Chihon looked down at herself. She was still dressed in her nightgown. “Maybe I should dress, too,” she said and headed back to the guest room.
They made their way through the pre-dawn streets. The chill morning air was biting and cold, but the faint glow in the east promised a sunrise soon enough. When they arrived at the cemetery, the gate was locked, barring access. Chihon grasped the lock in her hand and muttered the spell she’d memorized for unlocking and releasing. The lock snapped apart and the gate swung noisily open.
She stood still, reaching for the thread that linked her to Lorit. It had grown stronger and weaker as he came awake and fell asleep, but it still indicated which direction they should go. They made their way through town quietly so as not to wake the citizens until they arrived at the old cemetery.
The crypts in this section of the cemetery were made of polished marble and granite. They stood against the ravages of time, a testament to the ancients who had crafted them to honor their dead. The thread guided her to a remarkably solid-looking marble structure. The early morning light just barely illuminated it as she stood before it. Chihon grasped Lorit’s staff in one hand. With the other, she traced the symbols and engraving on the crypt.
“These are ancient magic,” Gareb said, looking over her shoulder. “They’re stronger than I am. I don’t think I could break through them.”
Chihon stood before the doors. She pulled on the brass handle but the solid marble doors refused to budge.
“Aperire et me transire,” she said in her most commanding voice, summoning her powers as she commanded the doors to open.
Nothing. They stayed firmly shut.
“Posuit vinctum liberum,” she intoned, commanding the doors to set the captive Lorit free.
Still, nothing happened. She tried several more spells, but none of them had any effect on the heavy doors.
She sat down heavily with her back to the massive marble doors that refused to budge. She fought back tears of frustration. She felt for the link. She could feel it reach through the doors and into the crypt, just a few spans away from where she sat.
She could see the inside of the crypt with rows of marble tombs sitting side by side. She knew where Lorit lay in the interior of the crypt. She had to find a way to reach him, to rescue him.
Suddenly, she found herself in the darkness. She was still seated with her back against the massive marble doors. “Gareb,” she said softly. “What happened?”
When he didn’t answer, she hazarded a small illumination spell that showed she was on the inside of the crypt. She could sense Lorit even stronger now.
She stood up and reached out for the doors. There was a brass handle on the inside of the door. She pulled it, but the door didn’t budge.
She crawled over to the tomb that held Lorit. She could sense him inside, but he was somehow masked. The tomb felt as if it were wrapped in a blanket of intertwining ropes. They barred her senses from reaching him.
She tried to move the lid, but it was too heavy. It wouldn’t budge. She walked back to the door and pressed her face close to the seam between the doors. “Gareb?” she called. “Can you hear me?”
“I can hear you.”
“I can’t move the lid. It’s too heavy!”
“How did you get inside?”
“I just felt the link, and suddenly I was inside.”
“Try to open the doors from the inside,” he instructed her.
“I did,” she said. “They don’t open from the inside either.”
“Did you try magic on them?”
She sat there, stunned for a moment. She had assumed that since magic hadn’t worked from the outside it wouldn’t work from the inside either. She stood before the doors, gripping Lorit’s staff in her hand. She extended her free hand, palm toward the doors.
“Aperire et me transire,” she called out. She could feel the power rise in her, focus through the staff, and it wash against the door.
The doors creaked and moved slightly. She brandished the staff at the doors again and shouted, “Da me libertatem per,” commanding them to open and allow her through. This time she pushed all of her power into the spell. The doors shuddered and opened slightly letting a crack of sunlight fall across her face.
“I think I can squeeze through,” Gareb said. He pushed his head through the crack. Soon his whole body was inside.
“Where is he?” he asked.
“In this one,” Chihon said, placing her hand on the tomb where she’d felt his thread.
She pushed on the lid, but it didn’t budge. Gareb joined her, but even with the two of them pushing together, the lid remained firmly in place.
“Try that spell again while I try forcing it,” Gareb said. He pulled his knife from his belt and wiggled it between the lid and the side wall of the tomb. “Go ahead,” he said, looking up at her.
Chihon stood before the tomb. She grasped Lorit’s staff in one hand. “Posuit vinctum liberum,” she intoned, willing the tomb to release the captive Lorit. She could feel her energy draining as she focused her will against the stubborn marble lid.
“I think it’s moving,” shouted Gareb. “Keep doing what you’re doing.” The lid slid ever so slightly out of place.
Working together, they soon had the lid open enough that it was balanced on the edge of the tomb. It wavered and then tumbled to the ground, exposing Lorit lying there fast asleep, with his pack clutched to his chest.
Chihon reached to lift him out. The feeling of a web surrounding him remained even as she reached in. She could feel it muffling her senses as she touched him and pulled him into a sitting position.
Lorit shifted slightly as she pulled him up. “Give me some water,” she said, holding her hand out behind her without taking her eyes off of Lorit.
Gareb pulled out the waterskin and placed it in her hand. She pressed it to Lorit’s lips and squeezed. Most of it ran down his chin, but some entered his mouth. He swallowed.
It took a while, but eventually Lorit was able to open his eyes briefly. “Chihon. You made it,” he croaked, struggling to get the words out of his parched throat.
“Yes, I made it,” she said as she raised the water skin to his lips once again.
“Good. I knew you’d make it.” His head nodded, and he fell back into a deep sleep. She tried to wake him, but he would not respond.
“We’ll have to carry him back to your house, Gareb.” She pulled at Lorit, trying to drag him from the tomb to the floor.
“Wait, let’s get a wagon. We can’t drag him all the way home. That would raise suspicions that we don’t need.”
Gareb squeezed out of the door and soon returned. “I found a cart,” he called to her. “Can you drag him to the door so I can get him out?”
She pulled at Lorit’s jacket, sliding his unconscious form across the polished marble. When she reached the doorway, she propped him up against the crack and pushed. He easily slid through and outside. She squeezed behind him and out into the early morning light.
Gareb lifted Lorit as if he were a feather and placed him in the cart. He reached down for Chihon and helped her up from the ground where she’d fallen.
“It’s strange,” he said. “When I look directly at him, I can barely see him. As soon as I look away, I forget that he’s there.”
Chihon looked at Lorit. He did seem somehow insubstantial. She looked away. The thread connected them and tugged at her slightly. She looked back. He was still present but somehow not fully there.
“Let’s get him back to the house before everyone wakes,” she said.
“Why are you here?” Sulrad demanded of the Under Priest who stood before his desk.
“Father Taiez sent me here,” he said, his voice shaking.
“How did you get here?” Sulrad didn’t think the Under Priest had the power to travel. Taiez must have sent him with the expectation that the man would have to make his own way home. “Did Father Taiez cast the travel spell? Tell me the truth.”
&
nbsp; “He cast the spell, Father.”
“What is your name?” Sulrad asked. The Under Priest shook with fear.
“My name is Thrag, Father. I have only recently been assigned to Trickby.”
“What news has Father Taiez asked you to convey to me that he could not have carried himself?”
“He is occupied, Father.”
“Occupied with what? Come. Out with it.”
Sulrad knew as soon as word reached him that an Under Priest had arrived with news, that it was bad. Most priests would gladly carry news of their success on their own. It was news of failure that they sent with a messenger. His patience was growing thin.
“He is searching for the wizard Lorit, Father.”
“Searching for the wizard?” Sulrad sputtered. “What happened to the wizard that you must search for him? When last I heard, he was securely bound in the crypt of Azerath in Trickby.”
“He is missing, Father. He is no longer in the crypt.”
Sulrad could feel the anger well up in him. Along with it came a desire to blast the Under Priest where he stood, but he fought back the urge. He needed the information the man carried more than he needed an outlet for his anger. He also feared that the Under Priest would lose control of his bodily functions and leave him with a mess.
He tried to soothe him, to stall off that unfortunate event while he questioned Thrag. “The web of Kalwor-Raden-dan? Surely it wasn’t broken so easily?”
“No, Father. It is still in place. That is the difficulty. We can find no trace of him by any magical means. We have been reduced to searching door to door, but Trickby is a large city. Being a port town, they are not as welcoming of the priests as a smaller city like Bebrook is.”
“We have been searching for him for several days now. Father Taiez said it was time to notify you, in the event that you had any advice, or were willing to provide assistance in our quest.”
“Thrag, were you involved in placing the web on the wizard Lorit?” Sulrad asked in his most soothing voice. “It doesn’t seem like a job for an Under Priest.”
“No, Father. I am not powerful enough to partake in such rituals.”
“But you were a part of the search for the wizard Lorit?”
“Yes, Father. I am. I go from door to door asking folk if they have seen the wizard. I can offer no assistance in the magical quest.”
Sulrad tried to remain calm until he concluded his questioning. If Father Taiez were the one standing before him, he would not have to be so restrained. He had a good idea what had happened. He was just confirming his suspicions. “And Father Taiez, is he part of the search?”
“He has been orchestrating the search, Father, but he did say that he was going back to Bebrook soon because he had preparations to make.”
“Thrag? Do you know how to make a fireball?” Sulrad asked. He tried to sound sincere as he held back his anger.
“No, Father. I am not so advanced.”
“Well, consider this your first lesson. You know about the four elementals, earth, water, wind, and fire?”
“Yes, Father. I have learned my lessons.”
Sulrad held out his hand. As he spoke, an orange flame ignited and danced above his palm. “There is another state beyond simple fire. It is called plasma. It is a fire so hot that even Earth would be consumed by its heat.”
The flame curled into a ball, the yellow tails licking at one another until it was a solid sphere about the size of his fist. It started to spin faster, and shift color. It took on a blue cast, as tiny purple tongues appeared amidst the yellow. Soon it turned completely violet and was spinning so fast that Sulrad could barely follow the individual flames as they chased around the sphere.
“See this plasma ball? Nothing in nature can stand against one of these.”
“I see, Father,” Thrag said. He was starting to sound shaky again, as if he were about to lose control of his bowels.
“Thrag?” Sulrad asked quietly so that the Under Priest would have to struggle to hear him.
Thrag leaned forward and turned his head.
“You should have refused Father Taiez when he asked you to come here. You know that, don’t you?”
“Father Taiez said he would kill my family if I refused.” Thrag looked at Sulrad in panic.
“Then you made a wise choice. I will only kill you.” Sulrad glanced at the flaming spitting ball in his hand. It jumped up and hurtled toward Thrag, who barely had time to flinch, before he was transformed into a floating swirl of ash. Sulrad looked down at the carpet. He had been too late.
“I’m going to need a new carpet,” he called to his assistants who sat just outside of his office. “Please, remove this one. It’s soiled.”
“Yes, Father,” came the reply.
“Oh, and send word to Vorathorm. I’m going to need his special skills once again. Tell him to come as soon as he is able.”
Chapter 11
Gareb and Chihon placed Lorit on the bed in the guest room where Chihon spent her nights questing for him. His breathing was shallow, his heartbeat weak. Occasionally, he would open his eyes long enough to focus on Chihon for short periods of time. He seemed to recognize her.
“He needs to eat to regain his strength,” Yerlow said as she entered the room with a small pot of rich beef broth and a cup of weak tea. She placed the tray on the table next to Chihon.
“How’s he doing?” Yerlow asked.
“He’s asleep most of the time.” Chihon brushed his hair back stroking it gently. She tilted Lorit’s head and carefully lifted the cup of broth to his lips. He took several sips without opening his eyes before she carefully lowered his head back to the pillow.
“I’m worried,” Chihon said. “I can feel something wrapped about him. It feels like a web of thick ropes. I can feel it when I touch him.”
“I know little of these things,” Yerlow said. “I’m just a seamstress, my husband is the wizard. Has he been able to explain any of this?”
“Gareb is as baffled as I am. He can’t feel the web and doesn’t know what it might be.”
“Have you asked the mighty ones? Have they been any help?”
“I haven’t contacted them since before we found Lorit. I’ll try to get their help tonight. They were not able to sense Lorit while he was in the crypt. I fear they may be of no assistance,” she said. She returned her attention back to Lorit.
That evening, Chihon prepared for contact with Rotiaqua. She was getting more familiar with the feel of the sorceress’ thread, and was confident that she could reach her successfully. She carefully lit the solitary candle on the table in the room where Lorit lay bound in the mysterious web. She smoothed the table cloth in front of her and quieted her mind. She reached out to the sorceress.
The candle flame flared, and then sputtered almost to an ember. It reignited and fanned out to create a small round globe in which the image of the sorceress gradually became clear. She turned to look at Chihon.
“What is it, child?” Rotiaqua asked.
“I’ve found him,” Chihon said. “He was hidden in a crypt in the cemetery north of town.”
“Does he live?” she asked. “We’re still unable to sense his presence.”
“He lives, but he’s weak. I need your help. He’s ensnared in something,” she said. “I can feel it enveloping him when I touch him. It keeps him weak and asleep.” She spread her hands out in supplication. “You must help me. I fear he may die if I can’t free him.”
“What does the web feel like to you?” Rotiaqua asked.
“It feels like thick ropes entangle him. I can only feel them vaguely. They form some sort of net encircling his whole body.”
“Does he take nourishment?” the sorceress asked. Her image looked off to the side, not at Chihon.
“Yes, but only weak tea and thickened broth.”
“Just a moment,” Rotiaqua said. “Zhimosom has been doing research on this. Let him join us.”
The candle flame flared again and turned
into two wavering spheres. In one, the image of the sorceress reappeared, in the other the familiar form of the old wizard revealed itself. He was seated at the table in his study with a thick book opened before him.
Zhimosom peered up from his book. “You say it feels like thick ropes enmeshing him?”
“Yes.”
“And you can feel his essence, even through this mesh?”
“Yes, I can.”
“You were able to locate him using your connection?” he asked. He carefully flipped the book open to a new section and smoothed the page out.
“I was,” Chihon answered.
“Interesting,” he said once again, flipping through the book. “Who would cast such a spell?” His fingers drifted and started stroking his long white whiskers.
“I fear it’s the temple,” Rotiaqua said. “I fear they recognized him and want to bind him to keep him out of the way of some mischief they’ve planned.
“I also believe that you two are becoming paired.”
“Paired?” Chihon asked.
“A wizard and a sorceress become paired when they develop a strong empathy and establish a partnership of trust.”
“A pair,” Rotiaqua said, “A wizard and a sorceress feed off one another’s powers, making them both stronger. The wizard’s power is derived from his male essence. It’s wild and strong, and full of destruction and rage. A sorceress’ power is derived from her female essence. It’s formed of affection, nurturing, and righteous anger. When combined, their magic is stronger than either can be alone.”
“Sorceresses are rare indeed,” Zhimosom said. “Very few are born, and even fewer awaken. Of those that do, many of them are driven mad by their power before they learn to control it.”
“That is why you two are so special to us,” Rotiaqua explained. “You had the potential to become paired, and now it appears you’re forming that bond. Power is strengthening in both of you. The temple may have recognized Lorit’s power, but they surely didn’t know of the pairing, or else they would have taken you, too. They somehow overlooked you altogether, fortunately for you both.”
Foundling Wizard Page 18