Branock was confident that he was the stronger wizard, but magical battles were unpredictable. Magic strength flowed and ebbed. Knowledge was the power of the Torr and it was often hoarded like a treasure guarded by a dragon. He looked at his companion. The wizard in his plain brown robes hid his prowess well. Branock was well aware of the ambitions of the other wizards. There were only four in the Torr, including the master. Branock had helped the master eliminate the other wizards who had resisted the Torr. He had a few scars from those encounters, permanent reminders that magical battles could be deadly. Fortunately he had always come out on top, but Wytlethane would be a formidable opponent when that battle came. Branock knew he would face the other members of his order someday—he was ambitious himself, but he could wait. He would need an edge when that day came, and in the back of his mind, he toyed with the idea that this bright young wizard might somehow become his ally.
They rode late into the night, using their power to light torches and riding along the gloomy path. Each man held his thoughts until at last they came to a small farm with a barn. They did not wake the occupants of the small farmhouse but quietly entered the barn, saw to their horses, and found a dry place to rest. As dawn broke they rose and started out again. If the farmer or his family saw them, they made no attempt to either greet them or challenge them. Wizards and sorcerers had a cruel reputation, although that was not Branock’s way. He knew, however, that Wytlethane would have killed the farmer without cause and without an inkling of regret, and he was glad they had managed to avoid that.
Around noon they came to a small town. There was no inn, and their supplies were beginning to dwindle, so they stopped to ask a townsman if there was a place they might buy supplies. The man who answered eyed the two wizards nervously as he pointed to a small shop where they could buy food. They ate, paying for their fare with copper coins from their bulging purses. They had no fear of being robbed, as even outlaws avoided wizards.
The days passed like soldiers in a parade, each one nearly identical to the last. When they finally reached Orrock, they settled into one of the nicer inns and began their wait for Cassis. Branock spent most of his time in the main hall of the inn, watching and listening to the local gossip and snatches of news from the other kingdoms. Wytlethane preferred the solitude of his room.
Cassis arrived two weeks after Branock and Wytlethane had settled. The young wizard was now escorted by a band of mercenaries. The warriors wore chain mail under their black cloaks and carried swords and shields; some even had longbows. They were formidable men who soon drove the locals from the inn and terrorized the young bar maids.
“We are to approach King Felix,” said Cassis to the other wizards once they had gathered to eat and make plans. “The master requires it.”
“King Felix is worthless,” said Branock, who was himself from Yelsia. He made it his business to keep abreast of the happenings in what would one day be his kingdom.
“Nevertheless, we will go,” said Wytlethane.
Branock knew the other wizard was only agreeing because it annoyed Branock, but like it or not, if the master had ordered it, they would do it.
“And what are we to say?” Branock asked.
“We are to request information,” said Cassis. He was arrogant, and he dangled his news from the Torr over them because it was the only time he could be superior to the senior wizards. “The master is ready for his new pupil.”
“Perhaps he tires of the last,” Branock said.
“What?” Cassis thundered, his anger flaring in an instant, demonstrating his immaturity and lack of control.
“I merely implied that perhaps you have reached the limit of your ability,” Branock said smugly.
“Old man,” Cassis snarled, “I’ll show you the limits of my power.”
He was rising from his seat when Wytlethane put a hand on the young man’s arm.
“Peace, Cassis,” said Wytlethane. “Branock is only baiting you. He is jealous that the master confided in you.”
Branock was well aware that Wytlethane had allied himself with Cassis, but the boy was pompous and slow to learn. Of course, most young men were, in Branock’s opinion, simply too full of themselves for their own good. He did not fear the younger wizard, who thought more highly of his skills than he should have, but Wytlethane and Cassis together could possibly overpower him.
“The master is not pleased with your progress,” Cassis said imperiously as he sat back down.
“I doubt the master is very pleased with any of us,” Branock retorted, “but he will be happy enough when we return with his new prize. Now, what else did he say?”
They talked late into the night. The master had felt the surge of magic just as Branock and the others had. Their quarry was powerful, perhaps even as strong as the master himself. Of course, that strength had to be harnessed and developed, but if the raw potential was there, this new wizard was incredibly valuable. In fact, it occurred to Branock that perhaps the master didn’t plan to train this new wizard, but merely to kill him and ensure that he remained the supreme power in the Five Kingdoms. If that were the case, then perhaps Branock’s best course of action would not be finding this young wizard after all. As they talked, a plan began to form in Branock’s mind, a plan that would establish his own power, or perhaps get him killed.
Chapter 4
A few days before the harvest festival began, while Zollin’s days were filled with work from daylight till dusk, a strange sense began to develop in the back of his mind. He felt something approaching. He could not see it or tell what it was, but it was getting closer, and the mysterious sense was growing day by day. They completed the work on the inn the day before the festival, although it was nearly half full with patrons already, and the long tables were merely planks of wood set on frames. But it was enough for the owner, who paid Quinn the final sum owed and promised him free drinks throughout the festival.
The festive atmosphere in Tranaugh Shire was contagious, and after being given a bonus by his father from their payment for the inn, Zollin was beginning to feel cheerful despite the strange feeling he was experiencing. Zollin had not spoken to Todrek since he had revealed his secret in the forest, and his friend appeared to have told no one. So the morning of the festival Zollin sought out his friend. He rose early and climbed the stairs to the butcher’s home above his shop. There was a sickly sweet smell of blood that often blew into the home from the shed nearby where the animals were slaughtered. Todrek opened the door and smiled, which Zollin was hoping for but not expecting.
“I’m glad you’re here early,” said Todrek, pulling his friend into the home. “I’ve made Brianna’s father an offer, and he’s going to make his decision today. I knew this was going to be the best year ever.”
Zollin was stunned for a moment; he wasn’t sure what to say. “Brianna, the daughter of Horace the tailor?”
“Of course, silly, can you imagine it? Brianna and me, it was actually Father’s idea, and he said if Horace accepts the bride price that he would loan me the money to have Quinn build us a house.”
Brianna was beautiful, thin and graceful, always smiling and jolly. She was fifteen years old and of marrying age, but she had never shown any interest in either Todrek or Zollin.
“Do you think she’ll accept?” Zollin asked.
“Father does, we made a handsome offer. I know that one of the Tanner boys did, too, but who would want to marry them? They all stink of the tannery. Plus, none of the farm boys could match our offer, and I doubt she would want to move out of the Shire to work a farm.”
“Well, then, congratulations,” Zollin said.
“We’ll be married after the first winter snows,” Todrek said happily. “By then the house should be finished. We only need a small place to start. You’ll stand with me right?”
“Of course. I’d be honored.”
Todrek grabbed Zollin up in a fierce embrace that made the smaller boy gasp. They rushed outside after that to see what was
happening in town. Several traveling merchants were setting up shops and a troupe of entertainers was pulling into town. The innkeeper spotted the boys as they ambled past the large building, and he called for them to come inside and have some cider.
And so the day passed quickly, filled with contests and food and laughter and more food. The women had baked pies and treats which they shared from colorful tents they set up around the town square. There was a merchant from Orrock selling weapons of all sizes, from small daggers to long, two-handed broadswords. There were textiles from Janzia and an array of pottery and finely crafted house goods from all over the kingdom. Craftsmen traded their goods with the merchants and the haggling was as entertaining as the contests. There were wrestling matches and foot races, feats of strength and duels with wooden staves. Finally, shortly before the evening feast came the announcement of town news. It was traditional that babies would be presented, achievements recognized, and marriages announced. People had been gathering all afternoon in the town square. Zollin stood beside a very nervous Todrek, each nursing a tall mug of cider that was cool and crisp.
Most of Zollin’s coins had gone to pay for treats of various kinds, pies and cookies and candies, but there were also a few trinkets in his pocket. He had been looking through the various goods of the traveling merchants when a small silver ring with a white stone caught his attention. He wasn’t wearing the willow belt or carrying his staff, but he could sense the magic in the ring. It seemed to push against him as his hand drew near to it. It was a woman’s ring and too small for him to wear, but he had nevertheless asked the merchant how much he wanted for it. They haggled for a bit and Zollin even began to walk away at one point, but finally a deal was struck. He had also found an amulet that the merchant said would bring good luck, but there was something strange about the object. It was a shiny black stone on a leather thong and it felt anything but lucky to Zollin. Still, the man had nearly given it away, so it, too, was in Zollin’s small money pouch. He had no intention of wearing it, but he was interested to see if he could identify the strange magic that it held.
From the small platform boomed the voice of the village mayor. It was time to announce betrothals, and Todrek was shaking with excitement beside Zollin.
“Nervous, butcherboy?” Quinn asked from behind them. They hadn’t noticed he was there before.
Todrek managed to nod.
“Well, good luck. Your father told me about your offer. If she accepts, Zollin and I will build you a place by the first snows, you can count on it. Right, Zollin?”
“Yes sir, absolutely.”
Zollin tried to smile, tried to be excited about the announcements, but he was also confused. Brianna was beautiful, but could she ever love Todrek? Zollin didn’t want to see his friend hurt. He also didn’t want to be excluded, and if Todrek married, he would devote all his time to his new wife. And, even though he hated to admit it, there was also a twinge of jealously. He didn’t feel he could ever be as lucky as Todrek.
When Brianna and her father approached the small platform, Quinn placed a hand on Zollin’s shoulder. Beside him Todrek was shifting from foot to foot, and as Zollin turned to look at his friend, he saw his father watching him. There was a reassuring look in the older man’s eyes, a glimmer of understanding, and for the first time since he was a small boy he felt his father’s love. It was a fleeting moment, for Brianna’s father announced that she would marry Todrek, and Todrek raced through the crowd that parted before him. There was clapping and cheering, and a few quick-witted men made suggestions to Todrek as he approached the small stage so that the crowd was laughing good-naturedly by the time he arrived. He climbed up to stand next to the girl, who had long, black hair that hung like a shimmering curtain around her face. Her skin was pale, her lips full and red. She had large, brown eyes and long lashes. She looked at Todrek with neither excitement nor dread. Todrek took her hand and led her away to his family while the next young girl was led up on the stage.
“We should maybe make an offer soon, too,” Quinn said quietly to Zollin.
“I doubt anyone would have me,” Zollin said as he watched his friend. Todrek had not mentioned their time in the forest and had acted as jovial as always, but Zollin knew that things would never be the same. They had been friends a long time, but now their lives were on diverging paths. Todrek’s was here in Tranaugh Shire, but the little town suddenly felt stifling to Zollin.
“Father,” he said suddenly, “you served in the King’s Army when you were young. What made you leave your home?” Zollin knew his grandfather had been a carpenter and had taught Quinn the trade. It was something they never discussed, but suddenly Zollin felt he needed to know.
“Can you guess?” his father asked.
“A girl,” Zollin said after only a second’s thought.
Quinn nodded, and they walked away from the crowd. The feast was followed by entertainment. Musicians played and singers sang tales of war and of love and of glory. Zollin sat with his father while Todrek and Brianna sat together. It was traditional for a betrothed couple to share the feast meal, but afterward the groom would make arrangements for their home while the bride prepared herself for marriage. They would not spend time together again until their wedding day.
Normally Zollin would have delighted in the food and in the entertainment, but he had lost his appetite. He was on the verge of returning home early when a new member of the troupe took center stage. There was a flare from the hot wind of magic within Zollin. He could not detect magic in the man, but he instinctively knew that the man had power. It was the feeling of the approaching magic—Zollin recognized it at once. The magic in this man was different. It felt playful and fun. Zollin watched as the man performed illusions, making seemingly solid rings connect and separate. He pulled scarves from his fist and made doves appear in midair. He made coins disappear and pulled a very fat rabbit from a small box that he held in his hand.
It was all very entertaining, but Zollin knew that the tricks were simply illusion. He did not catch how the man was doing most of the tricks, but he sensed the magic was of a mocking nature. There was no strength to it, only the feel of laughter. It was trickery in the truest sense. Zollin thought that this man could have used his power to con people out of their possessions, but his strength was only illusion, and he could not move or hurt or heal.
Zollin stayed through the last of the show and then went to find the illusionist. The man was tall with a head full of thick, wavy hair. He had a long mustache which he curled using beeswax. As Zollin approached, the man suddenly looked straight at him.
“Do I know you?” the man asked.
“I don’t think so. I’m Zollin, son of Quinn the carpenter.”
“Have you ever been to Orrock?”
“No, sir.”
“Strange, you seem oddly familiar. But no matter, I am Lotair the Great. How may I be of service?”
“I have questions,” Zollin said.
“Ah, another fan I see. Well, a wizard never reveals his secrets my lad, never. I dare not even think them lest my enemies read my mind and know my powers.”
“I know your power,” said Zollin sincerely. He wasn’t trying to be rude, but he needed answers and he thought perhaps this man might have some.
“I’m sorry,” said Lotair. “You know my powers?” His voice had lost the performer’s boisterous volume and diction. He spoke like any farmer in the kingdom then.
“I sensed it; I have for several days now. Can you tell me more about it?”
“About what?”
“About magic.”
“Ah,” cried the performer again. “I’m afraid not, my boy, I learned my secrets in the Tower of Elgarath from Topin the Wise himself. Magic is an ability that comes at great sacrifice, and only a few have the fortitude to look into the mysterious realms.”
Zollin knew then that he would have to show Lotair what he could do before the man would take him seriously. He reached into his small coin pouch and found
the ring. He held it in his palm and pictured it rising up into the air. The ring didn’t move. “Rise,” Zollin commanded, but the ring sat perfectly still. He felt it pulse with power, but he did not recognize what it meant.
“Perhaps a few more years of study, my young apprentice,” Lotair said loftily and began to turn away.
Zollin grabbed his arm and turned the man to face him again. He pulled a silver coin from his pocket and placed it in his palm. He pictured the coin rising and it did, straight up in front of the illusionist’s eyes, which grew round at the sight.
“Hold out your hand,” Zollin told him.
Then a flame appeared around the coin. The flame flickered, and the people walking past thought the magician was showing Zollin a new trick. Then the coin dropped into the man’s palm and he yelled in surprise.
“Holy Maker, that’s hot!” cried Lotair.
“Now,” said Zollin. “I sensed your power. I need to know where it comes from.”
The man grabbed Zollin and pulled him into a colorful tent, where he collapsed onto a three legged stool. He rubbed his face with a towel and then looked up angrily.
“Who taught you to do that?” the magician demanded. “Are you trying to make me look like a fool?”
“No,” Zollin said. He was surprised at the man’s hostility.
“Then show me how you do it.”
“I just imagine it or speak it, and it happens.”
“Don’t lie to me, boy! I’ve been in this trade for more years than you’ve been alive. There is no such thing as magic. It’s all sleight of hand and illusion. I’m a master at it.”
“You’re wrong,” Zollin said.
“Are you going to tell me how to do that trick?”
“It’s not a trick!” Zollin said, his voice loud.
“Not a trick, huh? Prove it.”
Zollin wished he had his willow belt—he would have made the illusionist’s mustache burst into flame. Instead, he looked around the tent, found a pair of the magician’s boots under the bed, and made them walk out and then perform a little dance.
Wizard Rising Page 3