Wizardoms- Eye of Obscurance

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  “Captain Valdis,” Narine said.

  The man turned toward her and smoothed his thick mustache. “Princess Narine.” He bowed. “It was a pleasure having you aboard.”

  She gave him a half-smile beneath a raised brow. “You mean my gold was a pleasure. My presence was more about feeding the fish.”

  Valdis chuckled. “True. Still, a pretty lass such as yourself would have to do far more than toss chum into the sea for a sailor to regret having you as a passenger.”

  “Careful, Valdis,” Adyn said as her hand caressed the hilt of her sword.

  Narine elbowed her. “It was just a compliment.” She turned toward Valdis again. “Right, Captain?”

  “Oh, um… Yes. Of course.”

  “See,” Narine said in a smug tone as she noticed a group of soldiers coming down the pier. Dressed in purple cloaks and leather armor with gold-tinted plates, Narine knew them to be the Indigo Hounds, her father’s elite guard. They were trailed by four porters dressed in white vests and matching breeches. On their shoulders, the porters carried something Narine had not ridden since she had left the city.

  “Ah. My father has sent a palanquin.” Narine turned to Valdis. “I expect he will send porters for my trunks, as well. Be sure my things are brought up from my cabin and delivered to the palace.”

  “Very well, Your Highness.” Valdis gave her a bow.

  Adyn descended the plank, Narine following in a less graceful manner. At the fore of the approaching squad was a familiar face with an intense gaze and dark goatee framing a permanent scowl.

  “Captain Burrock,” Narine said, greeting the man.

  Burrock dipped his shaved head in deference. “Your Highness.” His dark eyes flicked to the woman at her side. “Adyn. Welcome home. I trust you two are well?”

  “Well enough to take you down, Garran.”

  Burrock grunted, giving Adyn a challenging glare. “Do you honestly believe you are prepared to face me?”

  “I am not a little girl any longer. I have trained against and defeated men more skilled than you.”

  “Training?” His tone was dismissive. “Sparring and duels are not the same as fighting for your life. Have you even killed anyone?”

  Adyn’s face darkened, and Narine rushed to intercede. “I, for one, am thankful to have my feet returned to firm footing.”

  The man continued to glare at Adyn for a stretch before turning to Narine. “The journey did not sit well with you, Princess?”

  “It did not.” Narine’s hand went to her midriff. “My stomach’s disposition toward the waves is less than accepting. In fact, it feels as if I am still on the rolling sea.”

  “The feeling will soon pass.”

  “How are things in Fastella?” Her voice lowered as she looked him in the eye. “How is my father?”

  “You will see him soon, so I will allow you to form your own opinion. First, we are to escort you back to the palace.” He gestured toward the palanquin. “Your ride is waiting.”

  Adyn walked past Burrock, giving him a sidelong glance. Narine feared she would continue to challenge the man at every turn, wishing to prove herself. Yes, he had beaten Adyn plenty while she was growing up, but that was the way of things. Bodyguards had to be tough, able to endure as much pain as they dealt.

  Following Adyn, Narine walked through the two columns of soldiers, every one of them tall and powerfully built. Sunlight glinted off the gold-tinted plates of their armor. Their eyes remained focused straight ahead, above Narine’s height.

  When she reached the palanquin, a porter pulled the curtain aside and she ducked in. The cushioned floor was soft, the pillows inviting. She leaned back as Adyn stepped in and sat across from her. The porters lifted the palanquin and began their trek back into the city. As they walked down the pier, the soldiers marched by to take the lead.

  In years past, Narine peered through the curtains during palanquin rides so she could see the people of Fastella. It had been fascinating to catch glimpses of the daily lives of the ungifted. When people noticed her in the palanquin, they would point, gape, and whisper. As a young teen, she had enjoyed the attention.

  I was a silly girl, she thought and wondered how much of that girl remained. If anything, it was buried beneath mounting anxiety.

  Her stay at the University had forced Narine to leave her privileged past behind. Other than having an apartment in the uppermost floor of the women’s tower, she had been treated the same as any other student. In the beginning, she had struggled. Failure had stirred her to rebel, and her rebellion had brought punishment. Once sufficiently humbled, she learned to focus and apply herself as her instructors expected. Eventually, her power grew stronger, as did her desire to succeed. By the third year, she was among the most promising females in the University, her raw power rivalling many of the males, save for energy constructs and physical manipulation. Destructive magic was an area where wizards far outpaced wizardesses. She recalled a statement once made by Wizardess Hildama in private.

  “Men and destruction… Someday, they might break the world with their thirst for power.”

  The comment had caused Narine to shudder.

  Refocusing to settle her nerves, Narine imagined the six basic constructs, one at a time. All uses for magic were based on variations of those constructs. The key was to properly form the construct in your mind before applying the magic. Narine had known three variations of a single construct when she had first journeyed to Tiadd. She now knew many uses for each, dozens for some. In her mind, she formed one after another, naming each and its use.

  Before she knew it, the palanquin stopped and was set onto the ground, jostling her from her musings. She reached out to draw the curtain back.

  Adyn’s hand flashed out and clamped around Narine’s wrist. “You know the rules.”

  Narine sighed. “You go first.”

  “Don’t sigh at me. I’m the one keeping you alive.”

  “You do know I am a master wizardess now, right?”

  “What good will it do against an arrow? How about a knife in the back? A poisoned blade?”

  Narine bit off her reply. “Fine.”

  Adyn grinned. “I love you, too.”

  She then pulled the curtain aside and stepped out, her gaze sweeping the area before extending a hand toward the palanquin. Taking it, Narine climbed out. A welcome party of Mistress Shavon, Master Ruthers, and two servants waited.

  “Welcome home, Your Highness,” Ruthers said in his formal, nasally tone.

  Shavon pushed past the man to meet Narine, taking both her hands. The old woman smiled broadly as she examined her. “My, Narine. How you have grown. You left here a girl and have returned a woman.” She leaned closer, tilting her head and whispering, “A quite comely woman, I might add.”

  Narine’s cheeks grew flush. “Thank you, Mistress.”

  “Now, come along.” Shavon pulled her forward. “You have been traveling and are in need of a good bath.” She pointed toward Adyn. “The both of you.” Her tone left no room for argument. “The noses of those who frequent the palace are too delicate for unwashed bodies, and you two are offending in your current state.”

  Somehow, Narine’s cheeks grew hotter. She might be a princess and among the most skilled wizardesses in Ghealdor, but it seemed as if she were again a twelve-year-old girl. Shavon had always been able to boss her way through things, forcing others to bend to her will, without regard to their station. Without a word of complaint, Narine allowed the woman to drag her down the corridor, toward the baths. Glancing backward, she saw Adyn trailing, shaking her head. Some things never changed.

  Wearing a fresh shift, Narine stood in her room, sorting through her expansive wardrobe. She had to admit, it felt good to be clean. Dousing herself with perfume had helped, but by the third day on the ship, the odor of sweat had grown too powerful to be ignored. Adyn, on the other hand, seldom broke a sweat and could go as long as a week before her aroma drove Narine to demand she take a bath.
>
  It isn’t fair, Narine thought. I’m the princess. My body should be above such things.

  She pulled out another dress, the eighth one she would try. This one was pale blue. Not her favorite color, but she was running out of options. Pulling it over her head, she struggled to get the waist past her chest, inhaling deeply while pulling down. The dress slipped past and she breathed out, turning her back to Adyn.

  “Buttons, please,” Narine said over her shoulder.

  “Perhaps we should see a tailor.”

  “I can’t have outgrown all of them.”

  “Not all. Not the ones you purchased in Tiadd.”

  Narine turned toward her with a glare. “You’re not helping.”

  Adyn chuckled. “I’m not the one with a swollen chest and rounded hips.”

  “Just button me up.”

  The bodice tightened as Adyn worked the buttons. It was snug, but she could breathe. A look in the mirror revealed a tight fit but without the bulging that occurred with prior attempts.

  It will do, Narine thought with a nod.

  After running a brush through her damp hair one last time, she tied it back with a ribbon and turned toward Adyn, who leaned against the wall with feigned patience. Her hair was dry, her complexion perfect, even without rouge.

  She does nothing and looks amazing. Narine chastised herself for being petty.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Good.” Adyn pushed away from the wall and turned to the door. “Because it’s time for dinner. Delay too long and we’ll have to wait until after Devotion.”

  Narine followed Adyn out the door and down the corridor. A guard on patrol bowed as she walked past. After years of being treated like anyone else while at Tiadd, the deference felt odd, from the bowing to the titles to the ride in the palanquin. She had put little thought into those things when she was younger, having grown up in such an environment.

  Do I deserve such treatment? Have I ever done anything of import?

  Adyn led Narine up a flight of stairs and to a room with double doors, both closed. A guard stood outside the door, along with Master Ruthers. As usual, the head of the palace staff was finely dressed, his graying hair slicked back without a single strand out of place. His mustache was waxed and curled at the ends, and circular spectacles enhanced his serious demeanor.

  “Princess.” He bowed. “Your father is inside, awaiting your arrival. Dinner will be served shortly.”

  “Thank you, Ruthers,” Narine said as the man opened the door and stepped aside.

  The interior was dark with only a handful of candles lighting the large, open space. A long table dressed with white cloth stood to one side, all eight wicks of the candelabra burning. To the other side was an occupied sitting area with her father, dressed in purple robes, as always, relaxing on a sofa with a blonde woman to either side of him. Two more women sat on chairs in the area. All were provocatively dressed, their hair down, shoulders bare, tight corsets covering their torsos but leaving plenty of skin exposed. Two of the courtesans were only a few years older than Narine.

  A particularly striking blonde fed Taladain grapes, popping them into his mouth and giggling. The sight was not unfamiliar, but Narine now found it far more disgusting than she had in the past.

  She stopped a few strides from her father and curtsied. “Hello, Father.”

  The man sat forward, eyes narrowing. As far back as Narine could recall, his beard had always been a mixture of gray and brown. However, his eyebrows appeared even bushier than she remembered. His gaze was cold, dark eyes lacking any spark of emotion.

  “Narine?”

  “Yes, Father. I have returned from Tiadd.”

  A drawn-out moment of silence followed, his gaze measuring her. “You have changed. You look…so much like her.”

  Her entire life, Narine had been told she resembled her mother – a woman she had never known. “Well, eight years have passed. I was only fifteen when I left.”

  His brow arched. “So long?” He shook his head. “At my age, the years become a blur, passing in moments.”

  He seems sad, Narine thought.

  His tone changed, sharpening to a command. “Leave us.” He waved his hand toward the door. “I would eat alone with my daughter.”

  The women surrounding Taladain stood and crossed the room. Narine noticed their skirts – tight, form-fitting, and barely reaching their knees. They were even worse than the corsets.

  Scandalous, she thought.

  Her gaze met Adyn’s, who stood near the door with an arched brow. Narine gave a brief nod, and Adyn slipped out and into the corridor.

  Swallowing to wet her dry throat, Narine gathered her resolve and forged ahead. “I passed the Trial, Father. I am a master wizardess. Some say among the strongest women in decades.”

  “Very good,” he said with a nod, those two words giving her a sense of satisfaction. It was the closest thing to a compliment she could expect from the man.

  Taladain stood with a groan and walked toward the table, his hand holding his lower back. “In only eight years, as well. I could use such power to further secure my position.”

  Taladain had always seemed so robust, his presence overbearing. She sensed none of that now.

  “Are you well, Father?”

  He waved her away. “It is nothing. The years wear on the body. It gets worse late in the day…until Devotion.”

  She followed him and sat at the table, taking the chair to his right. A dozen other chairs remained empty, the room falling eerily quiet until he spoke.

  “I feel trapped.”

  “What?” she asked, confused.

  “I live the same day over and over with little difference from one to the next, never leaving the palace, let alone the city.”

  “You rule all of Ghealdor. You can leave anytime you like.”

  He sneered at her and snapped, “You know nothing of the Gheald’s power.” The volume in which he spoke rose, his voice filling with fire. “As the day wanes, I ache for Devotion to begin, the rapture far surpassing all else. Without that bliss, life is a barren wasteland. Yes, the power remains within me throughout the evening and the following day, waiting to be wielded, but those moments during Devotion are the pinnacle of my existence.” He shook his head and fell back into his chair, his voice dropping to a whisper. “To leave the city and miss even one night is unthinkable.”

  He stared into space, appearing sad and old, as if the years suddenly grew heavier than he could bear.

  Narine knew her father never left the city, but she had never given it much consideration. Judging by his tirade, the position of wizard lord came with shackles she had never expected. If the thrill of Devotion is as consuming as he described, what has it done to his soul? The question made her shudder.

  Another thought came to her, something that had troubled her the moment she had entered the room. Drawing on her resolve, she dared voice another subject likely to draw his ire.

  “Why do you surround yourself with those women?” Narine leaned forward and put her hand on his. “Mother has been gone for many years. Perhaps it is time to find someone else, someone who cares for you.”

  Do you have love in your heart any longer?

  Rather than stirring anger, his sadness grew more apparent, the look in his eyes reflecting great loss. “Your mother was the last.” He shook his head. “I cannot do it again. I cannot bear to lose another wife, nor another child. I have suffered many lifetimes of loss. I have no more love to give.”

  She frowned at his last statement and tried to puzzle it out.

  The man had married eight times, sometimes waiting decades after the death of one wife before taking another. His children had also come and gone. When Narine was young, she had asked him about the brothers and sisters she would never know. The man had told her to focus on the living and to never ask again.

  Among dozens, only one sibling remained – one of a different mother.

  “Where is Eldalain?”

>   Her father blinked, as if returning from some distant memory. “What? Oh, yes. I gave your brother a task some time ago. He is in Westhold.”

  “Westhold? Why not just have High Wizard Fordham handle it?”

  “Because,” a voice came from behind her, “Fordham was the reason for my mission.”

  Narine turned to find Eldalain standing in the doorway. He had aged, and his beard, previously close-cropped, now reached his chest. The man’s eyes, however, were the same – dark, sunken, and brooding. Those eyes made her want to shy away.

  Eldalain approached and lifted the sack in his hand, tossing it onto the table. Narine gasped when she realized it was blood-soaked.

  “What is that?” she asked, her hand covering her mouth.

  “Fordham’s head.”

  “Oh, dear Gheald.” She turned toward Eldalain, aghast. “Why?”

  Her father replied. “A few months back, I discovered a plot to unseat me. Fordham sought to take my place.” Taladain nodded toward Eldalain. “I sent your brother to handle it. Yes, Fordham had his uses, but the power accompanying his position apparently fed his aspirations rather than sating them. He drained his city’s coffers to fund his plot. When I caught wind of it, I knew it had to end immediately or risk others joining his cause. Worse, I could not have them thinking I am vulnerable to another attempt.”

  Eldalain sat with a heavy sigh. “I am exhausted from the journey.”

  Hands clapped, and Master Ruthers stepped in, followed by servants with carafes of wine and water, as well as trays of food.

  “Dinner is served,” Ruthers announced.

  “Wonderful,” Eldalain said. “I am famished.”

  Narine continued to stare at the blood-soaked sack on the table, horrified.

  Eating was the furthest thing from her mind.

  25

  The Thirsty Goat

  The sight of Fastella left Jace with mixed emotions. For twenty-one years, the city had been the only home he had known…if you could call it a home. He had never known his father, and his mother had grown ill when he was nine. Three months later, she was gone. Alone, he lived on the streets, forced to adapt or die. His memories of life in Fastella were both good and bad, his departure abrupt.