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

by Brian Kittrell

Good, you're awake,” a muffled voice said. The cold stone floor beneath his right cheek gave little comfort, and he opened his eyes as he raised himself. Standing, Laedron was overwhelmed by the unrelenting pain in his head, causing him to wince.

  He ambled to the door and peered through the bars set in its solitary window. He saw the back of a man, a cowl draping his shoulders and loose robes gathering about his back. Though the light was dim, Laedron could make out black locks topping the man's head.

  “What do you want of me, of us?” Jurgen asked, his voice weaker than normal.

  “We'll get the answers we need from you soon enough,” the man said, opening the door to Jurgen’s cell. Two others followed him into the room and took the priest by the shoulders. “It would seem you should have hired better guards than these. Hardly a challenge.”

  When the men carried Jurgen out of the cell, his eyes met Laedron's for a moment. They told of desperation and resignation to his fate.

  “Wait!” Laedron stretched his hand through the bars. Twisting Laedron’s arm, one of the men pulled him close to the slot. “What do you need, whelp?”

  “I'll tell you anything you need to know. Just don't hurt him,” Laedron said, his breathing panicked from trying to enunciate his words clearly through the pain.

  “Oh, we shall come see you when he's given out. It could take hours or maybe days, but we'll see you all in due order,” the man said, a smile creeping across his lips.

  Once the priest had been taken down the hall and the men closed a door at the end of it, Laedron sat in the corner with the filth. Staring at the floor for a while, he heard Jurgen's screams echo down the hallway. For the first time in a long time, he felt powerless to do anything to save his friends. Now look what you've gotten yourself into, he thought, tears welling up in his eyes. Went and got everybody killed, haven't you?

  His mind raced with memories of his home, those warm summer days he longed to see again. The warm embrace of his sister when he left Reven’s Landing and his mother's cooking only drove the depression deeper, like an arrow through his heart. For a moment, he thought Ismerelda and the others at the academy had been the lucky ones, having died quickly at the hands of their assailants, and he assumed those men were the same murderers who held him imprisoned in a city so far from his quiet seaside.

  While he cried, he prayed to the Creator that it would be over fast, that he wouldn't languish in torment for hours at the pleasure of his executioner. For a while, he considered his fear and found it so different from the minuscule amount he had experienced over Gustav. He realized it was because he was just a young man with no wand or spell to protect him from the coming torments. Prior to his current predicament, he had been a free sorcerer on the track of adventure, his whole life before him, undecided and new. In the stillness of his cell, all of those dreams were diminished like any other condemned soul waiting for his execution.

  Jurgen's screams pained his ears to hear, and they seemed to last for an eternity. With his hands on his ears, he tried to drown out the sound, and he suddenly remembered everything Marac had told him about Mikal's death back in Pilgrim's Rest. He put his head between his knees and hoped it would stop.

  Then, he heard a whisper from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder out of reflex, but he saw only a stone wall at his back. He heard the voice again. Sliding himself away from the corner, he spied a tiny hole at the base of the wall and put his mouth close to it. “Hello?” He turned his head to listen for a response.

  “Lae, is that you?” Marac asked.

  He nodded in reply, but he quickly realized he couldn't be seen. “Yeah, where are the others?”

  “We're all in cells along this corridor. We're not in a good way...”

  Laedron snapped back at him. “That's an understatement, don't you think?”

  “Sorry.”

  “No matter. We need to get out of here.” He eyed some smelly muck and grime suspiciously when he rotated his head and saw it near his face.

  “I don't see how,” Marac said. “We're two floors deep in the ground.”

  Pausing to think, he noticed Jurgen's screams had grown silent, and his breathing hastened. Jurgen was dead, and they were next on the list. “We have to do something. I'll fight them tooth and nail if I must!”

  “I should've fought back! Damned fool I was to give up so fast!”

  “You'd be dead now if you had fought,” Laedron said, brushing the trash away from his face. “Have you spoken to or seen the others?”

  “Brice is across from me.”

  “And... Valyrie?”

  “Who?”

  “The girl from the tavern.”

  “Haven't seen her, Lae. I'm sorry.”

  Shaking his head, Laedron stood and walked to the door. He pushed and pulled on the heavy timbers and bars, trying to find a weakness. After a while, he gave up and collapsed to the floor.

  He thought the stillness and quiet would soothe him, but it only made things worse. His fear and hope for Jurgen to have an easy death was replaced with the horror of anticipating his own fate. With thoughts running through his head faster than he could consider them, he heard footsteps echoing in the hallway. They're coming to get another one, he thought, cowering in the refuse.

  When the steps stopped, he saw a shadow beneath his door. Two distinct thoughts washed over him—a calm relief that he wouldn't have to hear any of his other friends die and a deep depression knowing that he would be killed soon. With a click of the lock, the door swung wide. Beyond stood a hooded figure Laedron recognized as the one who had struck down Valyrie.

  “Come to get me, have you? I think you'll find me more resilient than the old men you like to kill, fiend.”

  “Don't make me come in there after you, boy.” The man’s voice was steady and firm, reminding him of the assassin Mathias.

  “You think I'll make this easy for you?” Standing, he balled his fist.

  The cowled man shook his head. “Get him.”

  From either side of the threshold, two others entered. They wrestled with him. The first one in received a kick to the knee and a punch to the face, both backed by as much strength and animosity Laedron could muster. The first stumbled backward and was pushed aside by the second, a much larger man.

  Ducking Laedron’s punch, the man swung his arm, backhanding Laedron in the face. Before he could regain his stance, Laedron was struck a second time with a fist in the forehead. With a daze washing over him, he was unable to stop the men from finally tackling him.

  Dragging him through the hall and up a set of stone stairs, they dropped him on a wooden table. He struggled against his captor tying his hands and ankles with leather straps, but it was no use. He heard the footsteps go away from him and out of the room, and the door closed behind them.

  He felt as Marac must have in the passages beneath Pilgrim's Rest, and he considered the emotions which had likely run through Jurgen's mind in the moments before he died staring up to the stained glass of the ceiling and the subdued sunlight it let through. The smell of copper from the old bloodstains was his only companion in that dreadful place.

  Turning his head, he saw numerous torture implements lying on a table and hanging on the walls. In his peripheral vision, he saw a man strapped by his arms to a thick, wooden post.

  “Jurgen!”

  The priest didn't reply. Instead, he let out a muffled groan which was incomprehensible beyond the expression of his misery. Jurgen spat on the floor, and Laedron saw blood and a tooth in the mixture.

  “Did you tell them anything?” Laedron's fear grew when he received no response. “Jurgen! What did you tell them!”

  “They...”

  “Yes, go on! What did they ask?”

  “Asked me why I was in the city. Wanted to know why I left my church in Balfan.”

  “What else?”

  “They kept hitting me.” Jurgen spat out some more blood. “I wouldn't tell them. I couldn't!”

  Laedron waited for him t
o finish coughing. “Who are they, Jurgen?”

  “Inquisitors.”

  “For the church?”

  Jurgen bobbed his head in reply. “It's over for us.”

  “It's not over until we're dead. We have to do something!” He struggled against the leather straps.

  When Laedron fell still from fighting against his restraints, Jurgen said, “As I told you... it's over for us. We should tell them what they want to know. They'll show us mercy.”

  “We can't. We have to appear to be loyal to the church.”

  “And what will that accomplish?” Jurgen asked.

  “Some of us might make it out of here, that's what.” The leather straps cut into his skin the more he jerked his hands. Despite his wriggling and writhing, the bindings didn't loosen.

  “Look at my face, Laedron. Does it look to you like it worked for me?”

  Laedron gasped when the heavy door creaked open, and a man bearing a long scar on his face entered. Cold brown eyes looked out from beneath raven locks that brushed against his cheeks as he walked. Pulling the long sleeves of his robe up to his elbows, he ran his fingers across the implements on the table.

  “You may not care what happens to you, but what of your companions?” the man asked in a raspy voice. “How many screams will it take to oil your vocal chords, Jurgen?”

  To Laedron's horror, the man perused the implements of suffering much like a hungry man might look over a feast table for the best thing to replete his appetite. His finger traced a spiked rod first, and then he grasped a knife. Taking the knife into the air, the man turned it to inspect the blade before hastily returning it to the table. “No, that won't do.”

  “Sir, please!” Laedron said, unable to take any more, despite the fact that the torture hadn't yet begun. “What do you want from us?”

  The man shook his head while taking a hammer in his hand. “It's in bad taste to speak to the dead.”

  His words were spoken with a chill and confidence, and Laedron knew at that moment that he would soon be dead. He breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened, and another man rushed into the room. “Supplies are in.”

  “Then handle it,” the first man said with a quick turn of his head. “Must I do everything?”

  “You said you wanted to know when they got here.”

  “Can't you see I'm busy here, fool?” He slammed his hands on the table. “It's hard enough to work without all these constant disruptions.”

  With a couple of backward steps, the man said, “Sorry,” and closed the door. Selecting a tool from the table, the first man lowered his head, then turned and approached Laedron.

  He carried a metal implement with a square head. The top edge of it had been sharpened to be a fine blade. The closest thing Laedron could compare it to was a fruit peeler he had once seen in a tavern.

  “Now that we're alone, we can continue.”

  Lying strapped to the table with the man's steady hand approaching, Laedron's mind raced, imagining his skin being removed piece by piece as he was flayed alive. Just when the cold metal touched his arm, Jurgen's words came rushing back to him. In a fury of emotions, he screamed, “I'm the sorcerer! Kill me quickly and be done with this!”

  For the first time since the man had entered, his eyes carried hesitation. He glanced at Jurgen, then returned his gaze to Laedron. The peeler remained depressed against his skin, but still. The man's brow stiffened, and Laedron could tell he was deep in his thoughts.

  While he waited for what would happen next, Laedron's whole body tensed with fear and anticipation. The whole world seemed to have stopped the moment he finished his confession.

  The old scar on the man's face twisted with the raise of an eyebrow. “What did you say, boy?”

  Laedron clenched his body tighter, turning his head and closing his eyes to avoid seeing his flesh peeled from his body. “It's me! I'm the one you seek. Please, spare the others!”

  “Sorcerer?”

  “Yes! Are you going to do it or not?”

  Hearing the sound of metal hitting stone, Laedron opened his eyes and looked at the man.

  The man had turned his head and rested the tool on the table under his open hand. “You lie. It can't be——not here.”

  “No, we've killed your precious Gustav, and we've come here to kill your Grand Vicar. Your war is the lie.”

  “How can this be? What are you doing in the company of a priest?”

  “He's been helping us. Jurgen knows the depths of your misdeeds, but he was unafraid to right the wrongs of your church, fiend!”

  “Wait a moment. Who do you think I am?”

  Laedron shook his head. “Does it truly matter? Some inquisitor charged with extracting our plots against your evil masters, I should say.”

  The man gave Laedron a blank stare. “You think I'm Heraldan?”

  “Don't toy with me.” He arched his brow in confusion. “What do you mean? Is this some sort of sick game?”

  “No, it's no game. If you are what you say, where is your wand?”

  “I don't have it.” He let out a sigh. “It's at the inn where your men attacked us.”

  “Excuse me, then.” The man turned toward the door.

  “Where are you going now?” Laedron jerked against his restraints. “What sort of torture is this?”

  The man exited without another word crossing his lips, and Laedron went limp from exhaustion.

  Jurgen asked, “What do you make of this?”

  “I think they're not of the church, which is a relief, but not knowing who they are makes me even more afraid.”

  “If not church inquisitors, then who?”

  “I don't know, but they're after my wand now. Can you get free?”

  The priest pulled against the ropes. “No. Looks as if we're stuck here.”

  “Wonderful.”

  After what seemed like an eternity, the heavy door creaked open, and the same man stepped inside. Without speaking, he walked over to Jurgen and released him from his bonds, then proceeded to the table and unbuckled Laedron while Jurgen rubbed his wrists and sighed.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Laedron asked.

  “An error has been made. An unforgivable mistake.”

  “Mistake? What in the hells are you going on about?” Jurgen shouted.

  The man didn't speak until he had finished freeing Laedron. “One of my men saw you and your friends come from the basement of the tavern. We've known that was a secret entrance for the consulship for some time now. Then he saw Jurgen's face and recognized him as a vicar.”

  “What does that have to do with taking us prisoner?” Laedron asked.

  “Everything. You see, we're working to disrupt the church's activities, and every piece of information which could serve that purpose is... extracted, with great precision.”

  “You mean you torture it out of them,” Jurgen said.

  “You would take prisoners and agonize them without any sort of proof?” Laedron asked.

  “The proof was our man's word that you were with the church, but he lied about what he truly knew.” He sighed and clasped his hands. “Worry not——it's been taken care of.”

  “Taken care of?”

  “He's been put down.”

  Laedron raised his eyebrow. “Put down? You would kill your own men for such?”

  “His lie has caused a terrible predicament, young man. Based upon what he said, we took you captive. We killed an innkeeper, and we've beaten your priest friend mercilessly. He knew the risks of bearing a falsehood to us, but he made an assumption which put all of our lives in danger.”

  Laedron remembered Valyrie's father and the look on his face when he fell, a throwing knife protruding from his chest. He replayed the horror in Valyrie’s voice while she clung to his body, blood pooling around her knees. “Have you released my friends from below?”

  “Caleb's fetching them now. If you'll come with me.”

  Laedron stopped him. “I would know your name f
irst.”

  “Piers.”

  He led them to a large common room. Within a few moments, Marac, Brice, and Valyrie were brought to them. Laedron and his knights exchanged embraces while Valyrie found a place to sit. Behind them was the man Laedron recognized from the inn, the man who had struck Valyrie and him with the sap.

  With a stern look on his face, Laedron walked over to him and swung his fist with all his might, striking him squarely in the face. “That's for the inn.”

  “I see you two have gotten acquainted, Caleb.” A slight grin crossed Piers's lips.

  Caleb nodded and wiped the blood from his mouth, then spat some onto the floor. “I deserved that.” He pointed at Laedron. “But don't think you'll be given any more than that for free.”

  “You merit more than a tap on the cheek.” Valyrie stood, giving him a resentful look. “You've murdered my da!”

  “The one who killed your father has sacrificed his life in turn,” Piers said.

  “That's supposed to make it better, is it? Your men killed him. He was just an innkeeper defending his business from hoods, and you murdered him for it!”

  “We’ve retrieved his remains from the inn and handled everything with care and respect. We're also prepared to pay restitution—”

  “Keep your damned money. Just show me to the door.”

  Laedron stepped between them. “Valyrie, wait.”

  “What could you possibly say to help?” she asked, lowering her head. Laedron could see tears behind the locks of her hair.

  “Nothing. No matter what I say, I can't bring him back, but you'll fare no better on your own. Stay with us.”

  “You're not upset about how you've been treated by these thugs?” She pointed at Jurgen. “Look what they did to him! Remember what they did to my father!”

  “You're right. They've done nothing but cause us suffering, but a fool's mistake is the cause of this. What they did was wrong, and that can't be denied. Don't suffer alone, though—stay with us.”

  Wrapping her arms around him, she buried her face under his chin and cried. He awkwardly put his hands about her shoulders and held her until she drew away.

  “Sorry.” She tried to dry the front of his shirt with her sleeve, but he took her hand in his.

  “Don't worry about it.”

  He helped her to a seat at the table, then looked at Piers. “A fine mess you've made.”

  “We accept full responsibility, and I can only say that I'm thankful no one else was harmed before we discovered the truth.”

  “I'd believe you were sincere if you felt some regret for what you’ve done.” Laedron rolled his eyes.

  “I do regret it, but you must understand my position. We acted in the proper way given the information we had been furnished.” Piers hung his head. “If I could take back what has happened, I would.”

  “That’s a start.” Laedron gave him a nod. “You told us earlier you needed knowledge about the church. Who are you, exactly?”

  “Our order is tasked with disturbing and harassing the Heraldans in any way we can. In order to do that effectively, we require details—supply schedules, movements of important persons, and the like.”

  “Your order?”

  “To bring the light to pierce the darkness everywhere it is found.” Piers's eyes turned to the crest on the door. “We’re known as the Knights of the Shimmering Dawn.”

  “You?” Marac crossed his arms. “Hardly.”

  Piers glared at Marac. “And who are you to question it?”

  “We're under the charge of Meklan Draive and Victor Altruis of Westmarch.” Laedron pulled Brice’s sleeve up to reveal his brand. “We're of the Dawn Knights, also.”

  “You know Meklan Draive?” Piers clasped his hands, and his jaw dropped. “That fool Lester would have had me killing our own brothers!”

  “We don't just know him. He's the one who sent us here. We've killed Gustav Drakar, and now we seek his brother.”

  “Wait right there!” Valyrie stood and pointed at them. “You're of the same order?”

  Laedron nodded. “Yes, but make no mistake, things seem to work much differently this side of the Azuran Sea.”

  “I can't believe this. You’re asking me to stay with murderers and outlaws?” Valyrie cried.

  Laedron knelt next to her chair. “We're not like that, I swear it. Please, don't leave, at least not until we've had a moment to talk about this.” She responded with a nod, but he could tell she was bothered by the proposition.

  Brice broke the ensuing silence. “Who's Lester?”

  Turning, Piers stared at him. “The one who told us of you at first. He claimed you were consorting with Jurgen, protecting him until he could return to the consulship. Lester has betrayed us all.”

  Laedron rubbed his chin. “If he knew the consequences, why would he risk his life over lies?”

  Piers took a deep breath and exhaled. “Lester was the kind of man who needed to be liked. When he recognized Jurgen's face, he made assumptions. Based upon those suppositions, I ordered the attack.”

  “And now, two men are dead from a simple mistake—one, a liar, the other, an innocent businessman.” Marac approached Piers, his open hand outstretched. “Does this happen often? I mean, do you usually run loose killing people without confirming the facts?”

  Piers returned a stern glare. “No. Like I explained a moment ago, I am ashamed that this has come to pass, but we won't win wars dwelling on our mistakes. We must move forward and learn from these hard lessons.”

  “Calm down, everyone.” Laedron waved his hands. “He's right. We won't get anywhere by arguing the point, and we're deep in enemy territory; we need the allies, misguided as they may be. At this point, we'll take anything we can get.”

  “Don't discount us so quickly, young man.” Piers narrowed his eyes. “We've lived in the shadows of this city for years, and we've seen many successes, regardless of what you may think of us. To remain under the church's nose takes great skill and cunning.”

  “I don't doubt that, but you must understand our position. What occurred was a wrong not easily righted, and we have much work to do. Can you provide lodgings for us?”

  “Lodgings? Of course.” Piers gestured to the door.

  “And I'll need my things. The scepter from my bag, specifically.”

  “Everything has been recovered from the inn. Right this way.”

  After selecting rooms and changing into the new clothes Marac and Brice had bought, Laedron and his knights gathered in his room, and Valyrie, Jurgen, and Piers were summoned to join them. With a flick of his wand, Laedron cast a healing spell to rejuvenate the priest’s bruised body.

  Valyrie's eyes grew wide and, for a moment, free of tears. “I've never seen magic before.”

  “I have before,” Piers said, “but each time, I’m filled with awe.”

  “That's only the beginning. He's the greatest sorcerer I've ever known.” Marac put his arm around Laedron's shoulders.

  “Out of how many you've met? Let's not get carried away,” Laedron said.

  Brice shouted, “He brought me back to life!”

  “Too bad he didn't bring your brain back with you.” Marac jabbed Brice in the ribs.

  “Hey!”

  Laedron glared at them. “Enough. An entire army could be poised to attack, and you'd be lobbing insults at each other.”

  Brice's voice faded to a whisper while he rubbed his side. “He started it.”

  “Could you bring my father back?” Valyrie's face carried a hopefulness that melted Laedron's heart.

  He shook his head slowly, trying to find the right words. “If I were to do so, I'd have to invest part of myself into the spell, part of my livelihood. When I brought Brice back, I came out of the spell older than when I went in.”

  Her head dropped in disappointment, and he continued, “If I had any idea what it might do to me, I would consider it, but I could die in the process, for all I know. There's no way to be sure. I'm sorry,
Val.”

  “It was worth asking. To me, anyway.” She nodded, and he could feel her heart breaking with every moment that passed.

  “Look, why don't you discuss how we will proceed,” he told Marac. Then he turned to Valyrie. “Would you care to take a walk?”

  Marac stepped closer. “It's too dangerous, Lae.”

  “It's quite all right. Follow this hallway and take the second door on the right.” Piers pointed at an open door to his left. “There you shall find the garden—it's safe there.”

  With a nod to Piers, Laedron offered his arm to Valyrie. Once in the garden, Laedron guided her to a dilapidated, empty fountain at its center.

  Sitting on the rim, she looked at the dirt and leaves accumulated in the basin. “I bet it was beautiful once.”

  Not knowing what to say, Laedron decided to keep things simple. “Can I do anything for you?”

  “What could anyone do? My father is dead, and I'm alone in the world.” She folded her arms, slouching her shoulders.

  “What happened at the inn is a tragedy, but there's no need for you to go off by yourself. You can stay with us.”

  “And do what?”

  “You offered to help, didn't you?”

  “That was before your new friends killed my da.” Her eyes grew cold. “Besides, I must send word to my family and inform them of what has come to pass. Someone will need to care for the inn.”

  He tried to steer the conversation away from her father’s death. “Is it not yours?”

  “No, it belongs to my uncle.” Pausing, she leaned forward. “I don’t know what I shall do now. I can’t afford the university on my own, and I have nowhere to stay. I won’t go to live with my uncle, though. The man is unbearable.”

  “You can stay here with us. As far as I'm concerned, those men in there are no more than a tool to be used. Don’t think of it as staying with them, but instead, think of it as helping us.” Laedron leaned over and looked her in the eyes. “If we can end the war, we have a chance at preventing the needless deaths of many more. You could be a part of that, Val.”

  “All right, Laedron,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “What do you need me to do?”

  “You can call me Lae.” He offered his hand to her, and she took it. “We'll figure that out later after we've talked to Jurgen.”

  “Very well...” She hesitated. “Lae.”

  He returned with her through the short passage to the common room and found the others discussing plans on what would be done next.

  # # #

  The next in the series:

  The Consuls of the Vicariate

  Book II

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