely begin their plotting soon.”

  “What do we do? The Heraldan church is huge. Almost everyone in Sorbia is a follower.”

  “These are not matters of immediacy, Laedron. The most important thing right now is beginning your training.”

  Panic filled his mind, though he noticed how calm she remained. “How can you think of training at a time like this? We must do something.”

  “I admire that drive in you, my boy. The drive to action is important in a mage's survival. You must be trained, though. Don't worry.”

  “Don't worry? I'm having trouble accepting how relaxed you are about this situation.”

  “It will take time for them to act, and it will take time for the Circle to decide what we shall do. Don't worry, Laedron. Sorbia is a long way from the theocracy, and our nation is rife with mages in positions of authority. We're afforded some measure of protection for the time being.”

  Considering how Ismerelda's words echoed those of his own mother, he felt a calmness come over him. Filadrena had told him many times about the Circle in Morcaine and how close they were to the monarchy. Sorbia's line of rulers was often blessed with the knowledge and wisdom of the mages, and they always gave counsel when asked to keep the relationship strong.

  Standing, she offered her hand. “Come, I'll show you to your room. We'll begin your training after you have something to eat. There is time yet, but I want to start immediately.”

  As he rose to his feet and followed her, he understood why the house was adorned in such decadent way. It was the home of someone who had lived many lifetimes, and each thing had a story known by its owner. The items weren't run-of-the-mill family heirlooms or purchased on a whim; they each had a meaning or some significance. To learn the secrets behind each one would take a human an entire lifetime.

  Leading him down a hallway, Ismerelda brought him to a spiral staircase leading both above and below. “Your sleeping quarters are upstairs, and we train in the cellar.”

  “Why underground?”

  “To maintain our privacy, of course. There are no windows down there, and it affords us plenty of open space to practice. Take your things to your room and unpack, then meet me in the cellar.”

  He nodded and climbed the stairs to his room. It was the most austere of the rooms in the house but still impressive compared to his room back home. He unpacked his clothes and placed each item into the chest of drawers. With the last of his possessions tucked away, he felt embarrassed that they didn’t entirely fill one drawer. He slid his suitcase under the bed before trying the mattress. Though firm, it seemed more comfortable than the one he’d had in Reven’s Landing.

  Out of fear of the headaches, Laedron ate a slice of bread and an apple. If he became nauseous from practice, he wanted as little as possible to end up as vomit on Ismerelda’s pristine floors. He assumed she had already gone to the basement, so after he ate, he went to join her.

  He was surprised to find the lower level so illuminated. A wide variety of lanterns, torches, and candelabras were scattered throughout the spacious room. It appeared to be a mishmash of a mage's laboratory, a classroom, and a study all in one. Training dummies and strange devices lined one side of the space, and Ismerelda sat writing with a peacock feather in a large tome at her large desk gracing the center of the room.

  “I always begin with the basics, young man,” she said with hardly an upward glance. “It always seemed the best place to start.” She stuck the quill in its holder next to some iridescent vials of ink. “Why don't you have a seat?”

  After slinking across the room, he sat at a nearby table much smaller than her desk. Leaning over, she placed a book in front of him. It was leather bound with stamped impressions of runes and glyphs burned into the cover.

  “This is your first spellbook, Laedron. Contrary to what people believe, a book of incantations is not some collection of writings in bizarre and foreign languages, held on high with the wave of a wand during the casting. No, it is a notebook of sorts, a place for a sorcerer to keep his annotations. Some are well organized, and others can’t be deciphered by anyone except the writer.”

  Opening the cover of the book, she revealed a blank page. “This book is empty, but you shall fill it as time goes along. Every sorcerer who survives his training will have one or more of these, and he chooses carefully which ones to travel with or to possess at any given time.”

  Running his finger across the first page of the book, he admired the fine quality of the paper. It had a delicate texture, but he could tell the pages were sturdy and resilient.

  “As I teach these things to you, you will write the things you need to remember. Are you ready to walk this path, Laedron?”

  He thought about his doubts and shortcomings, remembering how difficult it had been to cast his first spell in his early years of training at home and wondering if he would ever become a mage. “I'm ready. All I can promise is that I'll try my hardest.”

  “I can see that we'll have to work on your lack of confidence, but I can also see promise in your eyes. For now, your eagerness to learn will have to do. You'll begin to trust yourself along the way.”

  Taking a quill in his hand, he dipped his head as an indication he was ready.

  “The first rule of magic is that all effects are temporary. The spell's effect remains, so long as you continue concentrating.”

  He scribed notations in his book but was struck with a question. “The Sea of Pillars remains to this day. Is someone still concentrating on it?”

  “Azura broke many rules of magic, young man. How she did it, no one can be sure. It is probably better that the secrets she knew of the workings of magic have stayed with her alone. Unlike any mage before or since, she was truly and uniquely powerful.”

  “How is it that someone can cast a bolt of lightning and the damage still remains after the spell has expired?”

  “Simple. The weave of magic can affect the things it comes in contact with while it is in existence. Therefore, a lightning bolt can break a tree in half. You could drown an enemy in magically created water so long as he passes before the water is dispelled.”

  “Can a magical fire ignite other things?”

  “Now you're thinking, my boy. That's good.” A broad smile appeared on her face. “Magic is just as much about figuring out solutions as concentrating to make it happen. Yes, magical fire can s
et other things aflame. It's not because the magic remains, but because it has affected something else in the world that is material.”

  Listening to her insights, he studiously took notes in his notebook.

  When he lifted his quill and looked at her, she continued, “There are several types of magic. These are known as aspects to sorcerers. They each deal with a particular part or effect of magic. The first and most popular of aspects is Energetics. Being the study and conjuration of raw energy from nothingness, almost every offensive spell is a part of this aspect, but there are some practical uses, too.

  “Next comes the Transfiguration aspect. This style of magic is done to change some feature of something. A weaker transfiguration might be changing a copper coin into a gold one for a short period of time, while a major use would be transforming a person into a rabbit.”

  His eyes widened. “A person into a rabbit?”

  “Fret not, it's only temporary,” she said with a sinister smile.

  “You've done that before, haven't you? That's why you're smiling like that, isn't it?”

  “Let's just say that it was necessary to prove a point that could be proven no other way at that specific time.”

  Shying away from her, he swallowed deeply. “I hope it wasn't a part of mage training.”

  “No, no, Laedron. Something else entirely. After Transfiguration, you have Alteration. That is the magic of illusions and shadows. It's easier to project an image of something than to conjure up the sum of its parts. Instead of making a man from nothing, you make his image. Alterations cannot interact with things since they're simply apparitions.

  “The final aspect is a rather new practice which can be difficult to master. It is called Captivation.” She paused for a moment to allow him time to finish his notes.

  “What can you do with that?”

  “Captivation is the art of the silver tongue. It can be used to persuade or manipulate others.”

  “Isn't that dangerous?”

  “It can be, but it's difficult. While requiring a great deal of concentration, it involves speaking at the same time. These two actions working simultaneously can be troublesome to achieve, and even the masters find it nearly impossible to control anyone for any considerable length of time. It can aid you in communicating with those who don't speak our common tongue, though. Birds, for instance.”

  “You can talk to birds?” he asked, raising both eyebrows.

  “Of course. They can be told simple directions, and many sorcerers use the smarter creatures for mundane tasks. My carrier pigeon last night had specific instructions, for example.”

  When he finished penning, he reviewed his paper. “Energetics, Transfiguration, Alteration, and Captivation. Any others?”

  “There are others, but they're very specialized, and they're often branches of these four aspects. Each sorcerer might also develop his own incantations, making our game both interesting and dangerous.” She rose to her feet. “Now, I shall teach you your first spell, young sorcerer. Stand.”

  Trembling, he wondered if he was to become a frog or be turned into dust by a sudden charge of electricity. Ismerelda produced a rod made of intertwined shiny metals which seemed to have been bent in a spiral by the hands of a giant. A fiery red stone was set into the top of the scepter. The appearance of the rod, its craftsmanship and ornamentation, put his simple wand to shame by comparison.

  “The most important spell a sorcerer can ever know is the invocation of dispelling. Many mages begin their training by learning simple offensive spells or changing water into milk. Not here, not at Ismerelda's training. Draw your wand.”

  Unsheathing his wand, he held it out in front of him. “Please go easy on me. This is the first time I've been in offensive practice with someone else.”

  “Nonsense. I won't hurt you, Laedron. Listen to the words as I speak them.” She spoke a phrase of magic words and made a swaying motion with her casting hand. Glints of white luminescence dripped from the end of the rod like a font of shimmering light.

  He repeated the words and waved his hand back and forth with ease. Within a moment or two, pure light fell from the tip of his wand in the same manner.

  “Practice makes perfect. Maintain the effect for as long as you can. Back and forth, side to side,” she said.

  His confidence built as he maintained the spell, but it flickered once or twice each time he lost concentration.

  “Back and forth, side to side. Concentrate. Good.” She lowered her wand to her side. “Keep it up.”

  While waving his hand and repeating the invocation, he noticed that his head began to hurt. He found it difficult to concentrate, and his headache strengthened the longer he kept up the spell. After two minutes had gone by, he developed a searing migraine, and he fell to his knees just before three minutes had passed. The illuminated droplets trickled to a halt, his mind relaxing more and more until the last drop faded.

  “You have the makings of a great mage inside you, Laedron Telpist. Most that I've taught weren't able to last half as long when they began their training. I'm impressed.”

  “That was excruciating, maybe even worse than you turning me into something unspeakable.” Taking her offered hand, he rose to his feet.

  “I'd never do that to a student unless absolutely necessary. Magic is not a toy to serve as a whimsical joke. It should always be harnessed with great care and respect. The Zyvdredi learned that lesson the hard way.”

  “It felt like someone striking me in the head relentlessly,” he said, rubbing his temples.

  “Yes, but it tends to pass quickly. Once the spell has been dispersed, the headache will go with it.”

  He dusted his knees to remove the specks of dirt gathered from the floor. “I do feel much better now, at least a lot better than a moment ago. What's next?”

  “Next? We continue practicing this spell. I don't feel comfortable going on to anything else until you can perform this invocation in your sleep. Practice it a few more times, and then we'll go up for lunch.”

  Swaying his hand back and forth, he repeated the incantations and maintained his concentration. Each time, the pain came right around the three-minute mark, and he fell to his knees in anguish. After each failure to maintain the spell, he recovered as quickly as he could and began again.

  When he collapsed and took his head in his hands, she stood. “That's enough, young man. Are you hungry yet?”

  He nodded, and she helped him to his feet before leading the way upstairs. He sat at the short dining table in the modest kitchen. “You don't have many dinner guests, do you?”

  “Not for a long time now. I rarely have anyone other than my current apprentice here.” She pulled some bread, cheese, and fruits from the cupboard. She sliced them and served him a portion.

  Thankful for his meal, he bowed his head in appreciation. Although light compared to his normal fare, he was satisfied with it. “I don't want to eat too much. Those headaches make me a little nauseous.”

  “It will get better. I promise.”

  “What were you saying of the Zyvdredi?” he asked.

  Glancing at the countertop, she took a bit of cheese in her hand. “An old race, Laedron. They live in the northeast corner of our islands, just beyond the Kingdom of Falacore.”

  “They were sorcerers?”

  “Yes. Powerful mages drunk with a lust for power. They manipulated Falacore into their evil plots, and the Falacorans still cannot see how the plots were weaved.”

  Swallowing the bread he had been chewing, Laedron asked, “What do you mean?”

  “The Falacorans were mighty warriors. Still are. They could never believe the Zyvdredi were just using them, and the only way we found peace after the War of the Eagles was for the old, bad blood to die away.”

  “They sound like fools,” Laedron said.

  Ismerelda shook her head. “No, not fools. Just blind with loyalty, I'd say. After all, who do you believe? The ones you've been fighting tooth and nail for years
or the ones who've always stood by you?”

  Laedron nodded. “I see your point.”

  “It serves as a lesson to us all,” she said. “Keep your eyes open and be suspicious of everyone's 'good intentions.' Finish up.”

  “What's next?” he asked, eating faster.

  Ismerelda smiled. “More practice, of course. What did you expect?”

  When they finished eating, she led the way to the basement. “Each day, we'll practice dispelling for at least an hour until you can invoke it with hardly a second thought.”

  Chapter Six

  A Mysterious Messenger