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

by Brian Kittrell

Almost an hour later, they dragged themselves onto the sand bar beneath the rocky face. Laedron sat with his head down, taking deep breaths and thanking the Creator for their lives. The others lay nearby without a word until Laedron rose to his knees.

  Drenched with seawater and covered from head to toe with sand, Laedron laughed, shaking his head.

  Marac, still lying on his belly, turned to face him. “What could you possibly be laughing about at a time like this?”

  Laedron wiped his face and spit sand grains from his mouth. “What else can I do?”

  “Laughing's hardly what I had in mind,” Marac said, sliding his body around to a seated position.

  Looking at Marac, Laedron smiled. “Is this the kind of adventure you were talking about back in Reven’s Landing?”

  Marac let out a grin of his own. “That's about the size of it. No one told me this adventure bit could make you so tired, though.”

  “I'm beyond tired,” Brice said, his face in the sand. “I never want to get up again.”

  “Oh, quit complaining.” Marac swatted some sand at him. “You're always whining about something.”

  “Whining?” Brice sat up. “We just fell from the top of a cliff and swam across the sea. I'm worn out!”

  “Calm yourself. I'm kidding,” Marac said, then turned to Jurgen. “You well?”

  “Uh-huh,” he muttered. His priestly garb was tattered and torn, a grim shadow of how vibrant it once had been.

  “We had better make camp for the night,” Laedron said, dusting off his clothes.

  Marac asked, “What, here on the banks?”

  “The beach curves around the cliffs. There may be a better spot deeper in the schism.” Laedron helped Brice and Jurgen to their feet.

  Laedron led them along the sandbank, the cliffs towering above, and the path tightened the farther they walked away from the sea. Carefully stepping around a rock formation jutting up from the beach, Laedron saw the mouth of a cave. He pointed at it. “That's where we'll camp.”

  Jurgen sighed. “So long as we don't have to walk anymore.”

  “Marac, why don't you and Brice see if you can salvage some wood from those drifts? I can start a fire from it.”

  Marac took Brice by the shirt, dragging him along before he could protest. Jurgen rested on a large rock at the face of the cave, and Laedron inspected the opening. “It's not very deep, and I don't see or hear anything within.” Marac and Brice returned and dropped some sticks and bits of wood in a pile near the cave mouth.

  Bending over, Laedron picked up some pieces and inspected them. “They're soaking wet.”

  “I told you it was no use,” Brice said, shoving Marac.

  Marac pushed him back, nearly knocking Brice into the water nearby. “Magical fire isn't affected by dampness. Tell him, Lae.”

  Laedron nodded. “That's true, but it could take longer. I'll work on it.”

  A warm breeze drifted through the sticks while Laedron repeated his spell. A glow of red dripped from the tip of the rod and swirled through the pile. Steam rose from the twigs, then was replaced by gray smoke and a tiny flame. The flame grew into a small fire, and Laedron released the spell.

  “Place the logs over it,” he said, lowering the scepter. “It'll dry them out.”

  Brice and Marac stacked the larger pieces of wood above it and sat on either side of Laedron.

  “I wish we had something to cook,” Brice said, rubbing his stomach.

  “Sorry,” Marac said. “Looks like all our things went down with the coach. Good thing we put our swords on before leaving or they’d be at the bottom of the sea, too.”

  “Perhaps Laedron has something up his sleeve?” Brice suggested, his eyes full of hope.

  Laedron shook his head. “I can't summon food. Well, I could, but we'd get no sustenance from it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It doesn't work that way. If I made an apple and you ate it, it'd only last as long as I concentrated. Remember when you asked about summoning water in Cael’bril? It’s the same thing.”

  “How am I alive, then?” Brice asked.

  “What do you mean?” Laedron was baffled by the question.

  “You brought me back, didn't you? That wasn't some temporary thing… Here I sit.”

  Marac waved a hand through the air. “Wait a moment. What does he mean, 'brought me back'?”

  “To life,” Jurgen said. “Unless our mage friend refuses to admit that fact now.”

  Brice continued, taking a step toward Laedron. “I'm still here, aren't I?”

  “Yes, how do you explain that?” Jurgen asked, folding his arms. “I shall greatly enjoy hearing this.”

  “I can't,” Laedron said. “How can I explain something of which I know nothing about? Perhaps he wasn't fully dead.”

  “Wasn't fully dead?” Jurgen asked. “We both saw him die on that bed. Don't deny it.”

  “What would you suppose, then, priest? That I'm a divinity of some kind? Nonsense.”

  “It's not nonsense,” Brice said. “Maybe you are Azura reborn.”

  “If only you knew how silly your assumptions truly were.” Laedron shook his head. “I'm not Azura in any form. I'm just a mage; that's all.”

  “Can other mages return people to life?” Jurgen asked.

  Laedron firmed his tone. “I've never been told. My teacher was killed before I could find that out.”

  “Then it could be true,” Jurgen replied.

  Approaching Jurgen, Laedron threw his hands in the air. “Would Azura think of murdering a man in such a way as I almost did? I didn't think so, Priest.”

  “It was our mission to kill Gustav, and it's in a time of war,” Marac said.

  Laedron turned to Marac. “Not that. I nearly killed the coachman who carried us to Pilgrim's Rest. He betrayed us, and I went to exact my revenge upon him.”

  “What?” Marac asked, his voice crackling with confusion.

  “Yes. His treachery killed Mikal. It killed Brice, and it nearly killed you. I told him what would happen if he spoke of the magic he saw.”

  “Creator...” Marac said. “That's not like you at all. What became of my friend?”

  “Your friend grew up, and everything that he loves is being taken from him. His home, his family, his teacher, and his friends—one by one.”

  “It doesn't have to be that way,” Marac said, placing his hand on Laedron's shoulder. “Don't become what you hate.”

  “I wanted to make him pay.” Laedron drew his arms tight around his chest and stared into the flames. “The priest stayed my hand from the killing blow, but I wanted to see his blood drench the alley.” Laedron tried to relax his mind.

  “The question remains unanswered,” Jurgen said, returning to Laedron’s side. “Brice died, yet he is alive now because of what you've done.”

  “And I have these grays to show for it.” Laedron ran his fingers through his hair. “As I told you before, I'm not divine. I'm not Azura reincarnate.”

  “Perhaps you're right,” Marac said, sitting beside Laedron. “But maybe it's something else.”

  “I've considered the possibility,” Laedron said, rubbing his temple, “but it's unheard of. Any mage can thread skin back together, but to bring someone back to life? Only Azura has demonstrated permanent magic, and no one since has repeated that feat.”

  “Azura wasn't a mage, though,” Jurgen said. “She was divine.”

  “She was a sorceress.” Laedron gave Jurgen a cross look.

  Jurgen shook his head. “What proof have you of that, might I ask?”

  “You're right. I have none, no more than you have proof that she's the Creator in human form. I'll concede the point.”

  “If what you say is true, Azura was a mage, and she could make permanent magic, perhaps you have the same gift,” Marac suggested. “Why couldn't it be true?”

  “I don't know,” Laedron said. “Maybe it is. Either way, I have no idea how to make it happen, nor do I want to age any further. Meal
s are out of the question.”

  Sighing, Brice leaned back in the sand. “We'll need to get out of this ravine, then, and soon.”

  “For once in my life, I couldn't agree more,” Marac said, swatting Brice on the arm.

  Laedron glanced at the walls on either side of him. “The best way is likely to be deeper into the crevice.”

  “What, to the east?” Marac asked.

  Laedron bowed his head. “We should try, at least. Anything is better than scaling a cliff with no equipment.”

  “I can think of things worse than that,” Marac replied. “What about running into their army?”

  “What army?” Jurgen seated himself opposite them.

  “You know, the army. The Heraldan army,” Marac said.

  Jurgen let out a chuckle. “They have no army, young man.”

  “Then who did I fight back there?” Laedron pointed in the direction of Pilgrim's Rest.

  “Those? They're militia. They exist only to protect the towns and neighboring countryside. The theocracy cannot afford to keep a standing army,” Jurgen explained. “They rely on the Heraldan nations to protect them. Only recently have they been able to put ships to sea.”

  “No army? How do they expect to fight a war against Sorbia, then?” Marac asked.

  “As I said, the other Heraldan nations bind together in times such as these, and they possess formidable armies and navies alike. Who would need to bother with the training and supply of men when you have others willing to die for your cause in your stead?”

  “You say that as if you despise the practice,” Laedron said, scratching his chin.

  “Despise it? You could say that. I loathe what my homeland has become: a manipulative charlatan bequesting others to die needlessly for reasons they'll never truly understand.”

  “Then, you don't agree the mages should be killed?” Laedron asked. “You don't see them as a threat to the church?”

  “Neither I nor most Heraldans feel that way. Our people obey the Grand Vicar because he is our leader, much in the same way the Falacorans or Sorbians follow their king. Besides, if I thought that, would I have helped you in the first place?”

  Laedron shrugged. “I'd say probably not.”

  Jurgen stepped closer. “Probably not? I wouldn't have, but I did. I'd had enough with empty edicts and hollow deaths in the name of Azura. Priests were never meant to dictate the affairs of nations and war.”

  “Then, we must go east.” Laedron clasped his hands across his lap.

  “No, we must go west,” Jurgen said. “To the west lies Sorbia.”

  “To the east lies Azura, the capital,” Laedron said, pointing to the narrowing of the canyon. “We go east.”

  “That wasn't part of our deal,” Jurgen said, flailing his arms. “You promised me!”

  Laedron pointed a finger at him. “I promised you, yes, but I think we shall alter our previous arrangement. Worry not; you shall have a church to call your own, priest.”

  “In Heraldan lands? It will never last!” Jurgen face flushed red.

  Laedron shook his head. “No, you shall be Grand Vicar.”

  “He's mad,” Jurgen said, turning to the others. “Stark, raving mad! You'll take me with you to Sorbia like you said.”

  “Calm yourself, priest.” Laedron lowered his head and gave Jurgen a stern glare. “Hear me out.”

  Jurgen threw his hands up and went quiet.

  Laedron continued, “You said it yourself; the people don't care for this war. They're neither on one side or the other, they simply obey the Grand Vicar. If you held the office, you could end this yourself.”

  “It's far too perilous to try. Tristan will never give up his position now; he's far too embedded to abdicate.”

  “Who's to say he would have any choice?” Laedron asked.

  Marac rubbed his forehead. “I can't believe what I'm hearing. No, we can't do this.”

  “And why not?” Laedron asked, turning to Marac.

  “Because,” Marac said, his breathing panicked, “it's not a part of our mission to kill him. We were told to return to Westmarch after Gustav's death.”

  “We're here now in the theocracy, and we have a chance to end this, and to save countless lives in the process. How could you deny me?”

  “It's far too dangerous,” Marac said.

  “You said the same thing about Gustav.”

  “This is different, though. You're talking about the Grand Vicar!”

  “It's a chance we must take,” Laedron said. “To leave now and not stop him is to betray everything we know and love. You know I'm right.”

  Marac covered his face with his hands. “They captured us once and tortured one of us to death, Lae. They'll kill us all if they catch us again, especially after Gustav's death.”

  “You're right.” Laedron nodded. “When we get out of this fissure, you'll take Jurgen and Brice with you. I'll travel east on my own.”

  Marac uncovered his eyes. “What?”

  “It's too dangerous to take everyone. I'll go it alone.”

  “You can't!” Marac rose to his feet. “To go into the lion's den by yourself? It's suicide!”

  “Then you'll come with me?” Laedron grinned.

  “Damned stubborn,” Marac said. “I've never met anyone—mage or not—so obstinate as you.”

  “Then you clearly haven't spent any time around my mother.” Laedron let out a laugh.

  “I'm glad to see you two think it's a wonderful idea,” Jurgen said, glancing between them. “I'm still not convinced.”

  “Just look at it this way,” Laedron said. “You'll be doing the world a favor by helping us rid it of these Drakars. One down, one to go.”

  Jurgen pursed his lips and closed his eyes. “Very well, Laedron. We shall try our best.”

  “Good, then it's settled.” Laedron looked past Jurgen when he heard a small splash. “What are you doing back there, Brice?”

  Turning his head, Brice said, “Fishing.”

  “Fishing?” Laedron rose to his feet and walked to the water's edge.

  “Yeah, fishing. I'm about to starve to death.”

  “Could you—” Marac started.

  “Not another word.” Brice pointed at Marac. “You're hungry, too, the lot of you, and I'll catch us a fish.”

  “Can you even see a fish?” Laedron asked, glimpsing the waves.

  “Right there,” Brice said, holding a branch of driftwood above the spot.

  A fish flew out of the water, and it landed on the bank following Laedron’s spell. “Good eye.”

  “I thought you said you couldn't do anything!” Brice tossed his spear into the water.

  Laedron gave him a coy smile. “That was before you saw a fish. I didn't know there were blackfins in these waters.”

  “Well, now you know.” With hunger in his eyes, Marac searched the water. “One won't feed us all, though. Look!”

  As quick as Marac spotted the next, Laedron flicked his wrist and out came the fish. He caught two more in the same manner, and with the four fish in hand, Brice found a sharp bit of rock and prepared them for the fire.

  “Too bad we don't have any seasoning,” Laedron said, his mind drifting to the redfish Ma had prepared so long ago.

  Brice filleted them with haste, his breathing rapid. “Forget spices so long as it fills my belly!”

  After cooking the meal, Brice passed a fillet to each of them. Though it possessed a strong fishy taste and little else, Laedron ate it happily, and while using a bone to pick at his teeth, he said, “Nice work.”

  “It's nothing special,” Brice said, already finished with his meal.

  “No, it's good for what you had to work with. Thanks.”

  With a wink and a grin, Brice lay on his back and rolled onto his side. “Better get some sleep.”

  Laedron removed his shirt and took great care in peeling away the bits around his shoulder wound. Marac's eyes widened when he saw the hole, the flesh around it burned black. “Wha
t happened to you?”

  “Gustav,” he replied with a grunt, examining the injury himself. “I don't know what spell it was, but it burns like fire even still.”

  “Can you repair it?” Marac asked.

  Jurgen waved his hand. “Allow me, won't you?”

  “What do you know of it, old man?” Laedron asked.

  Jurgen knelt beside him. “We're instructed in the ways of healing by our order. You might call it magic, but it's actually an invocation of Azura's blessings.”

  “Do you use wands?” Laedron asked, looking at his empty hands.

  “We're gifted rings inscribed with sacred texts. They give us the power to do miracles if we isolate our minds in prayer.”

  When Jurgen had finished speaking, Laedron glimpsed the large ring. If they use rings as a focus, why did Gustav use Ismerelda’s rod in battle? he thought.

  “Give it a try, then. I'd like to see these 'miracles' of yours.”

  Despite Laedron's prodding, Jurgen placed his hands over the wound and chanted a phrase in Heraldict. Though the burning sensation took on an excruciating fervor, it subsided when he finished.

  Laedron inspected the area; the wound, and any evidence of it, was gone from his skin. “Powerful magic. I'm unable to remove every last trace of an injury, but you seem to do so with ease.”

  Jurgen returned to his feet. “As I told you, it's not magic. It's faith, young man.”

  Though he knew what Jurgen said was contrary to everything he had been taught, Laedron bowed his head, unwilling to engage in further debate. He accepted Jurgen's explanation as sufficient, a nap being preferred over an argument.

  Wringing out his shirt, Laedron looked at Marac. “Good night. We'll have our work cut out for us in the morning.”

  Marac lay on his back and stared at the night sky while Jurgen made himself as comfortable as could be afforded. Laedron balled his shirt for a pillow and flattened the sand beneath him. Placing the shirt under his head, he shimmied onto his makeshift bed. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do. Any rest is better than none, he mused.

  “We've come quite a long way, haven't we?” Marac asked. “Do you think we'll ever see home again?”

  “One day,” Laedron said. “Not anytime soon, but one day I feel we shall.”

  Marac clasped his hands behind his head. “I long to see Laren again.”

  “Does this make you love my sister more, Marac?”

  “What, the traveling?”

  “That, yes, and everything else.”

  Marac bobbed his head. “Yeah. When I was in the cathedral, they whipped us until we couldn’t take anymore. Then they whipped us some more. The only thing that kept me going was the thought you'd come along and get me out of there. And Laren, I thought of her, too. How much I missed her and Da, and the mill.”

  “Tell me more of the dungeon.”

  He closed his eyes. “No, Lae. I can't.”

  “Please. I want to know what happened in there.”

  “There's not much to tell. The man with the whip came and lashed him to death.”

  “Tall fellow, black leathers?”

  Marac gulped. “Yeah, that's the one.”

  “He won't be torturing anyone else anytime soon, not unless Syril has whips in the hells.”

  “Good.” He crossed his arms at his stomach as if feeling the nausea from each slice of his skin. “It was terrible, Lae.”

  “Go on.”

  “They hung us there and asked us questions to no end. No matter what we said, we were lashed. Then again. I can still hear the crack of the whip in my ears, the ringing after the sudden snap. They laughed as we bled out. How can you laugh as someone's dying there in front of you?”

  “Evil men shed tears for no one,” Laedron said.

  “Perhaps you're right. They kept beating him when he refused to answer. I think he couldn't speak through the pain, even to give a lie. They whipped him until he stopped moving, and they lashed him some more to make sure he was dead.”

  His stomach churned while Marac continued. “I begged them to stop. I pleaded with them not to kill him, but they only laughed louder. It wasn't until they were too tired to whip us anymore that they stopped, and I could tell Mikal was long gone by then.”

  “May he rest in peace.”

  “I held on to whatever I could,” Marac said. “Thoughts of your rescuing me, the mill, Da, and Laren. I think I love her more now than I ever did before.”

  “I wish I'd found love before this,” Laedron said. “I may now never find it.”

  “It makes it easier sometimes, but it makes things harder, too, you know?” Marac said. “It's hard to explain.”

  “I think I know what you mean. I think they call that 'grounding.'”

  Marac shrugged. “Maybe so. Does that mean I'm growing up?”

  “It may very well. You would do best to be careful with that sort of thing.”

  With his lips curving at either end, Marac said, “We can't have that, now can we? What will people think?”

  Laedron laughed quietly to keep from waking the others. “Good night, Marac Reven.”

  “Good night, friend.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The City of Azura