Table of Contents
Title Page
Front Matter
Prologue
Chapter 1 - The Reluctant Apprentice
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31 - Grimor
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61 - Grimor
Chapter 62
Chapter 63 - Boregond
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Postlude
About the Author
The Apprentice to Zdrell
By
David K. Bennett
The Apprentice to Zdrell
Copyright © 2018 by David K. Bennett
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Published by Ergoface Imprints
Simi Valley, CA 93063
www.zdrell.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and inci-dents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Apprentice to Zdrell, The / David K. Bennett – 1st ed.
ISBN 978-1-949704-00-6
Prologue
Jelnick watched from his concealed position in the rocks of the mountainside as the wizard called Mlandress tiredly rounded the bend in the steep rocky path. Mlandress was walking instead of flying, that alone showed how tired the ancient zdrell master must be. Jelnick still smarted over the two failed attacks on Mlandress in the last four days, but today he would not fail.
Jelnick initially grinned in triumph as the three demons lords appeared and attacked the unsuspecting wizard. It had been a lot of work on his part to goad these three into attacking a zdrell master, but even Mlandress could not withstand alone three of the strongest demons.
His feeling of triumph turned to silent cursing as instead of being overwhelmed, Mlandress threw out a wave of energy, absorbing the forces from the demons’ simultaneous attack. He invoked the power from a ring and cut the lifeline of the center demon, following immediately with a burst of energy, causing the now defenseless demon to explode in a cloud of dense orange vapor.
The other two demons paid no apparent heed to their companion’s demise and again attacked from either side. Mlandress was only just able to deflect the energies of the demons’ assault. Jelnick dove for additional cover as rocks on both sides of Mlandress exploded from the force of the diverted power.
Jelnick knew he had to act; Mlandress was readying another counterattack. The ancient wizard was so intent on the two demons that he did not notice the poisoned dart Jelnick shot at him until it was nearly to him. He attempted to divert it, but was too late to keep it from embedding in his side.
The poison was very fast acting. Jelnick knew Mlandress could neutralize it in the three seconds before it killed him. Unfortunately, for Mlandress, it would require his full attention. During his preoccupation, the demons struck again. This time he was not able counter their attack, and his body instantly charred from the force and heat of their attack.
Mlandress’ body stood smoking for moment, and then fell over as another pair of explosive bolts impacted, causing it to rupture and partially disintegrate. There was no question about it; Mlandress was dead.
§ § §
Emerging from his concealed position, Jelnick dusted himself off and addressed the two hovering demon lords.
“Well, that’s it then. Mlandress was the last of the zdrell masters. There isn’t another wizard left alive who can do more than the most trivial zdrell magic. Your position in this world is secure, Lord Kelf.”
“You are certain he was the last?” the demon called Kelf asked.
“Most certain,” Jelnick said firmly. “I have searched the world over, as have you. There are no others. The eventual dominance of demon magic is assured.”
“That is good, for now,” Kelf said. “But what about when other wizards arise in the future? My brothers have fought and died, for this cause. How can we know we will not soon have to fight it again?”
“I am most sorry for the loss of your brother, Lord Kelf. I had no idea Mlandress could counterattack so quickly. I thought three demon lords would be enough to put anyone, even him, on the defensive . . .,” Jelnick sounded much less sure of himself now.
“I care not for what you thought, mortal! You cannot even imagine what the loss is for one of my kind to die! You have still not answered my question,” the demon thundered. “How likely is it another zdrell master will arise?”
“Not likely at all,” Jelnick said regaining some of his composure. “At least not for several hundred if not several thousand years. The ability to directly manipulate the forces which bind the world as zdrell masters and you do is very, very rare in humankind. Less than one in a thousand can do any sort of magic at all and only one in a thousand wizards can do any real sort of zdrell magic. It is only because they are so long lived and have been cultivating new students that this crisis came at all. Did you know Master Mlandress was over two thousand years old?”
“Two thousands of your years are nothing to me and my kind. My brother was old before your sun began to shine. Now he is dead. Since you mortals cannot understand this, it will be left to my kind to watch for another zdrell master, and stop him before we are threatened again.”
The demon lord, Kelf, turned in the air. He gestured and an opening appeared in the air before him. He entered the opening and disappeared, along with the opening.
Jelnick turned to address the second demon lord.
“Well, Karf,” the wizard began, “it looks as if the end of this war only means a long vigil to prevent another. Can your powers keep me alive two thousand years?”
The demon regarded Jelnick with sharp-toothed grin. “As long as you can keep your end of our contract, Master Jelnick, I can keep you alive till your sun grows cold.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary, but I do look forward to outliving all my contemporaries,
to watch demon magic fill the world. The power that will be mine, now there are none of those pompous zdrell masters to interfere, is more than even my considerable ambition requires.”
“You still must destroy any remaining line cutters in existence,” Karf said.
“Yes, that will be my next task. That and ending all the petty wars on this continent, but with your assistance it shouldn’t be difficult.”
It took Jelnick nearly three hundred more years to find and destroy the last zdrell line cutter artifact. Demon magic grew unchallenged to eclipse all other magic the world over, for more than twelve hundred years.
Chapter 1
The Reluctant Apprentice
Jashoc dunked his head again into the cold water of the fountain on the edge of the city bazaar. He still could not get the stink out of his stringy red hair. At least now it was not quite so greasy, and it helped cool the midday heat. He hated it when he had to clean the flues at the confectioner’s shop. They were always filled with rancid grease that got all over his face and arms. He could wash those easily enough, but it never seemed to get out of his hair, and the smell, though rank, only made him hungrier.
The day was unseasonably warm, for early fall, and the head baker had been in a foul mood and had not even allowed him to take stale scraps. Usually, he or the other bakers allowed Jashoc to eat as much of the castoffs as he wanted, but not today. His stomach grumbled, reminding him he had eaten nothing since his scanty meal last night.
He wandered wearily along the edge of the bazaar, wondering how long he could stay out of sight before his master, the slave trader Murdoc, or one of his apprentices, found him and put him on the next assignment that needed a small boy.
As he passed the brass shop, the merchant’s son, one of Jashoc’s few friends in the market, gave him a half-eaten, wormy, apple out of sympathy. Jashoc thanked him. As he turned to go, the boy told Jashoc that Gareselin, the slave trader’s head apprentice, was looking for him.
Jashoc started jogging for the back alleys at the edge of the bazaar. The sun was now high, and the market bustled with activity. Jashoc could smell the heavenly scent of kabok cooking two shops over, causing his stomach to rumble again. The air was only slightly clouded with dust, not like the thick haze of mid-summer.
If Gareselin was looking for him this early, it could only mean he had another ugly job he wanted done today. Murdoc was usually content to get one job out of Jashoc a day. It meant Jashoc missed supper most days, but he felt that not working an extra six hours a day was worth it.
He tried to look in every direction as he headed for his new hidey-hole in a burned out stall at the edge of the market. His heart sank as he saw Foresel, another of Murdoc’s apprentices moving through the crowd, clearly looking for someone. He ducked out of sight just in time, he hoped.
Things were going from bad to worse.
If Foresel was looking for him, Ryalor, the other apprentice slave trader probably was too. They obviously wanted Jashoc for something, and every possibility he considered seemed worse than the previous. With all three apprentices looking for him, he had little hopes to escape, but he would try anyway, he had almost gotten away twice before. He was nearly to his new hiding place, and he felt confident that once he got there they would never find him.
He moved through the crowd, alternately following close behind larger shoppers or merchants, and then crouching behind carts or the edges of stalls. He could easily have eluded one pursuer with these tricks and his small size, but with all three apprentices following, they would eventually find him unless he could go to his secret place.
He almost made it.
Just as he started down the back alleyway that led to his hiding place, he saw Foresel running after him.
Once again, he cursed the fates who seemed to have decreed that nothing go right for him. It was not his fault his parents had died and left him with almost nothing. It was not his fault that the judge had made him a ward of Murdoc, nor that Murdoc seemed to think Jashoc a slave, and not merely a ward. It might be his fault that he did not work as hard as Murdoc wanted, but who would? Why should he work hard for a man who fed him little and treated him like a worthless slave? He knew he was nothing, but he did not have to like it.
Jashoc moved faster, his breath burning in his lungs, only to see Ryalor turn into the alley at the other end. Trapped, but there was one chance left. The wall of the alley had a hole in it about midway down. It would slow his larger pursuers much more than it would him, and maybe give him a chance.
Jashoc ran hard for the hole. He could hear Foresel gaining on him from behind.
He dived through the hole and only just saw the wagon wheel before his head hit it and exploded with pain. The world spun. He tried to get up off the ground where he had fallen, beside a wagon parked just that side of the hole, but he could not seem to make his legs move.
Just as his vision cleared enough and he started to get up, he felt a hand grab his leg. Foresel pulled his leg out from under him and sent him sprawling. Jashoc felt a knee in his back as his arm was twisted up behind him. He heard Gareselin and Ryalor arrive while he lay contorted, his face pressed into the dirt and dung on the ground.
Gareselin was still puffing hard from running, and had a nasty sneer on his face, as he motioned for Foresel to let Jashoc up.
“I ought to pound you to a bloody pulp, you little nit-brain. You’ve had us running you down for the last hour. The Master is going to be very angry,” he huffed. “If he didn’t have a very important client who wants a look at you right now,” he paused for effect, and for another breath, “I’d kill you here myself. You’re not worth the effort of keeping. The Master is always saying that, and I more than agree.
“You’re coming with us right now, and you’ll come quietly. If you try to run off, like you did last time, I will just have to forget myself and club you one. Bring you in like the sack of meat you are.”
Jashoc could tell by the look in the boy’s eye that Gareselin really wanted him to try to run so he would have a reason, with witnesses, for bringing him back damaged.
The three boys were all in their early teens and should easily have been a match for the ten-year-old, but they had been overconfident other times and allowed him to escape. The look on Gareselin’s face told him this would not be one of those times, so he went along without resistance.
§ § §
They arrived at the slave master’s quarters to find Murdoc pacing up and down the street with a panicked look on his face. He caught sight of them and his look rapidly shifted from panic to relief, and then to an ugly rage. Before anyone had a chance to say anything, Murdoc shouted so that the whole street could hear. “Gareselin! You pitiful excuse for an apprentice! I sent you off over two hours ago to collect this little sewer rat. Where have you been amusing yourself all this time instead of doing your master’s bidding?”
“Please, Master, it’s not our fault,” Gareselin said in his most simpering tone. “This nit-headed snot brain knew we were looking for him and had us chasing him all through the market square and half of town trying to catch him.” As he spoke, his voice shifted from cringing and whining to anger.
“We just now caught the little carp and didn’t even give him the beating he deserves for making us chase him over half the town, since you said he was to be in the best shape possible. Here he is.” Gareselin finished the last with a flourish, to prove he had not disobeyed at all.
Murdoc looked at Gareselin and the nodding faces of Foresel and Ryalor, and seemed to come to the conclusion they were telling the truth, this time. He turned to Jashoc, his lips curled into a sneer as he regarded him. “So you’ve been up to your old tricks again. You finished the bakery job hours ago, and you just disappear. You are truly the most worthless slave I’ve ever owned!” Jashoc considered trying to correct him, since he was only a ward of the city, not a slave, but Murdoc over-rode him. “And I don’t care a flea’s whisker if you’re a real slave or not! You’ll soon
no longer be my problem!”
This last statement made Jashoc’s head snap up. The effect was not lost on Murdoc, who barked out a short harsh laugh. “Yes, you heard me right, guttersnipe. I have a man here who is interested in acquiring a boy of your age, and if you do something which causes him not to take you,” he said with a leer and a nod towards Jashoc’s captors. “Then I might just let Gareselin and his friends here beat on you till you cannot walk, and see if you bring in more money as a crippled boy beggar than as a useless boy worker.”
Looking in his eyes, Jashoc could see Murdoc was dead serious. Gareselin smiled evilly at the prospect of turning Jashoc into a permanent cripple.
The ugly sneer on Murdoc’s face slowly turned into a grimace of pleasure as he saw the color drain from Jashoc’s face. He laughed. “That’s right, boy, now you see how things really are. I’ve put up with more than I can stomach from you, and if I can’t be rid of you one way, then I will another.”
He pulled Jashoc roughly into his counting room and whispered to him. “Now mind, boy. This is one of the most important men in the land. You will do exactly as he says and answer any questions he puts you to with no back talk or other foolishness. If he likes you, he’ll be taking you and that’s what I want, so don’t you dare be doing anything to mess this up.”
As they came to the far side of the room, Jashoc saw the stranger standing there. He was tall, dark haired, and seemed to be middle aged. He was dressed in dark blue robes with gold brocade at the sleeves and collar, a sure sign of nobility. There was little expression on his face as he turned to face them, other than the intensity of his gaze.
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