Wizard Pair (Book 3)

by James Eggebeen

  "Come on out," Zhimosom repeated. "It's safe now."

  The young men inched forward. They looked into the sky, fear clear on their faces.

  "It's safe," Zhimosom reiterated. "Is anyone else here? Did anyone else survive?"

  "One of the Wizards ... I think." The first young man pointed to a pile of rubble.

  Zhimosom rushed over to find Garlath buried beneath the rubble. He was bruised and burned, but breathing. "Garlath. How did you survive?" Zhimosom cried. "I saw the dragon fire strike you."

  "I invoked a travel spell when the dragon attacked me ... It didn't hurt me ... much." Garlath rubbed his shoulder and paused to breathe.

  "Let's get you up and out of here." Zhimosom helped Garlath to his feet. Garlath leaned heavily on Rotiaqua and one of the young Wizards. Zhimosom bent over his staff as they shuffled back to the Council Chambers.

  "What happened?" Garlath asked as he slid into a chair.

  "I freed one of the dragons, and he took Sulrad somewhere far away so we could work on the rest of the clan. Then I transformed them so the command spell would not work on them."

  Zhimosom sat heavily by Garlath's side.

  "Now what?" Garlath asked. He was breathing better. Zhimosom felt his own strength returning.

  "I managed to defeat Sulrad," Zhimosom lied. "I froze the amulet ... the Charm of the Joiner ... so that it can only be used to command the dragons, and they are safe from him in their new form."

  "How did you accomplish that?" Garlath demanded.

  "I tied the spell I used to transform the dragons to the magic of the plains."

  "How long will the dragons remain the way they are?"

  "Until I release them." Zhimosom shrugged. "We must find a way to destroy the amulet so that it's safe to restore the dragons. Until we do that, they must remain the people of the grass.

  Zhimosom felt a flush of shame at his failure to destroy Sulrad and restore the dragons. He knew he would have to find a way to free them without killing Sulrad. He resolved himself to study and work towards a solution until, the dragons were, once again, free to roam the skies.

  Epilogue

  Sulrad suffered in the cold as he wandered the island until he came to a place where a stand of trees grew beside a rapidly running river. The river crashed to the sea in a waterfall not far from where he stood.

  A large grove of trees, their branches heavy with fruit, sheltered an abundance of wild creatures. Sulrad knew he would not starve to death, but being alone on the island was not what he had planned for himself.

  He tried to travel using magic, but the amulet would not cooperate, and he didn't have enough power on his own to travel all the way to the mainland. He was stranded.

  Sulrad built himself a crude shelter and learned how to hunt and fish. His hair and beard grew out and became a constant reminder of his impotence. He spent most of his days perched on the cliff, peering out to sea, hoping for a ship to sail nearby. As his magic recovered, Sulrad cast about, commanding any ship within range to alter course for the deserted island. All the while he brooded about his defeat at the hands of that young Wizard.

  One afternoon while Sulrad was sitting on the edge of the cliff, he saw a sail off on the horizon. He found it hard to contain his excitement. Finally a ship had come in response to his spell. Or was he growing mad, seeing things that were not there?

  The sails grew more distinct. It was a ship and it was headed his way.

  Sulrad waited as patiently as he could until the ship drew near the shore. It was a solid square-rigged merchantman sitting low in the water. A boat was lowered into the water and Sulrad saw the men bend their backs into the oars.

  He rushed to the beach where they would come ashore. Sulrad calmed himself as the boat fought the breakers and beached on the sand of a small alcove before the face of the cliff.

  A man in black robes stood in the bow, peering towards land. Sulrad recognized him immediately.

  It was Veran.

  Veran leaped from the boat and ran to Sulrad. He bowed his head low and touched Sulrad's hand to his forehead. "Bless me, Father."

  "How did you find me?" Sulrad asked.

  "I sensed you, and that you were in trouble. I pulled together an expedition and used Temple funds to hire the ship. We've come to settle here and build a new Temple with you, one where we can be free from the watchful eye of the Baron and the Wizards of Amedon."

  Sulrad looked back at the ship. Along the railing stood a row of adherents dressed in black robes, waiting for his blessing. Sulrad smiled. He had not been defeated. He would realize his dreams yet. From Quineshua, his Priests would infiltrate every city in every country until Ran was god over all.

  And he, Sulrad, would be the High Priest of Ran, commanding an army of Wizards far larger than Amedon had. They would raise Temples everywhere and gather in the magic of any Wizard that refused to join them.

  He didn't need the dragons.

  Tweet about finishing this book.

  Map

  Other books by this Author

  Foundling Wizard begins the Apprentice to Master Series. Find it on Amazon

  Get Foundling Wizard.

  Wizard's Education is the second book in the Apprentice to Master Series Find it on Amazon

  Get Wizard's Education.

  Master Wizard is the fourth book in the Apprentice to Master Series. It is due out in the summer or fall of 2013.

  On the following pages you will find a brief excerpt from Foundling Wizard and Wizard's Education.

  Foundling Wizard

  Vorathorm entered the secret chamber where he made his sacrifice. His movements sent a sparkling shower of dust motes swirling into the single shaft of sunlight that illuminated the bloodstained altar. He stood before it, fidgeting in anticipation, his bony hands itching to reach out and start the ritual. His eyes were focused on the advancing shaft of sunlight as it crept slowly downward.

  A statue of a young woman dressed in ceremonial robes cradled the sacred blade against her throat. Beneath her, a small rabbit lay trussed upon the altar. Its legs were bound with a leather thong. It cried out in fear as it caught the scent of blood from its predecessors. Finally, exhausted, it fell silent, the only evidence of its struggle, its heavy breathing.

  Vorathorm rested his hands on the animal to quiet it. He imagined that a young wizard was trussed upon his altar, not a field animal. He visualized himself performing that sacrifice. He’d pluck the knife from the arms of the maiden at the precise moment the sun struck the blade. He’d make one smooth, quick motion cutting a single slice across the boy’s throat.

  The power of the boy’s magic would be his tenfold, to add to his growing personal reserve.

  A shadow fell across the altar, blocking the shaft of sunlight, breaking his reverie.

  Rage at such an act of desecration boiled up within him, as he turned to face the intruder. "How dare you interrupt!" he cried out. "Who could be so insolent as to disturb my sacrifice?"

  The interloper stood there, calmly blocking the beam of sunlight. He was tall and thin; his shaved head highlighted the shape of his skull and accentuated the birdlike beak of his nose. His long black robes were trimmed in gold, swirling the dust motes into the air as he moved.

  Sulrad was the only person who would dare approach the altar at such a critical time. He was also the only person who would be so bold as to spoil Vorathorm’s sacrifice without a hint of hesitation.

  “Sulrad.” Vorathorm said slowly. “To what do I owe this honor?”

  He controlled his breathing and slowed his heartbeat as he’d been taught. Sulrad would not have made the trip to Veldwaite needlessly, something extraordinarily disconcerting must have happened. Vorathorm was not sure he wanted to know, as it never meant good news for him personally.

  “I have located a pair,” Sulrad said. He stated it simply, without a trace of emotion, as if it happened every day.

  “A pair?” Vorathorm asked. A pair of wizards. One wizard, one sor
ceress. Discovery of a pair was the singularly worst news Sulrad could have uttered. Vorathorm stared at him unblinking.

  “Yes, a pair. I sensed them some time ago. A boy and his sister… From what I could tell,” he added. “Very early.” He casually walked around the altar, looking down at the preparations Vorathorm had made for the sacrifice.

  “What did you sense? Where are they? Who are they?”

  “Slow down,” Sulrad said. He hopped up and seated himself on the altar, arranging his robes as he did. Only Sulrad would dare such a sacrilege.

  “You must have a plan,” Vorathorm insisted.

  “I have a plan, but it is you who will carry it out,” Sulrad said. “We can’t allow a pair of wizards to come into their power. Thank Ran that they’re brother and sister, at least we have that in our favor.”

  As brother and sister, the pair would be somewhat restrained in their union. At least he hoped they would. Vorathorm shuddered at the thought.

  “Where are they now?” Vorathorm asked. He secretly hoped Sulrad would allow him to take the power from both of them. That kind of power would send him to the top of the temple hierarchy. Maybe even above Sulrad himself.

  “To your great fortune, they’ve already been separated. The boy is fleeing. The girl remains at home with her family,” Sulrad said.

  He picked up the sacrificial knife and fondled it. He used it to trace arcane figures in the thick, dried blood staining the altar.

  “What have you planned?” Vorathorm asked. He wished Sulrad would get to the point. There might yet be time to complete his sacrifice.

  “We’ve captured the boy. Even now, he lies trapped, safely out of your way. You must act without delay. Kill the girl while he is helpless.”

  “Is he that strong?” Pairs were so rare that he didn’t know what to expect. He feared that these two were developing rapidly. They would soon be a threat if they weren’t stopped.

  “He is,” Sulrad said.

  “Strong enough to stop us?” He didn’t want the boy interfering as he drained the magic from the girl.

  “Yes, he’s that strong,” Sulrad said. He placed the knife back in the hands of the statue. “Don’t worry about the boy; he’s safely out of your way. Once you finish your part, we’ll deal with him as appropriate.”

  “What am I to do then?” Vorathorm asked.

  “Travel to their homestead outside of Mistbury, and dispose of the girl. Once you’ve done that, come back and report to me.” He gestured to the knife cradled in the arms of the statue. “Don’t forget your knife,” he said with a smile as he turned and walked out.

  Vorathorm looked at the sunlight just about to illuminate the rabbit. He would have just enough time to make his sacrifice. He smiled and approached the altar with a renewed sense of purpose.

  Vorathorm anxiously waited until early in the afternoon to begin his mission. The men would be in the fields, preparing to drive the kine back from the high pasture for the winter. The house would be empty, except for the girl and her mother.

  Vorathorm carefully prepared the traveling spell that would take him to their homestead. He’d faithfully built up his reserves in preparation for a chance like this. He executed the spell flawlessly. The temple disappeared to be replaced instantly by the farm, where the smell of manure and swine almost overpowered him.

  He made his way to the house, quietly pulling the door open. He stepped quickly into the kitchen.

  A middle aged woman labored over the stove, with her back to him. She had a towel in one hand, and a large carving knife in the other. The smell of freshly baked bread still lingered in the air, overlaid with the scent of just-cut onions that was just beginning to fade into the rich aroma of the evening’s meal.

  Vorathorm rested against the heavy wooden table and cleared his throat.

  The woman turned with a start. “What are you doing here?” she spat. She raised the knife menacingly and took a step toward him.

  “I’m here for your child,” he said. He gathered the magic to drive the spell he’d begun weaving for her.

  “He’s not here,” she said, relaxing somewhat. “You’re too late. He’s already gone, you filthy swine.”

  Vorathorm laughed. “I’m not here for the boy,” he said. “I’m here for the girl.” He was confident that the girl was in the house. He could sense her magic.

  “You’re not touching my daughter!” she said. “Onolt, run!”

  She took another step and swung the knife at him. He stepped back and raised his hand, moving his fingers to make the final sign that released the spell. She was too quick for him as she swung the knife. His arm erupted in pain as she slashed through his heavy robe and into his flesh.

  He backed away from her, trying to complete the spell as she advanced once more. “It won’t do you any good,” he said, trying to sound calm and in control. “I’ll get you in the end.”

  “Not before I slice you up like a prize swine.” She slashed at him once more, this time narrowly missing his chest. He threw himself back and grabbed a chair, thrusting it between them for protection. She was easily as strong as he was, and fueled by rage. He ducked beneath her as she took another swing at him before he finally completed the spell he had been preparing.

  Her arms fell limp to her sides as the spell took effect. Vorathorm stood and faced her directly as she tried to speak but could not. He raised his hand and hit her with all his might, the slash in his arm throwing blood spatters across her dress. He struck her repeatedly until she would not have been able to speak even if he released the spell.

  He pushed her into a sitting position next to the table. He took the towel from her hand and used it to bandage his bleeding arm. Once that was done, he went looking for the girl. He knew the homestead had only one door. She was still inside; he could feel her magic like a light violet mist directing his search.

  He quickly located the girl hiding behind the door in the bedroom. She held onto the bed post and screamed as he reached for her, but he soon dislodged her. He dragged her back to the kitchen and stretched her out atop the sturdy table. He bound her hands and feet securely before leaning back to admire his handiwork.

  Satisfied that she was properly bound, he passed his staff over her. He smiled as she responded to the pain that followed the movement of his staff.

  “You, my dear, are an emerging young Sorceress,” he said. He could sense her magic through his staff. He pulled the memories of her brother out of her mind and laughed out loud.

  Lorit had turned his sister into a sorceress by infusing his own magic into her. He’d inadvertently set in motion the very thing that was about to get her killed.

  The girl struggled against her bonds. “I’m no Sorceress,” she said. “I’m just a girl.”

  He passed his staff across her once again. If only he were allowed to take her to the temple. There, he could prepare her properly. He would take her magic for his own and then, later, her brother’s to add to it.

  “If only I had you on my altar,” Vorathorm said wistfully. “We could watch the sunrise together, and then I could take your powers for my own.”

  Vorathorm felt it would be a waste to kill her, but Sulrad had insisted that she be removed as quickly and efficiently as possible. He couldn’t transport her back to Veldwaite by magic, and the boy might escape and interfere if they undertook the long journey overland. He resigned himself to wasting her magic.

  He pulled the sacrificial knife from within the folds of his robe. “If I can’t take your magic, at least I can take a little pleasure from you.” He pressed the edge of the knife against her exposed skin and drew a long, thin red line with the blade.

  The girl screamed in pain.

  Vorathorm smiled in satisfaction.

  After a while, he stepped back to admire his work. The symbols he’d carved in her flesh matched those on his altar. He coveted her magic; a clean fresh power like hers was rare. It was a pity to waste it. Maybe there was another way. He pondered that though
t as he resumed his ministrations.

  Wizard's Education

  Zhimosom prepared the spell that would take him to the confrontation he'd avoided for far too long. He'd scoured his library, brushed up on incantations he might need, and committed to memory anything he thought would give him an edge in the battle to come. He mixed and packed the special ingredients that would power the more arcane spells and breathed a heavy sigh.

  "You're committed to this, then?" Rotiaqua asked. The Sorceress sat across from the Wizard. Her long white hair mirrored his own just as many of her mannerisms did. He was constantly moving his flowing beard out of the way of his preparations.

  "I am." Zhimosom pulled at his robe and settled into his chair. He leaned over the table, folding his aged hands on top of the book that lay before him.

  He spread his palms and an image appeared above the book. It showed a young man in his twentieth summer, tall and strong with a serious look on his face the belittled his age. He held a Wizard's staff in his hand. Beside him, stood a woman of similar age. She wore her hair in long curls that dropped to her shoulder and had a far less stern expression.

  An aura of magic surrounded them, a light purple mist emanated from each of them to wrap around the other. It was the bond of magic between a paired Wizard and Sorceress. It was a bond Zhimosom knew well. It was the same bond he shared with the Sorceress Rotiaqua.

  He knew Rotiaqua was fond of them by the way she looked at their image. She had taken the girl, Chihon, under her tutelage and had become a fast friend to Lorit almost since Zhimosom had first sensed the lad's powers awaken.

  "They need to come to Amedon, and undertake the trials." Zhimosom looked up at Rotiaqua. "We've waited far too long for another pair to form. We can't afford to lose them to a traitor. It might be yet again four hundred summers before another Sorceress like her arises at just the right time to pair with a Wizard like him."