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

by Brian Kittrell

Laedron awoke to his arm being shaken by Marac, the morning light stinging his eyes. He remembered his dreams from the night before—vicious, torturous things of women screaming and dead men on battlefields far away. While the others dressed, he thought of how thankful he was that he wouldn't be facing opposing armies with only a sword, a shield, and some shoddy armor to protect him.

  “You can't waste away in bed all day, not with a task such as ours at hand,” Marac said, tossing Laedron his clothes.

  He threw the covers aside and dressed, being careful to check his possessions and ensure everything was present and accounted for. Though he trusted his friends, Laedron knew that he and Marac were both heavy sleepers and could likely sleep through a robbery. Mikal led the way downstairs, and the scent of cinnamon and fried meat hit Laedron like a stone wall.

  After finishing the morning meal, Laedron returned the room key and exited with the others. Once outside, Marac asked, “Where are we to go now?”

  “Morcaine,” Laedron responded.

  “What? Going west to go east?” Brice asked. “Doesn't make much sense to me.”

  Laedron shook his head. “No, we'll need a ship to carry us. Morcaine's the largest port around here, I'd wager.”

  “What about Cael'bril?” Mikal asked. “Plenty of ships in Calendport.”

  “I'd rather sail out of a Sorbian port,” Laedron said. “I think it'd be safer for us.”

  “No, Mikal's right,” Marac argued. “If we sail from Calendport, our mission would be kept secret better.”

  “Has Cael'bril sided with the church?” Laedron asked.

  “No.” Brice shook his head. “Cael'bril's not a Heraldan stronghold. They'll likely stay neutral.”

  “Very well,” Laedron said. “Calendport is about the same distance as Morcaine, but it lies much closer to the theocracy.”

  “Less time on a boat is good for me,” Marac said. “I always get nauseous.”

  Laedron grinned widely. “If you drank less, you'd probably keep your stomach better.” Mikal and Brice laughed aloud.

  “Go ahead, chuck it up at my expense,” Marac said, his face flushed. “At least it'll be a few days before we hit the sea.”

  “We need to plan out our trip before we go. We need a map,” Laedron said.

  Mikal's eyes lit up. “The order has maps, real good ones. We could get one there.”

  “All right. You and Brice get the map, and we'll meet you at the castle with horses.”

  “Horses?” Brice asked nervously. “I've never ridden a horse before.”

  “Never?” Marac asked.

  “No. I was relieved when they said we wouldn't be the horse-riding kind of knights.”

  “It's not hard,” Laedron said. “I've only done it a few times myself, but it's easy once you learn how.”

  Laedron and Marac parted from the other two, and they walked toward the center of town. Finding the city stables, Laedron purchased four fine geldings, saddles, and bridles.

  “Horses sure are expensive,” Marac said. “A coach would've been cheaper.”

  “We need to appear as travelers,” Laedron said. “Besides, we would lack flexibility and speed in a coach.”

  Marac nodded. “I hope Brice doesn't break his fool neck.”

  “We'll teach him as best we can. He'll have plenty of time to get used to it.”

  After they left the stalls, Marac tapped him on the shoulder. “You remember when your ma put a spell on our horses?”

  “When we left Reven’s Landing?” Laedron asked, mounting the horse.

  “Yeah. Can you do that? We could be in Calendport in no time.”

  “I could try, but it will be more along the lines of refreshing them when we stop than speeding them up. Ma never taught me that spell.”

  When Laedron and Marac arrived with the horses, Brice and Mikal emerged from the castle. “They let us have this tattered old thing,” Brice said.

  “Better than nothing.” Stepping down from his horse, Laedron took the map. “Let's have a look.” He found the map to be worn, but expertly drawn and legible. “It'll do. So long as we don't get it wet, it'll hold.”

  “We'd better get our things and find a place where we can get some supplies,” Marac said.

  Laedron nodded. “Meet back here, quick as you can.”

  They scattered into the castle, and Laedron went to his room. He carefully packed the books into his traveling case along with his other possessions. When he returned outside, he saw his knights on horseback, apparently prepared to follow him to the ends of the world, each with a hopeful but frightened look. They wore shields on their backs, and Laedron knew it would take him some time to get used to seeing them wearing swords.

  “The market’s next,” Laedron said, climbing atop his horse. It was a short ride along the main road.

  “How's that feel?” Laedron asked Brice. “The horse, I mean.”

  “A little uneasy, but not as hard as I thought it would be,” Brice said, dismounting.

  “Well, you're no master horseman like Meklan Draive,” Marac said. “I hope we aren't stuck at such a slow pace the whole way.”

  “He'll get better,” Mikal said. “Give him a little time to adjust.”

  “Yeah, you hear that? Don't worry about me, miller.”

  Marac rolled his eyes and dismounted. “Let's just get the stuff and get on the road.”

  Marshaling his knights through the busy square, Laedron advised them on items they'd need for the trip and bought some things for himself. With packs loaded and supplies purchased, they proceeded to the east gatehouse.

  When they arrived at the portcullis, Laedron stopped and took one last look around. “Only a few miles of Sorbian countryside left, then we're in Cael'bril.”

  Marac stopped beside him. “We'll be back soon enough. A few weeks at worst, right?”

  Laedron tilted his head. “I hope so.”

  Nodding to the gate guards, they crossed the bridge and beheld the open road. “One step at a time,” Laedron thought, trying to strengthen his resolve. “The rest will follow.”

  The gallop of hooves on the cobblestones pattered out a rhythm over the rest of the day and into the night. Past the capacious stone quarries, the road turned to stiff dirt, which echoed like a hollow drum as the horses trod the path.

  When they reached a wide curve in the road below a bluff, Laedron stopped. “We should go no more for now.”

  Brice massaged his legs. “My thighs are raw from the saddle.”

  Marac jerked his reins. “Must we hear you complain every step of the way?”

  “It's not just him. Mine are burning, too,” Mikal said.

  Though he didn't want to admit it, Laedron had his share of chaffing from the constant rubbing. “No worries. We'll camp to give them a break, and I'll see what I can do about it.”

  “Do about it?” Marac asked.

  “I may be able to repair it. I'll have a look once we get something to eat.” Laedron pointed at a clearing. “Set up camp over there, beneath the large oak for the shade.”

  While Mikal cleared a spot and piled wood, Marac and Brice unloaded the bedrolls and some food from the horses. Laedron anchored the steel posts for hanging the stew pot above Mikal's campfire.

  Mikal struck a flint stone, and each time it sparked, he blew on the dried grass, but it was little use.

  “Allow me.” Laedron drew his wand, and Mikal jumped back from the stack of logs.

  Laedron shook his head at Mikal's surprise. “No need to be afraid. I wouldn't harm you.”

  Gesturing with the wand across the pyre, he spoke the words, and a dull glow of orange and red emitted from his wand. Droplets of sparkling yellow and white energy fluttered to the ground, and the logs and straw began burning.

  “Nifty little trick,” Marac said. “You'll have to teach me that sometime.”

  Laedron smiled. “I thought you weren't one to be interested in the ways of magic.”

  “You make it look easy. No, I kid. You
're truly talented.”

  Brice hoisted the pot over the fire. “Can you make water?”

  “If I did, it wouldn't last,” Laedron said.

  “But the fire remains,” Brice said. “What's the difference?”

  “If the fire burns something else and that catches on fire, it can remain. Calling water is different; it remains only so long as I concentrate.”

  “You don't have to concentrate to keep the fire? It still doesn't make sense to me,” Mikal said.

  Laedron pointed at the flint stone in Mikal's hand. “The flint stone makes a spark which ignites the straw, and it then builds into a fire. Magic works in the same way. You can affect the material world, but you cannot create something from nothingness and expect it to remain.”

  Tilting his head, Marac raised a finger to the sky. “So, if you caused it to rain, the water would stay then?”

  “Yes, but it's much harder to control the weather. In our present situation, it'd do more harm than good; it could cause a downpour or only a few drops. There's no way of telling beforehand.”

  “Better not, then,” Brice agreed. “I'd rather be sore in the legs and dry than sore in the legs and drenched.”

  Mikal poured water from the waterskins into the pot. “At least we brought plenty with us.”

  They gave their opinions as to the ingredients to be used in the soup, and Mikal added each in turn after a consensus had been reached. When the pot came to a boil, the contents gave off a weak aroma, and Mikal ladled a bit into each waiting bowl. Laedron found it to be bland, but he didn’t complain.

  After they finished eating, Laedron went to Brice and Mikal in turn and healed the rashes on their thighs with ease. Both commented on an itching sensation that subsided quickly, and they thanked Laedron for his help.