Wizardoms- Eye of Obscurance

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Jace shrugged, looking down at the script. “Just basic things, such as when and where Taladain usually takes his meals. The fact that he goes to the upper tower to receive Devotion each evening. The obvious requirement for the man to attend the Immolation ceremony twice a year to coincide with the Darkening.” A crooked smile found its way onto Jace’s face. “He apparently surrounds himself with female concubines.”

  “Interesting,” Salvon said. “Rhoa is quite pretty.”

  “What?” she screeched, aghast. “I’m not performing lewd acts with some old wizard.”

  Salvon laughed. “No need to actually perform anything. This would just get you close to him. Poison won’t work on Taladain, so you would need something especially lethal.”

  Rhoa drew one of her enchanted blades. “Fulgur blades cut through anything. I imagine one of these in his heart might do the trick.”

  With a grim expression, Salvon gave a slow nod. “That might work.”

  “No, it won’t,” Jace said.

  “What?” Salvon asked.

  “Why not?” Rhoa added.

  “Rhoa isn’t the man’s type.” Jace tapped the parchment in his hand. “The old man prefers tall, curvy blondes. Rhoa is none of those things.”

  With narrowed eyes, Salvon studied Rhoa briefly. “I can see your point. At his age, I suspect the man has rather…particular needs and desires.” He turned to Jace. “Is there anything else of note?”

  “The only other eccentricity is the man’s desire for unique entertainment.”

  “His what?”

  “The note says, ‘Taladain has taken to bringing musicians, actors, jugglers, and other entertainers in for private shows, each more extravagant than the last.’”

  The clap from Salvon caused everyone to jump. “That’s it!”

  “What’s it?” Rhoa asked.

  Salvon stood. “I am an entertainer, and the man wishes entertainment.”

  A guffaw slipped from Jace. “You are fine in your own way, old man, but we are talking about a wizard lord – a man with endless access to gold. He surely has far more…”

  With his hands on his hips, Salvon glared at Jace. “Far more what?”

  “Um…” Jace struggled to say something that wouldn’t offend the man, but it appeared too late.

  “Never mind,” Rhoa said. “Salvon is right. Approaching Taladain for a private show is what we must do. We will create a menagerie for the wizard lord. It will get me close, and when his guard is down…” She thrust her blade forward, “I will end his existence.”

  33

  Dread

  Elbows resting on top of the marble-tiled wall, Narine watched the scene unfold in the sparring yard below, which was oval in shape and a hundred feet in length. Captain Burrock and the off-duty guards stood along the half-wall across the yard, the men jabbering eagerly.

  Adyn walked to the middle of the yard, followed by three of the castle guards, all men. Deep into cups with the guards the prior evening, one of the men had bet her she couldn’t best him in a fistfight. Adyn being Adyn took the bet and upped the ante with a boast. Not only would she beat the man bloody, but he could pick any two fellow guards to join the fight. If the men won, she promised them a night to remember. If she won, they would each owe her one gold piece and were to forever bow to her when she was present. Overhearing her proposal, the other guards in the room jumped at the chance. Narine was unsure if it were driven by the desire to put Adyn in her place or because they longed for a piece of the prize. Perhaps both.

  “All right, boys,” Adyn said as the three men drew close. “Like we agreed, no blades allowed. The fight continues until all three of you are either unconscious or have verbally conceded my victory.”

  “Your victory,” Verd said with a deep chortle. Adyn was tall, but Verd stood a half-head taller and outweighed her by a fair margin. “Slim chance, right, boys?”

  “Not gonna happen,” Pelton replied.

  “You’ll be the one conceding,” Hale, the third guard, added.

  “That’s right,” Verd said, his gaze lingering on Adyn’s body. “I’m looking forward to our evening together.”

  Adyn circled Verd until the morning sun was at her back. “Now that you have displayed the full breadth of your vocabulary, enough talk. Let’s get this over with.”

  Shirtless, his muscular torso covered by thick, dark hair, Verd stood ready. The other two men wore simple vests and breeches. Those men spread out, circling behind Adyn while remaining beyond her reach. A moment of tension had Narine on edge. All three were bigger than Adyn and probably knew how to coordinate their attacks.

  Verd nodded and moved in. At the same time, Pelton advanced from behind. When Pelton’s shadow passed in front of Adyn, her eyes narrowed, and Narine knew her bodyguard had noticed the man’s approach. Verd threw a punch. Adyn ducked it and kicked backward at the same time, her heel driving into Pelton’s groin. He recoiled with a grunt, doubling over, holding himself. Adyn then punched Verd’s exposed midriff while darting past the man.

  Verd spun with a kick, striking Adyn’s leg. Narine winced, anticipating the knot the blow would render. The third man charged with a leaping kick. Adyn stepped aside, wrapped her arm about his leg as it went past, and yanked the man off his feet. He landed on his back, hitting the sand hard before she jammed her heel into his crotch, eliciting a cry of pain. By then, Verd was behind her.

  The big man wrapped his arms about Adyn and hoisted her off the ground. She raised her leg and kicked hard, the toe of her boot connecting with Hale’s jaw as he climbed to his feet. His head snapped backward and he crumpled to the ground.

  Recovered, Pelton had risen to his feet and punched Adyn in the gut while Verd held her in a bear hug. A right cross struck, her head snapping to the side. A left followed, sending a spray of blood from her mouth. The pause taken while winding up for the knockout blow proved to be the man’s mistake, the brief delay enough for Adyn to recover.

  With a jerking twist, she dodged Pelton’s blow, which caused Verd to step into the punch. It struck the man’s throat. He released Adyn and staggered backward, eyes bulging while his hands grasped his neck. Adyn spun with a roundhouse kick, her boot driving into Pelton’s gut. He bent with the blow, and she spun again, her heel striking the man’s temple and sending him spinning to his knees. Adyn leapt and came down with an elbow thrust to the back of his neck, driving him face-first to the sand. When she backed away, Pelton remained still.

  Adyn turned toward Verd, the man still coughing and choking. However, anger and determination had replaced his brief moment of surprise. Warily, he advanced. She spit blood and smiled, the crimson on her teeth making the grin appear sinister.

  Verd faked a jab. Adyn dodged. He did it again with the same result. With the third, he followed with a true punch, this one connecting. She staggered backward, wobbling. Verd rushed in.

  Bad idea, Narine thought with a grin.

  Winding up, Verd threw a crushing punch, but Adyn’s quickness was too much. She spun away and jammed her heel into the side of his knee. He grunted in pain as it buckled. Rolling with her spin, she drove an elbow into his temple. He tipped to the side, catching himself. With a high leap, she thrust her other elbow down, smashing it into this upper back and sending him to the sand.

  Adyn backed up and looked down at him from a stride away. “Do you yield?” she panted.

  Verd pushed himself to his hands and knees. “Never,” he growled between gritted teeth.

  He put one foot beneath him and then the other, staggering to his feet. Adyn leapt toward him, twisting and spinning in the air. When she snapped out of her spin, her boot struck the side of his head. He fell like a tree in the forest, striking the sand hard. He did not rise.

  Adyn spit out another glob of blood and wiped her face. “You should have yielded,” she said, looking down at Verd.

  Slow applause came from across the courtyard as Burrock clapped. “You have some skill, Adyn,” he said. “Théo
den and the other combat masters at the University trained you well.”

  “Do you want a turn, Burrock?” Adyn called out. “I barely broke a sweat with these three.”

  “Sorry.” He shook his head. “I need to report to Lord Taladain. I suspect he has new orders for me.”

  The captain turned toward the guards standing near him and issued orders. Six of them scrambled over to their downed comrades, while Burrock and the others entered the palace.

  Adyn walked over to stand below Narine. “Tradition says I need to buy these three a mug of ale.”

  The guards poured water onto the defeated men. Verd woke with a start. His nose had bled, leaving a trail past his mouth and down his chin. He blinked and spluttered, shaking his head.

  “You go on with them,” Narine said. “I can take care of myself. Besides, I need to spend time honing my talent.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, Adyn. Not only can I take care of myself, where would I be safer than here, in my father’s palace?”

  “True.” Adyn smirked as two men helped Pelton to his feet. “I’ll see you after lunch then.”

  “All right. Don’t drink too much or you’ll sleep the rest of the day.”

  Adyn flashed a grin. “I can’t make any promises.”

  Narine smiled as she turned away. Adyn had a way of making her grin even when her mood suggested otherwise. She turned from the sparring yard and crossed the small plaza beside it before entering a tunnel.

  She emerged in a neighboring courtyard, her slippered feet making little sound as she crossed the marble tiles, descended a short flight of stairs, and climbed a small footbridge. She paused to gaze into water running down a tall wall, the mist mixing with sunbeams to create a rainbow. Water pooled at the bottom before funneling into a narrow brook that ran directly beneath the bridge where she stood. The sound soothed her, bringing her inner self to a tranquil place. She turned and walked onto the next patio, stopping in the center.

  Orange trees, thick with fruit, stood before her. Birds chirped, singing to one another. A butterfly flitted past, settling on a purple flower in the planter to her right. It then flew up, over the trees, and disappeared beyond the citadel’s outer wall.

  With a sense of peace in her heart, Narine closed her eyes. Concentrate, she told herself.

  The chirping of birds in nearby trees fell away, as did the heat of the sun on her back. Gone were the bubbling fountain and the hard marble tiles beneath her feet. Even the scent from the orange trees faded as she focused on her magic.

  Although the construct of illusion was among the most difficult to master, it came more easily for women than men. Narine had made illusion her focus, determined to rise to the challenge with the hope of discovering applications other wizards had never attempted. Few wizards dedicated themselves to illusion, which made it among the least researched. Unlike the other, more practical constructs, illusions were fed by one’s imagination.

  Extending her arm, a disk of white magic formed around her hand. With a focused effort, she bent the pattern to her will, twisting it, extending it until the light and color coalesced into a three-dimensional form that continued to expand. Tendrils of magic danced and wove around her, transforming the elegant outdoor courtyard into something else. The sun dimmed as a ceiling appeared above and walls encircled the area. She left a window in place, allowing sunlight to filter through. A bed appeared in one corner, another near it. The wardrobe, mirror, and dresser followed. The tiles darkened to orange, green, and gray, the door a heavy, dark-stained wood.

  Spinning about, she saw her old room at Tiadd as she remembered it. With it was the smell of salt air carried by the breeze. The wispy curtains billowed in a slow, ruffling motion.

  Narine had spent years practicing this particular illusion, honing it, perfecting it. The result had greatly impressed her instructors. Nothing else she produced came close.

  A man walked through the wall, startling her. The illusion fell apart, unraveling in threads of color, fading into the ether.

  “Illusion,” Eldalain said. “Difficult to master. You have a knack for it.”

  As usual, Klondon hovered a few strides behind Eldalain, grim and silent.

  Narine nodded to her brother. “Thank you.”

  “However, such a skill won’t get you far.” He absently twisted the ring, a gold band embedded with polished black onyx, on the middle finger of his right hand. Narine could never recall seeing him without the ring. “How can you use it to secure your position? You can’t exactly defeat an enemy with an illusion.”

  “Not everything is a power struggle, Eldalain.”

  He snorted. “Not even you are naïve enough to believe that.”

  She fell quiet. Her relationship with her half-brother had always been distant. With a two-decade gap in age, a different mother, and little in common, he had largely avoided her during her younger years. The man’s abrasive nature had caused the young version of herself to avoid him, as well. Since her return from Tiadd, he seemed to perceive her as a threat. She needed to alter his perception.

  Narine forced a smile. “I am glad you are here.”

  His brow arched. “You are?” He sounded doubtful.

  “Yes.” She did her best to sound engaging. “While I have been trained to use my talent, I have been away for quite some time. I could use a mentor – someone to guide me, someone whom I trust. I would very much like it to be you.”

  He blinked, visibly taken aback. “A mentor?” He said the word as if it were foreign. “I had never considered taking on a protégée.”

  Eldalain studied her, his dark eyes calculating. His glare lacked emotion, as if he were something other than human. He stood immobile, as if made of stone. She couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. The effect discomforted her.

  Narine resisted the urge to turn away and forced herself to push forward. “I would be honored if you would accept.”

  Eldalain continued to stare at her, the gaze from his dark, sunken eyes boring into her, almost like he sought to break her with his will alone. Two strides behind him, Klondon’s scowl added to the pressure of the moment, as if a landslide was about to crash down and crush her. Fear twisted her innards.

  Perhaps this was a mistake.

  Footsteps drew her attention. Eldalain spun, turning toward the approaching squad of guards. Captain Burrock was in the front, accompanied by four of the Indigo Hounds. They crossed the bridge and came to a stop just strides from Eldalain.

  “Prince Eldalain,” Burrock said in greeting.

  “Captain.” Eldalain gave the man a brief nod.

  “Your father has a new task for you.” Burrock’s gaze flicked to Narine. “It is of some urgency. I fear you won’t like it much.”

  A silent exchange seemed to pass between Burrock and Eldalain. Finally, Narine’s bother said, “Go on.”

  “Your cousin, Heldain appears in dire straits. Grendath and some others have him trapped in Castle Dorban and demand he cede control of the city. Apparently, they are unhappy with the tax increase your father and Heldain enacted last summer.”

  “I only just returned from Westhold,” Eldalain grumbled. “Now I have to ride to Dorban and bail Heldain out of something he should be able to handle himself?”

  Burrock frowned. “It is what it is, Eldalain. If you wish to deny your father, you must tell him yourself.”

  Eldalain glared at Burrock, his eyes alight as he began to glow with his magic. Narine knew the others couldn’t see it, but all took a step backward, save Klondon. The bodyguard stood ready with his palm on the handle of the gruesome battleaxe he carried. For a moment, she feared Eldalain might unleash his magic and destroy Burrock and his escort on the spot. The glow dimmed, the man dismissing his magic with the wave of a hand.

  “Fine,” Eldalain sneered before spinning to face Narine. “We will resume this discussion when I return.”

  Her brother stomped off, the guards separating as he walked directly between
them. All remained silent until he was far across the courtyard and approaching the palace entrance.

  “Your brother is growing frustrated with his role,” Burrock said quietly before glancing toward Narine. “I fear things between him and his father will soon come to a head. While his magic is daunting, and he doesn’t carry the years weighing upon Taladain, how can he hope to stand against the might of a wizard lord?”

  Burrock walked away and the guards followed, their dark purple cloaks swirling behind them, leaving Narine alone with a lingering sense of dread.

  34

  The Price of Reputation

  The peal of bells greeted the rising sun, and the portcullis began to rise. Travelers – some on foot, some on horseback, some on wagons – began to filter into Fastella. Perched on the roof of The Briar Patch, an inn located across the square inside the gate, Jace waited. Back when he lived in Fastella, he had spent many evenings in the taproom tossing dice with travelers who were unaware of his exploits. A number of years and many escapades had passed since then, but some of his favorite memories came from The Briar Patch.

  The square below began to fill with farmers’ carts and citizens seeking fresh produce. A beggar, a young boy Jace did not know, settled at one intersection. He was sure the boy worked for Cordelia. They all did.

  A familiar sound arose – the steadily rising staccato of horses approaching. A cluster of twenty-some riders emerged from a narrow street and crossed the square. At their head was a standard depicting a purple hound on a field of yellow. The robed figure beside the pennant was easy to place. Tall and thin with a brown beard and dark eyes, Eldalain led his retinue through the gate and out of the city. A distant shout arose as the man kicked his horse forward, his entire squad racing north at a gallop.

  Jace smiled. “At least some things remain predictable.”

  He noticed a flicker of movement on the roof beside his own. It didn’t take him long to guess who it might be.