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

by Brian Kittrell

  * * *

  “You're awake?” Mathias asked. “We didn't know if you would ever wake.”

  “How long have I been out?” Laedron asked, sitting up in the bed and tossing the linens aside.

  “Two days now. How's your head?”

  “It's all right. I'm starving,” Laedron said, rubbing his belly.

  Mathias handed him some apple slices and sausages. “I'll retrieve my master.”

  Laedron coughed and choked on the food. “He survived?”

  With a nod, Mathias exited, returning moments later with the aged man Laedron had seen incapacitated days before.

  “I have much to thank you for it would seem,” the man said, extending his hand. “Name's Harris Belmay, but my troupe calls me Harry.”

  Laedron spit out bits of sausage and apple all over the man's hand. “Belmay?”

  Smiling, Mathias looked at Harry. “Seems you have a fan.”

  Harry dusted his hand against his pants. “If you can call it that. What have you heard of me, son?”

  “You're a pirate,” Laedron said. “Harry the Black, plague of the Wayfarer's Strait.”

  Harry grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, how I do love the old names.”

  “What will you do with me?” Laedron asked, inching away from the men.

  Harry shrugged. “Do with you? What do you mean?”

  “Feed me to sharks? Something unspeakable?” He drew the sheets tight around himself.

  Harry narrowed his eyes. “Nothing of the sort. You may think me evil, young man, but I'm not.”

  “But all the stories—”

  “Embellishments by merchants, I'm afraid. I'm hardly half as bad as those stories. Bad, perhaps, but not as bad as I'm made out to be. I rob and steal, yes, but I only kill when they resist my demands. Or when they try to out sail me. Oh, I hate that!”

  “What will become of me, then?” Laedron asked.

  “I don't presume to tell the future, but I know what will become of me. I will sail the seas once more to plunder and fortune. By autumn, we'll lay anchor north of Reven’s Landing for our winter retreat and start again in the spring.”

  Laedron stared at his shoes. “I'll gather my things and get going, then.” He stood and dusted the crumbs from his clothes.

  Mathias stopped him. “You don't have anywhere to go, do you?”

  Not wanting to make eye contact, Laedron shook his head and stared at the floor. “No. My home is a long way from here, and I have no money to travel.”

  Mathias turned to Harry. “What is your life worth, Captain?”

  Bobbing his head, Harry smiled. “Riches beyond imagination. All right, young man, you've earned yourself a reward. Get your things and meet us in the great room.”

  Laedron nodded and watched them leave, then whispered, “I've saved the worst pirate to ever sail the Sorbian coast, and they're giving me blood money for a job well done.” After acquiring his traveling case and other possessions from his room, he went to meet Harry and Mathias. Both of the men were seated behind a wide, thick table topped with platters of fruit.

  “This should be worth your troubles, I would think.” Harry tossed a sack across the table, and it landed with the clinking of coins.

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” Laedron said, lifting the heavy pouch. “Certainly, this is too much.”

  Harry eyed Mathias for a moment. “No, you've earned it. Safe travels, Sorcerer.”

  Mathias bowed his head with satisfaction, then stood and escorted Laedron to the exit. Before he opened the door, Mathias passed Laedron a book. “Harry's not a generous sort, but I've convinced him otherwise. Take this. I trust it shall help you as it did me.”

  “What's this for?”

  “It will help you with those books written in Zyvdredi. Best of luck.”

  Laedron dipped his head in appreciation, and he walked outside. A feeling of relief washed over him when the door closed, and he was quick to get to the nearest street. Thinking it better to count it later with less hungry eyes upon him, he tucked the coin pouch inside his waistband.

  After getting directions to the market from a passerby, he walked through the streets until the heavy air of the east end lifted. He felt as though the buildings became nicer and cleaner the farther he walked.

  “Keep your coin close,” he repeated to himself, hearing Ismerelda's voice echoing about the dangers of the market square. He made his way to the nearest coach station, but he didn't say anything to the drivers because a nearby poster caught his attention.

  By decree of King Xavier II, all clergymen of the Heraldan church are henceforth banished from the Kingdom of Sorbia. We mourn with his royal majesty over the death of his son, Prince Zorin. We curse the names of those who have murdered our countrymen and brought war upon our nation.

  Below the delicate inscription was a portrait of a young man of about sixteen. Through his mind drifted images of the young mage who had been so familiar to him in the academy auditorium. Laedron's stomach sank when he realized Prince Zorin had been slain with the rest of the sorcerers. Beneath the prince's likeness was a call to arms:

  All men able to carry a sword or bow are called upon to serve your King in his time of greatest need.

  Laedron repeated the words in his head while he looked between the poster and the stagecoach. No matter how much he wanted to run away and return to his home, the anger from Ismerelda's death boiled within him. The realities of her murder and his own hatred of that priest flashed through his mind like a thunderbolt.

  “It's either go home or fight,” Laedron said, examining the poster. His anger grew at the thought of Ismerelda's death going unavenged. “Fight back or tuck my tail and run.”

  He walked across the road and entered a tavern. Approaching the bar, he noticed the only males in the place were either older men or young teenagers.

  Chapter Ten

  An Army on Campaign