Foundling Wizard

by James Eggebeen

  “Well, well. Looks like you’ve been busy,” Vorathorm said as he waved his hand. The bodies were swept aside to clear a path to Lorit.

  “No matter,” he said. “They’ve served their purposes. Now I think it’s time to finish what we started in the park. I don’t need your power. I’m just going to kill you.”

  Vorathorm raised his hand out, palm up. A blue fireball appeared, turning faster and faster as it spit sparks and hissed.

  Lorit prepared himself for the onslaught. Without Chihon’s help, he was fearful of the outcome. Lorit knew that the priest had absorbed enough power over the years to overpower him easily. He leaned back against the wall to steady himself and raised his shields, preparing for the onslaught.

  The first fireball struck him with as much force as any Vorathorm had used in the park. It blazed past his shields and struck the wall next to him. Stone chipped and shattered from the impact, showering him with debris.

  Lorit reached out to Vorathorm. He carefully opened the hole in his shields. Vorathorm may have learned to protect his life force from Lorit, but he hadn’t learned how to keep his shield closed properly. Lorit fashioned a spear from his own magic and thrust it into the opening. He felt a shudder and a low, deep rumbling, as the ground beneath him started to shake.

  Lorit pressed harder. Once again, he felt the familiar violet aura of the High Priest’s power. This time he could sense the blended flavor of it, confirming that the priest was only this powerful because he’d taken the magic of others. It was not pure and natural, but twisted and forced. Lorit looked for a way to exploit that. He probed the strands, trying to find anything that he could use against him.

  Another fireball shattered on his shield and sent more scorching rock chips down on his head. He searched frantically for anything that he could use. The shaking of the temple was becoming more pronounced as he pressed the fight with all his strength.

  Just when Lorit felt that he had no choice but to take the High Priest’s power for himself, he felt a bright spark of gold glowing beneath the table. He reached out to it, grasping at it. The spark grew in intensity, and Lorit was filed with an overwhelming sense of Mu’umba.

  The power was open to him, freely given, shared, just as Chihon shared her power with him. He seized it and fashioned it as he’d done with the boy’s. He directed it through the hole he barely managed to hold open in Vorathorm’s shields.

  Fireballs continued to assault him, each one hitting harder than the last. The temple groaned and shook beneath his feet so violently, he feared he would collapse.

  He continued to shield himself, drawing on his reserves even as he felt his own shields fading. Lorit pressed the attack, guiding the golden lance of power into the High Priest.

  Lorit sensed a change in the High Priest. His attacks were losing power and accuracy. He pressed his advantage, for the first time thinking he might survive this fight.

  Vorathorm grasped at his chest. Staggering backward, he leaned against the wall. Lorit intensified the attack, adding his own strength and what little he could grasp from Chihon to that of the golden light. He pushed hard against the High Priest’s aura.

  Lorit felt the heat of the next fireball wash over his shields and knew that he was only just holding them back. He needed to end this before he grew too weak to prevail. He made one final thrust, wielding the combined powers he held in his hand.

  Suddenly, the rumbling intensified as if an earthquake had hit the temple. The floor rolled up and down in a rhythmic motion. Vases and decorative gold pieces flew from tables everywhere, adding the noise of their shattering to the din of the fight. Lorit heard the screams of people rushing to escape the temple.

  He ignored the sound, pressing his attack. A large crack appeared in the wall, and a section of the roof collapsed behind him, yet Lorit pressed ever harder. The attack from Vorathorm came again, but Lorit could feel that it was getting weaker.

  He pulled power from the bright golden light. He pulled it from the lamps that lit the room, and the rest of the temple. He pulled power from the earth beneath his feet. He wove it together in the shape of the lance of light he wielded and thrust it through the priest’s shields, plunging it deep into his life force.

  A sudden flash of violet light blinded Lorit. When his vision returned, the High Priest was gone, leaving only a shower of sparks that filled the room, settling to the floor before they also vanished. The flames in the lamps flickered back to their normal intensity. Lorit slumped to the floor, totally exhausted.

  He waited as the rumbling stopped and the sound of people screaming died down. A cloud of dust settled around him as silence fell. Soon, there was no sound around him, save the chirping of the cricket.

  Lorit saw the insect crawl out from beneath his new coat that still wrapped the fallen Chedel. It stopped in front of Lorit and sat down, chirping loudly.

  “Thank you, old friend,” Lorit said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Lorit struggled to his feet. He had to find Chihon and get her out of there. He wasn’t sure if the temple would continue to crumble and fall, or if the worst was over.

  He dragged himself up and slowly made his way to the doorway. He had to use his staff to help his still-tingling legs navigate the debris that lay about the room. The door itself was open and torn partially from its hinges. It was jammed against the floor, and Lorit had to squeeze through to get out into the corridor.

  He reached out with his senses to locate Chihon. He found her behind another of the heavy wooden doors. He pushed it open, to find her chained to the wall, lying on the bench.

  He hobbled over to her. She was unconscious but breathing steadily. He gently shook her to see if he could wake her.

  “Lorit?” she asked without opening her eyes.

  “Yes, it’s me,” he answered. He helped her sit up. She winced in pain whenever he touched her.

  “Is it over?” she asked.

  “It’s over,” Lorit said. He tried to get her to her feet, but the pain was too much for her.

  Lorit reached out again for that bright golden spark of power. He drew out a gentle ball of it and pressed it on her. He could feel her accept the energy that would bring back her strength.

  “I think I can make it now,” Chihon said.

  Lorit helped her to her feet. They made their way through the dusty air, stepping on or over large chunks of the temple walls that had fallen. As they passed the open door where Lorit had been imprisoned, he spied a small golden vessel. It was sitting on one of the tables that hadn’t been crushed in the collapse.

  He picked it up and opened it. It contained a light purple powder that smelled of lavender. Lorit dumped the powder on the floor to mix with the dust. He knelt by the doorway and called out.

  “I have a new home for you if you want it,” he said.

  He listened for the sound of the cricket. He heard the chirping of the insect inside the room. He stuck his head between the broken, jammed door to get a better look inside. The cricket sat on the floor near the door, as if watching him.

  “I have a new home for you,” he said, shaking the small gold vessel.

  The cricket chirped at him once, twice. It grew silent as Lorit waited. It chirped again and turned away from Lorit. The insect took one jump and was gone from sight, landing somewhere in the debris.

  “What was that?” Chihon asked as Lorit returned to continue their exit.

  “That was our old friend Mu’umba,” he said. “He really was in the cricket. He lent me the strength to prevail at the end. Without him, we’d both be dead.”

  They made their way down the street to the inn and entered the dining room amid the buzz of people talking about the terrible happenings at the temple. They found Rotiaqua already seated at a table with a large platter of meat, bread, and cheeses before her.

  Lorit guided Chihon to the table. He threw himself on the bench in exhaustion.

  “I thought you’d need a little breakfast,” she said, ges
turing toward the feast before them.

  “Care to fill me in on the details?” the sorceress asked.

  “Nothing much to tell,” Lorit said. “The priests tried to kill us and take our power. We didn’t let them.”

  “I see. It was like that,” Rotiaqua said, filling a plate with food and sliding it before Chihon.

  “And my charge?” she asked. “What did you do with him?”

  “I had to kill him,” Lorit said. He grabbed for a plate, but the sorceress snatched it before he could.

  “Was it necessary?” Rotiaqua asked. She filled the plate and slid it in front of Lorit.

  “He was working for the priests all along,” Lorit said. “I needed his help to handle Nyspol.”

  Lorit took a bite of meat that tasted like heaven. He realized just how hungry he was and how drained.

  “I felt him go,” she said. “It was you then? I thought the priest had gotten him.”

  “It was me,” Lorit answered. He felt no guilt at the thought of killing the boy or the priests. The world would be better off without them.

  “It felt a little close there, at the end,” Rotiaqua said, looking questioningly at Lorit. “Care to explain that?”

  “Mu’umba,” Lorit said around a mouthful of bread soaked in gravy.

  “Mu’umba?” the sorceress asked.

  “The cricket,” Lorit answered. “He really was in the cricket. He loaned me enough power to overcome the priest.”

  “And where is he now?” Rotiaqua asked.

  “He decided to head off on his own,” Lorit said with a smile. “I offered to take him to Amedon, but he declined.”

  “And how was your stay?” Rotiaqua asked, turning to Chihon.

  The girl was halfway through her plate, chewing eagerly on the slightly tough meat. She paused to wipe her mouth before responding.

  “Not as much excitement as Lorit’s,” she said.

  The sorceress raised an eyebrow questioningly.

  “I was captured by the priest,” she said as if it were nothing. “No big battles. No bringing down the temple. I’ll leave that sort of thing for Lorit,” she said with a sly smile.

  Lorit was happy to see Chihon recovering her strength and her sense of humor.

  “I don’t see why you’re being so closed-lipped about it all,” Rotiaqua said. She sat back and folded her arms across her chest.

  “We’ll have plenty of time to get into all of the details on the way to Amedon,” Lorit said. “Right now, all I have to say is, please pass the mead. I’m thirsty.”

  WHAT’S NEXT IN THE SERIES?

  YOU’ JUST READ: Foundling Wizard

  UP NEXT: Wizard’s Education

  Then: Master Wizard

  FROM THE PUBLISHER

  Thank you for reading Foundling Wizard, book one in Apprentice to Master.

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