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

by Brian Kittrell

The first thing you must know is that a lesser clergyman won't look a greater in the eyes while in public,” Jurgen instructed. “Avert your eyes to their chin or throat, or even as high as the nose but not, under any circumstances, the eyes.”

  “Why's that?” Marac asked.

  “It's a mark of respect for your betters. At least it is within the church. It shows you are a willing servant, subordinate of those of a higher status.”

  “Where we come from, not looking someone in the eye is disrespectful,” Laedron said. “It'll be a hard habit to break.”

  “You must try. It helps me when I focus on their raiments and admire the beauty of the cloth and the skill of the craftsman.”

  “Don't look them in the eyes,” Brice repeated. “Got it. Anything else?”

  “We haven't even skimmed the surface,” Jurgen said. “Do you have somewhere else to be?”

  Brice shook his head with disappointment.

  Jurgen said, “Then we'll move on. You have it easier than I do, you see? Friars are at the bottom in stature, so there are few things anyone would ask of you. Your purpose is to aid me in any way I request. Follow me, do as I say, and ask permission for everything. After I give you instructions or permission, a bow will suffice to show respect to any onlookers.

  “Keep your heads down, and use the hood. That should prevent anyone from recognizing you in case there is anyone present who might. Now, practice makes perfect. We shall go to our evening meal.”

  Jurgen stood, then helped each of them arrange the cowls over their heads after they put on the robes. “Follow me and remember what I've taught you. No talking.”

  They followed him downstairs and out of the inn, where Jurgen led the way to a restaurant not far away. Once inside, they sat at the only large table in the place.

  “Be seated, my brothers,” he said after taking a seat, his palms raised in the air.

  Jurgen ordered the food and drink, and they dined in silence. Laedron's mind was awash with thoughts of how dull and boring a life in the monastery would have been had he taken that route, but those ideas conflicted with the realization that, had he joined the church, his outlook on the Heraldan faith would be markedly different. He knew the priests believed in the church's doctrines, but Laedron thought the clergymen were simply ignorant of the truth.

  Having satisfied Jurgen's want for perfection from them, Laedron and his knights were given the signal to stand and walk behind him toward the exit. Jurgen bowed as another priest entered the establishment, and when he saw the man, Laedron’s heart raced, his eyes widened, and his breathing went shallow.

  Before him stood a man with a familiar face, one he hadn't seen since Morcaine. The priest had short auburn hair and a pair of emerald eyes peeking through it. Even his robes matched Laedron's memory, a memory he had tried to repress over the past weeks, and he couldn't keep his eyes from locking with those of the symbol of everything he'd come to hate about the church.

  Reaching into his friar's garment, his hand readily found his wand. The priest looked back, his eye twitching. Just before Laedron could draw his wand, Marac grabbed his arm. “What are you doing? Come on, let's go.”

  Brice and Mikal turned to help, but the priest spoke when they reached the door. “Wait a moment.”

  Jurgen froze in his tracks and turned, seeming to just then notice the others were far behind him. He returned and bowed to the other priest.

  “My apologies,” Jurgen said, his voice cracking. “They are new to the order and view your portrait in our cloister each day. Imagine their surprise to see one as great as you in passing.”

  “All is forgiven,” the man said. “Perhaps that portrait should be replaced with the likeness of Azura, that they would be in awe of true greatness.”

  “Yes, Deacon Gustav, I shall see to it.” Jurgen pulled Laedron along. “We shall do as you command.” Laedron's mind was filled with confusion.

  Once in the street and out of sight, Laedron broke free from the others. “You mean to tell me that he is Gustav Drakar?”

  “You say that as if you know him,” Jurgen said, a baffled look on his face.

  “He killed my teacher!” Laedron said, seething with anger and drawing his wand. “I'll burn the place down!”

  Jurgen snatched the wand from his hand. “You'll do no such thing! We wait, boy!”

  “No!” Laedron shouted, struggling to wrest the wand from Jurgen’s grip. “Give it back!”

  “Help me,” Jurgen said to the others. “He's mad!”

  Marac and the knights each seized one of Laedron's limbs and dragged him toward the inn. He fought them with every ounce of strength he could muster, but it was no use. They returned to their quarters amidst funny looks from passersby and Velan the innkeeper, while Jurgen tried to explain his outburst as his being filled with vigor by Azura herself.

  “Traitors!” Laedron shouted, entering their room and turning to them. “All of you, traitors!”

  “You can't go blasting down restaurants,” Jurgen said. “It's not the way this must be done.”

  “I can't? Oh, I assure you I most certainly can, and I most certainly will. Return my wand!”

  “Not until you calm yourself,” Marac said.

  Approaching Marac, Laedron was filled with anger. “And you're with him now? You would betray me after everything we've been through?”

  “Laedron Telpist, you need be guarded with your words lest you say something you shall regret,” Marac said, his voice firmer than Laedron could ever recall.

  “Tell me why!” Laedron shouted. “You tell me why I should restrain myself.”

  “Think of the innocents.” Jurgen grabbed a handful of Laedron's robe in each hand. “If you would kill everyone in the place, you're no better than what you seek to defeat.”

  Shaking his head, Laedron blinked, stepped back, and collapsed into the velveteen chair. As he breathed deeply, he saw the concern in each of them, but most of all, he felt Marac's dreadful gaze pierce his heart.

  “I'm sorry,” he said, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips.

  Marac knelt beside him. “It's all right. I'd be filled with anger, too, but we must keep our heads. We have no chance otherwise.”

  “We have no chance to begin with,” Laedron said, his hands falling to either side of the chair. “He's too powerful.”

  “Too powerful?” Brice asked.

  “He killed my teacher, Ismerelda. She was likely one of the greatest sorceresses in the world,” Laedron said. “We cannot defeat him.”

  “Tell us about her,” Mikal said, inching closer. “Make us understand.”

  “It's no use. We might as well leave this place and make whatever lives we can for ourselves while there’s still time to escape.”

  “Nonsense,” Marac said. “We've come this far, too far to turn back now. Tell us of Ismerelda, Laedron.”

  He crossed his arms and tensed up, then finally obliged. “She was Uxidin, one of the immortals. She grew up with Azura.”

  “Blasphemy,” Jurgen whispered. “Impossible.”

  “Do you want to hear of this or not?” Laedron asked.

  Jurgen nodded slowly when the knights stared at him. “Continue, then.”

  “Uxidin, one of the immortals. She told me the tale of Azuroth and of Vrolosh, their ancient enemy. They stood upon the mount and defeated the defilers. If he could kill her, there is no hope that we can succeed, for she was more powerful than I could ever hope to be.”

  Marac folded his arms. “We have something that she didn't.”

  “Yeah? What's that?” Laedron asked.

  “Laedron Telpist, son of Wardrick and Filadrena, the greatest sorcerer I've ever known,” Marac said.

  “We have something else, too,” Brice said. “We know where he is, and he doesn't know we're coming.”

  Mikal dipped his head to the others. “Here is something Meklan Draive said I'll never forget as long as I live. He said, 'You know how to kill a mage, Mikal? Surprise.'”

 
; With tears flowing down his cheeks, Laedron shook his head and closed his eyes. “None of this should have happened.”

  “But it did,” Marac said. “It happened, and we have to fix it. If we tuck our tails and run, how many more will die at his hands?”

  Laedron wiped the tears away and took a deep breath. “You're right, but I will need to practice before we meet him again. You said we have until tomorrow night?”

  Jurgen stepped closer. “Yes, one day until the Southern Lights can be seen in the night sky.”

  “Then I don't have a moment to spare.” Laedron rose from the chair. “My wand, please.”

  Jurgen offered the wand to him, and Laedron sheathed it inside his robe. “Do you know of any private place around here where I can prepare?”

  “Outside of town,” Jurgen said, nodding. “There is a system of caverns not traversed by most.”

  “The rest of you remain here,” Laedron said. “We shall return shortly.”

  “Shouldn't we accompany you?” Marac asked. “Meklan told us to never leave your side.”

  Laedron waved them off. “We'll be fine. Wait here.”

  Jurgen grabbed a lantern and led him outside the city for over a mile, then cut through a field and thicket before arriving at the mouth of a great cave. They climbed down the rocky steps to the bottom.

  Laedron produced his spellbook and flipped to the pages in the back. Those were the spells he hadn’t reviewed at length, but he knew they were the most potent of his collection.

  “Do not be afraid,” Laedron said, holding his wand high in the air. With a flick of the wrist and an incantation shouted, a lightning bolt erupted across the open space of the cavern. Thunder rolled, the echo reproducing the clap for a minute afterward.

  “My God,” Jurgen said.

  “You've seen nothing yet.” Taking his stance again, Laedron used deep concentration, murmuring the words of the spell and waving the wand to and fro. The spell manifested in a blinding white light, enough to illuminate the sides and roof of the rock surrounding them. As he thrust the wand before him, beams of searing vibrancy arced into the darkness, licking the walls and floor. Into his nostrils wafted the scent of molten rock, and wisps of smoke smoldered from the stone.

  Jurgen stepped back as Laedron continued his spells, each one more magnificent than the last, and every spell produced a brilliant flicker of light before fading away. Hours passed before he perfected his casting, and every mistake was met with stern self-criticism—his own resentment for faults when he had no time for error.

  “I underestimated you, young man,” Jurgen said.

  Smiling, Laedron tilted his head and looked over his shoulder at him. “I get that a lot.”

  “It's getting late. We should get back to the inn.”

  With sweat beading on his skin despite the coolness of the cavern, Laedron nodded, and they returned to the inn.

  Arriving in the room, Laedron's stopped in surprise. “Where are they?” On the far bed lay a pile of swords and sheaths, and his knights were nowhere to be found.

  Jurgen's look of surprise matched his. “I do not know. Stay here, and I shall check with Velan.”

  Just when Laedron's temper had reached its peak, Jurgen returned, closed the door, and said, “They left a few hours ago, but they did not say where they were going.”

  “Left? That's not like them,” Laedron said. “We must find them.”

  “Wait. We mustn't go searching the city for them, for it will only draw attention to us.”

  Laedron raised his hands in frustration. “What do we do, then?”

  “We wait. Perhaps they will return shortly.”

  “And if they don't?” Laedron asked, folding his arms.

  Jurgen looked at the floor. “Then, we shall seek them out in the morning. The mission is of the greatest importance, yes?”

  Laedron bobbed his head in affirmation.

  “Then we must wait,” Jurgen repeated. “To be on the streets seeking your friends would jeopardize the task at hand.”

  While Laedron slouched in the chair, the hours passed with neither his friends returning nor any news of their fate. It wasn't long before he was left awake by himself, Jurgen having fallen asleep, and the candle at the far end of the room burned down to a nub. I swear by the Creator, he thought, if this is Marac seeking the pleasures and entertainment of the city’s night life, I’ll kill him myself.

  The door opened. Roused from his slumber, Laedron sprang to his feet, wand in hand. In stumbled Brice, a trail of blood behind him.

  Laedron rushed to his side and closed the door. “What happened?”

  The sudden activity caused Jurgen to awake in surprise as well. “Taken,” Brice said, his voice raspy. “They've been taken!”

  “Taken where?” Laedron asked. “What happened to you?”

  “Taken,” he repeated.

  Laedron helped him to the bed and laid him down, careless of the blood soaking the linens. “Yes, yes, they were taken. Where, Brice?”

  “The coachman, he betrayed us to the church,” Brice said in a frail voice, his eyes widening and fixing a stare to the ceiling before his body went limp.

  Laedron brought his wand before him, waving it and chanting through his sobbing.

  “What are you doing?” Jurgen asked. “He's gone.”

  “Bringing him back!” Laedron shouted. “Stay out of my way!”

  The brilliant green light enveloped Brice’s body, and his wounds closed as Laedron flicked his wand faster across the corpse. Through the room expanded the swirling energy, extinguishing the candle and knocking it from the table. While Laedron continued the spell, the curtains were torn from the window. Jurgen ran to the glass, throwing his arms wide to cover it.

  Laedron's tears flowed freely when the body before him took a deep breath. Brice’s back arched, life once again flowing through his veins. A fracture found its way through the stone, and the floor shook before the spell dispersed.

  Jurgen whispered, “Maker... you are surely divine, boy.”

  Turning his head, Laedron stared at him. “You dream, priest.”

  Brice coughed and turned to his side, immediately falling into a deep slumber. Laedron made his way to the door, but Jurgen stopped him. “Where do you mean to go now?”

  “To find the coachman. To find out where my other friends have been taken.”

  “No.” Jurgen moved to bar his exit. “Not tonight.”

  Laedron knocked his arm out of the way. “No. Tonight it shall be!” He stormed through the door and slammed it behind him, meeting several of the other occupants of the inn in the hallway.

  “What was that racket?” one man asked, tugging at his bedclothes to keep them closed.

  “The storm grows close, I'd say,” Laedron said, pushing past them. Passing Velan, still snoring and seemingly unaware of any disturbance, Laedron wondered how a man could sleep through something like that.

  The guard patrols were heavy on the roads, but Laedron made use of the sweeping rain and thunder to mask his movements. He chose a route through the alleys and darkness to the coach station. Laedron saw the man who had brought them to Pilgrim’s Rest seated atop the driver’s bench of his wagon. Like a wild beast stalking its prey, Laedron focused upon his target.

  “No one's hired him on,” Laedron whispered. “Good.”

  He waited until lightning struck again to act. With a swish of his wand and the words spoken, the coach driver flew through the air and into the alley, landing at Laedron’s feet. A roll of thunder shrouded the man’s screams.

  Not wasting his opportunity, Laedron cast his spell, sealing the coachman's lips closed with folds of his own skin. “Scream again, and your suffering shall be legendary.”

  The driver bobbed his head, and Laedron smelled the familiar scent of urine wafting from him. Drunk with anger, Laedron flicked his wand and shouted the word, slicing an incision into the skin of his mouth. The driver whimpered, blood flowing down his face.

 
“I simply want to talk,” Laedron said. “Where have they taken my friends?”

  “What friends?” the driver asked.

  Unsatisfied with his response, Laedron cast his spell again, slashing the man across the cheek. “Wrong answer.”

  “They took them to the cathedral,” the driver said, coughing on his own blood and wincing.

  “And you revealed us to the church, didn’t you?” Laedron leaned close to the man’s face. “Foolishly, you sold us out.”

  “I… I had no choice. Please!”

  “Thank you,” Laedron said, standing erect above the man. “One last bit of business...”

  “Don't do it,” a voice said from his side. Both Laedron and the driver turned to see Jurgen standing at the end of the alley. “Don't.”

  “What do you know of it, old man?” Laedron hissed through his teeth. “Be merciful? Was your church merciful to my friends? I told you to stay with Brice, and you should have if you didn't want to witness what will pass here.”

  The lightning cracked above them, and Jurgen approached. “Don't be like them. If you do this, you'll be a murderer.”

  “It's not murder,” Laedron said. “It's fulfilling a promise.”

  “It mustn’t be this way. Brice lives, and we have not discovered the fate of your other comrades.” Jurgen put a hand on Laedron’s arm. “Release him, and be better than those you fight against. An enemy committing an evil against you does not forgive you if you should do the same.”

  Laedron shook his head, then looked at the man. “Get out of this town before I change my mind.” He walked away, leaving the coach driver alive.

  When he returned to the inn, Laedron could see the cracks and splinters in the once perfect architecture, but he didn't care. Opening the door to their room, he entered, leaving it ajar for Jurgen.

  Drenched from the storm, Laedron knelt beside the bed and took Brice's hand. Jurgen locked the door and stood near the footboard.

  “You’re a good man, Laedron,” Jurgen said, folding his arms.

  “Am I?” Laedron asked. “He turned us over to the church, and he’s even more likely to seek the authorities now.”

  “I doubt that. The last moment I saw him, he had gotten on his coach and headed to the north.”

  “I suppose we’ll see if the guard comes knocking on our door. After all, he took my first warning quite seriously, didn't he?”

  “I still think you’re a good man, for you’ve shown mercy despite the fact you had every reason to inflict the killing strike.”

  Laedron narrowed his eyes. “And I’ve put us in even greater danger by allowing him to live, a mistake I doubt your precious church would make given the chance.”

  Jurgen threw his hands in the air. “I've never harmed a soul.”

  “Then you're a good man. Better than the rest of your brothers, that's for sure, but you weren't at the academy back in Morcaine. I've seen what your church is capable of doing.”

  “That's not everyone,” Jurgen said. “More of us are good men than not.”

  “We shall see. When the battle drums roar and the men march, we shall see the true colors of your church once again. Put a little pressure on your brothers, and they'll come around.”

  “Useless,” Jurgen said, removing his robes and lying on the bed. “We'll discuss things in the morning.”

  “In the morning, Gustav will pay for everything he's cost me. All of the vengeance I have within me shall be visited upon him.”

  Jurgen turned onto his side without another word. With the passing of hours, Laedron stayed at his friend's side. When he could take the strain no longer, he collapsed, still grasping Brice's hand.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Depths of the Church