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

by Brian Kittrell

  * * *

  Laedron awoke to the smell of dried meat roasting on the flames, and his thighs burned from riding the day before. Opening his eyes, he saw Mikal and Brice eating by the coals of the fire. What had been a strong, roaring fire the night before had become a smaller mound of ashes and embers, though still quite hot.

  “What do you miss most about home?” Mikal asked Brice.

  “Staying out late and all the ale I could take,” Brice said, donning his pack. “Sleeping in and Ma's cooking, too.”

  “You, Marac?” Mikal asked, tying his bedroll to his horse.

  “About the same. A mug at my left and a busty maid at my right was plenty to keep me happy. What about you, Lae?”

  “Quiet,” he said, rolling his bedding. “The peace and quiet of the country. Long summers by the shore.”

  “Won't get much peace where we're going, I'm sure,” Brice said. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”

  “Who'll get the killing blow on Gustav, though?” Mikal asked, pouring the leftover soup on the campfire. “I bet I'll beat the rest of you to it!”

  “You're too slow,” Marac said. “It'll be my sword in his chest at the end of the day.”

  Laedron gave them a harsh glance. “Please. We're arguing over who will get to kill a man when none of you've even seen one killed before?”

  “And you have?” Marac asked.

  He met Marac’s words with a sharp, cold stare. “My teacher was murdered before my very eyes, Marac Reven. I saw the dagger plunged into her heart and her blood flow into the street. I watched, powerless, as the life left her body.”

  “I'm sorry, Lae. I had no idea,” Marac said.

  Shaking his head, he continued to pack. “It doesn't matter, not anymore. I mean to seek out this Gustav and have him feel my vengeance.”

  Laedron mounted his horse and took to the road, and the others gathered their things and followed. They reached Pendlebridge after noon, having ridden the entire way without a break or conversation.

  “It's getting cooler,” Laedron said. “It would seem we’re far inland now.”

  Marac nodded. “I'd wondered if you'd ever speak to me again.”

  “I could never stay mad at you, Marac. It isn't easy dealing with these feelings I have.”

  “We'll take them together,” Brice said. “All of us will share the burdens of the others.”

  “Like the order taught us,” Mikal said. “Don't forget that we're with you every step from here on.”

  “Thank you,” Laedron said. “It's good to have friends with me again.”

  Rounding a bluff, Laedron observed tall narrow towers rising above the Great Winding River on either side, and a massive stone bridge extended the breadth of the water, walled and enclosed on both sides and as tall as a castle wall. With pikes held at their sides, guardsmen stood on either side of the portcullis. Their blue tabards were adorned with a black outline of a knight on horseback—the crest of Cael'bril.

  “Da always said the bridge was impressive,” Marac said, “but I never imagined anything like this.”

  “This is nothing compared to the palace in Morcaine,” Laedron said. “For a bridge, though, I'm still in awe.”

  “It seems they mean to keep this spot for themselves,” Mikal said. “Can you imagine the genius it took to design such a place?”

  “I'd say,” Brice said. “Tons upon tons of stone, and it’d take an army weeks to besiege the thing.”

  Laedron tilted his head down after glancing at the turrets. “Let's get control of our amazement. We don't want to draw attention.”

  The guard waved them through the entryway, and they saw the stalls on either side of the bridge. From all angles yelled merchants and tradesmen, each hawking a variety of goods. It seemed all manner of wares could be purchased along the avenue for the appropriate price. When they came to the end, Laedron couldn't tell where the city ended and the horizon began.

  “Quite a place. We shouldn't tarry here for long.”

  “Surely this road will take us out the other side,” Marac said. “Make haste.”

  Laedron kept a steady pace along the road, fast enough to make good time while not so quick as to draw suspicion from onlookers. The others followed suit, and they were soon on the road east.

  “I haven't seen a building taller than two stories high in this town,” Marac said.

  Laedron nodded. “But the city goes on forever.”

  “The people of the outlying cities are easygoing,” Mikal said. “They prefer wide open spaces to grand towers and palaces, except for the people of the capital. Like those of other nations, the citizens who inhabit the capital city have a preference for grandeur.”

  Pulling the map from his pack, Laedron inspected the route from their location to Calendport. “Must everything in this country have a 'Cael' in it?”

  “Only in the north,” Mikal said. “Cael'bril is the result of unifying two old kingdoms—Caelland and Brilland.”

  “I didn't know you studied history,” Marac said.

  “Not much. Just the common things, really. After the War of the Eagles, Sorbia liberated much of both countries, and the local people decided to join under one banner.”

  “And that's how Westmarch got its name,” Brice said. “It was the farthest west the Falacorans marched before they were defeated.”

  Marac smiled and put on the thickest royal accent he could muster. “Here and no more!”

  The phrase had become a common rallying cry in Sorbia ever since, and many old men enjoyed telling the story of the Battle of Westmarch, each being sure to add a mighty emphasis to the king's famous line. Brice nearly fell off his horse from laughing.

  “Careful.” Marac caught Brice by the arm before he lost his balance. “We can't abide an injury before we've even landed in enemy territory.”

  “You’re one to talk,” Laedron said with a smirk, receiving a glare in reply.

  “What's he talking about?” Brice asked.

  Marac snatched the reins tight. “Nothing of any importance. Keep it moving.”

  Once the lights of Pendlebridge were nothing but a memory, Marac slowed his pace. “Do we camp again or carry on until morning?”

  “The horses are having trouble keeping up speed,” Brice said, looking at Laedron. “What say you?”

  “I'll freshen them.” Laedron pulled the reins to stop his horse and dismounted.

  “Freshen them?” Mikal asked.

  Marac moved closer. “I saw his ma do it in Reven’s Landing. They'll be good as new.”

  “Does that work on people?” Brice asked, stretching his arms wide. “I'm exhausted.”

  “I can try, but the horses are first.” Drawing his wand, Laedron motioned his hands in unison with an incantation, manifesting a spectrum of energy that encircled his horse. Before he even finished the spell, the beast seemed invigorated and revitalized. He repeated the spell on each of their steeds.

  “Now to the people.” Laedron turned to Brice.

  “Better try someone else first,” Brice said, stuttering through his words. “Spellcraft makes me nervous, especially if it's on me.”

  “I'll go first,” Marac said with a contemptuous hiss.

  Laedron cast the spell, and Marac was surrounded with luminous energy. The waves of power swirling around him caused his cloak and loose bits of clothing to flutter as if caught in a torrent of wind.

  “I need to take a moment to rest before doing the rest of you,” Laedron said. “It takes a lot out of me.”

  Following a brief rest, Laedron completed the castings, and finally invigorated himself. With fresh horses and the revitalizing, they rode straight to Calendport at high speed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A Ship Bound for the East