A Wizard's Dark Dominion (The Gods and Kings Chronicles Book 1)

by Lee H. Haywood

  “Coming,” called a shrill voice in reply. That would be Joshua. The boy came hustling along the stream bank, his short arms and legs pumping as if he was competing in a race. He made for a comical sight, and Demetry was forced to stifle a laugh. Joshua was smaller than any boy his age ought to be — a true runt — and he struggled to traverse the rock-strewn bank. Joshua’s face was beet red and his tunic was soaked through with sweat by the time he reached Demetry.

  Joshua doubled over, gasping for air. “We need to hide,” he managed between forced breaths. “They’re right behind me.”

  “Who?”

  “Hanberg and one of those bloody Oswyn twins.”

  Demetry scowled. Joshua was soft, both physically and emotionally, and it made him the target of just about every bully in the school. “Which Oswyn twin — the big one or the ugly one?”

  Joshua made no effort to reply — the stamp of heavy boots signaled the approach of his pursuers. Joshua scampered behind a tree. Demetry shook his head, choosing to stand his ground.

  Two boys came hurrying along the bank in fast pursuit. They jumped from rock to rock to avoid getting their feet wet. The foremost boy came forward with effortless strides, a natural athlete with a cocksure confidence to match. Hanberg was his name. He was a year ahead of Demetry in his studies. His lips were upturned in a grin, as if he was the only person privy to some cruel joke. Demetry had little doubt that he and Joshua would soon be on the receiving end of whatever unpleasant thing Hanberg had in mind.

  Huffing and puffing to Hanberg’s rear was Shep, the muscle of the duo. “Who are you calling ugly?” asked Shep, his face looking especially ugly as he squinted in Demetry’s direction.

  “Certainly not you, Shep,” said Demetry, his voice flat and without a hint of irony. Of the two Oswyn twins, Shep was most definitely the ugly one. Of course, few had the gall to admit it to his face. The large lad was half blind, and had to squint at anything that wasn’t directly in front of him. To make matters worse, one too many bouts in the schoolyard had permanently upturned his nose like a pig.

  Hanberg waved at the tree Joshua was huddled behind. “We all know you’re back there, Joshua. Come on out before I have Shep drag you out.”

  Joshua slunk from his hiding spot, looking especially ashamed. “I... uh... well, sorry, Demetry. I guess I led them right to you.”

  Shep feigned a punch in Joshua’s direction, causing the small boy to leap back in fright and issue a pitiful yelp. Shep laughed, pleased by Joshua’s reaction.

  “I knew something was amiss the moment I saw you slinking off from the dormitories,” said Hanberg, waving his finger in Joshua’s face. “And now I catch you meeting with Demetry. Why am I not surprised? Didn’t the headmaster tell you to stay away from him?”

  Joshua sullenly kicked at the ground “Yes,” he finally muttered.

  “And why is that?”

  “The headmaster said Demetry has a rotten soul,” answered Joshua, purposely avoiding eye contact with Demetry.

  “Did you hear that Demetry? The headmaster believes you have a rotten soul.” Hanberg was grinning wider than ever.

  The four boys lived and went to school in Taper. All who attended the school were touched by the Creator’s Blessing in one way or another. Some possessed the gifts of a seer and could predict the outcome to events both great and small, while others were magics, manipulators of the natural world. The majority of the children were the sons of wizards and augurs, men who had won their fame and fortune in the War of Sundering. A small minority were the offspring of great houses, families that possessed the latent strength of the old gods in their bloodlines. Every few generations a magic would be born to otherwise ordinary parents. Such children were shipped off to Taper as soon as they demonstrated the slightest magical traits — a toddler manifesting magic could be as dangerous as a hurricane, or so Demetry had heard.

  The rarest variety of pupils attending Taper were boys like Joshua and Demetry, orphans and gutter scum who couldn’t identify a single magical forebearer in their family tree. How the gift of magic entered a bloodline so low was beyond anyone’s guess.

  “What do you two want?” demanded Demetry, crossing his arms and holding his ground.

  “My uncle told me to keep an eye on you,” said Hanberg. He was Headmaster Rioley’s nephew; it was a fact he was always keen on bringing up in a conversation. He began to pace circles around Demetry, drawing dangerously close to the debris pile containing the dead deer. “The headmaster says you’re sick in the head. He says you’ve got maggots in your brain.” He jabbed his finger into the side of Demetry’s head, grinding his finger back and forth until Demetry was forced to wince away in pain.

  “You’re just jealous,” said Demetry, which was probably true — most of the older boys were. Demetry was a bit of an anomaly. He arrived to Taper later than most, but he caught up with the other students his age by the end of his first year. By the end of his second year he had surpassed many of the fourth year acolytes in skill. Demetry often overheard the word savant pass the lips of his instructors when they thought he was out of earshot. Demetry attributed his knack for magic to the way his mind worked. He only needed to practice a spell once to have it committed to memory. It made the other boys envious, and it made a certain cohort of them especially mean. Only so many Taper graduates were granted admittance into the Academy Arcanum. Middling students like Hanberg saw Demetry as their competition, a position Demetry by no means relished.

  “What sick thing do you think I’m jealous of?” asked Hanberg. “Is it your poverty? Your wretchedness? Your stench?” Hanberg sniffed at the air. “The gods help me. You smell like death. They still haven’t been able to wash that stench off you, eh?”

  Hanberg was likely smelling the deer, but that was not what he was referencing. Demetry’s mother died of the plague when he was young. He spent over a week nestled beside her corpse before he was found by the city magistrate. They had to shave his head and burn his clothes to get the reek off his body. The other boys were not keen on letting the matter rest, no matter how much it hurt Demetry each time they brought it up.

  Shep wrinkled his pig nose at Joshua and Demetry. “All you orphans smell like shit.”

  A simple insult from a simple mind. Demetry tried not to roll his eyes. “Be careful, Shep, you might be smelling yourself.”

  Shep sniffed at his own armpits. He was one of the dumbest magics Demetry had ever met. The son of a famous battlemage, Shep attended Taper only on the merit of his family name. Demetry doubted Shep had the skill to turn water into ice in the middle of winter. Finding his own stench satisfactory, Shep scowled at Demetry.

  “Besides,” continued Demetry, “the last I heard, you were halfway to being an orphan yourself.”

  “My father died in the service of the king,” snapped Shep. “That’s better than you gutter scum can ever claim.”

  “Might we all be so lucky,” said Joshua, sounding as if he truly meant it.

  Demetry raised an eyebrow. “Lucky, is that how Shep’s father faired?”

  “Watch your mouth, Demetry,” growled Shep.

  “Fealty to my king and country, until my dying breath,” said Demetry, giving the king and his high tower, which stood somewhere far beyond the horizon, a mock salute. “Do you think that’s how your father felt in the end, Shep?”

  Shep chewed at his lip. His hands slowly curled into fists.

  “Nasty creatures, those elves,” continued Demetry, knowing full well the perils of goading a bull. “I heard they hacked your old pa up and sent him back to your mother in pieces. She had to pay the undertaker to sew him back together for the funeral. Thing was, there was one piece missing.” Demetry stuck his hand between his legs and waggled his little finger at Shep.

  Shep lunged forward and grabbed Demetry about the neck. His arm cocked back, his great club fist ready to strike.

  “Go ahead, hit me,” said Demetry, resisting the impulse to flinch. He could take a punch, h
e had taken plenty before. “Leave a mark the headmaster can’t ignore. We’ll see who’s cleaning the latrines come dusk.”

  Hanberg stepped between them and guided Shep’s fist back toward the ground. “We don’t hit idiots,” said Hanberg.

  Demetry’s shoulders slackened, and he foolishly dropped his guard. He immediately paid for the mistake. Hanberg spun around and kneed Demetry in the groin with so much force Demetry thought he might vomit. Demetry doubled over as a cramping sensation rolled through his body.

  Hanberg laughed. “Go ahead, show the headmaster your bruised pride, that is, if you can find it. Feels like I just turned you inside out with my knee.”

  That it did. Demetry’s lower abdomen felt like it was tied in knots. Tears began to well in his eyes. Demetry tried to blink back the tears — he didn’t want the other boys to see him cry.

  Hanberg gave Demetry’s back a sympathetic pat. “There, there, Demetry, have a nice cry.” With that mocking gesture, Hanberg left himself exposed. Demetry was tempted to elbow Hanberg in the groin, but decided to call it quits before things spiraled out of control. Head to head, Demetry and Hanberg could probably trade punches all day. But Shep outweighed Demetry by more than a few stones. And Joshua would be about as useful in a fight as a scared mouse, assuming he didn’t just turn and run at the first sight of blood. Demetry kept his eyes on the ground and swallowed his pride.

  “You disrespected Shep’s father. Apologize,” demanded Hanberg.

  “I’m sorry,” squeaked Demetry, his stomach still in knots.

  “You’re an ass,” said Joshua. “When I get back to Taper, I’m heading straight to the headmaster’s office.”

  Shep shoved Joshua into the stream. Joshua fell flat on his rump. The water wasn’t more than ankle deep, still, it was enough to drench Joshua from head to toe.

  “You’ll keep your mouth shut, both of you,” said Hanberg, his eyes narrowing. “Or we will have a chat tonight in the dormitory.”

  Demetry nodded sullenly. Joshua sat shivering in the stream with his mouth hanging agape.

  Hanberg and Shep sauntered off, singing merrily as they went. “What happened to the boy who slept on the top bunk of the bed?”

  “He fell in the night and cracked his head.”

  “Oh my, his head?”

  “Yes indeed, he’s dead!”

  The two disappeared around the bend laughing with cruel glee. Joshua watched them go, staring daggers.

  “Don’t let them see you looking at them like that,” said Demetry. He pulled Joshua onto dry ground. “I’m sure they’d be happy for a second round.”

  Joshua spit. “On the street, hollow tongued fools like Hanberg would get knifed in their sleep.” He shook his head with frustration.

  “And boys like Shep?”

  “They’d be the ones doing the knifing.” Joshua dropped his chin and stared at the ground. “I should have just hit him,” muttered Joshua, balling his little fists. He looked like he might cry.

  “Aye? That would have been all of the excuse Shep needed to beat you bloody.” Demetry felt awful. Joshua had spoken up in his defense, and what was the boy’s reward — a cold bath and bruised pride. He ruffled Joshua’s hair. “What do I always tell you?”

  “We beat ‘em with our knowledge. We beat ‘em with our skill.” Joshua rapped his knuckles against his head. “We outcasts stick together, right?”

  “That’s right,” said Demetry. He straightened Joshua’s tunic, which was pulled askew from his fall. “Why are you still wearing these rags, anyway?” The season had long since turned to fall, yet Joshua still wore the same threadbare clothing he had lived in all summer. His trousers fell short of his ankles and his sweat-stained shirt looked ready to split at the seams.

  “It’s what I’ve got,” said Joshua, his voice edged with a degree of shame.

  Demetry understood the feeling all too well. While the young lordlings like Shep and Hanberg received regular care packages from their parents, those who were wards of the school were lucky if they received a new set of clothes at the turn of each season. Every ward was paired with a patron, most of whom were instructors at the school. Demetry’s patron was an elderly magic with a middle-aged son. Demetry’s clothes were all hand-me-downs, but he never wanted for attire appropriate for the season. In fact, he sometimes even dressed better than the rich lads.

  Joshua was not so lucky. Joshua’s patron was Headmaster Rioley. The headmaster had never shown Joshua an ounce of affection. Joshua was an afterthought, a nuisance, good for chores but not much else. Demetry could almost understand why Joshua was treated so poorly, because Joshua, was, well, Joshua.

  The boy looked especially pitiful right now in his undersized clothes, drenched from head to toe. He reminded Demetry of an owl caught out in a downpour. “I have an extra cloak back in the dorm,” said Demetry. “It will be a little large, but at the rate you’re growing it will be a proper fit soon enough.”

  “Thanks,” muttered Joshua, kicking at a stone and avoiding eye contact. None of the orphan boys were especially adept at showing gratitude.

  Demetry put his arm around Joshua and guided him away from the stream. “You’re all soaked through. How about we head back to the dorms?”

  Joshua stiffened his lip and shrugged off Demetry’s arm. “No. We came out here to practice, so let’s practice.”

  Demetry was not surprised by the answer. Joshua had spent the better part of his young life on the streets, his magical gifts exploited by a gang of criminals. Untrained, and without a mentor, his ability to use magic was based purely on instinct. This proved a most dangerous combination. One fateful afternoon he lost control of his powers and accidentally burned down an entire bazaar. The Arcane Council picked him up following the incident and brought him to Taper. He was put under the guardianship of Headmaster Rioley to prevent such a catastrophic accident from happening again.

  Thankfully, his outbursts were now under control. But having started his schooling so late, his powers currently outmatched his training. He had the strength to perform spells typically reserved for a fourth year acolyte, but controlling his manifestations was a different story entirely. Joshua tried to overcome this deficiency by practicing as often as possible.

  “What spell did you have in mind?” asked Joshua, genuinely eager. “We’ve been studying levitation in my class.” He muttered a few words in the old tongue and waved his hands. Dozens of river rocks suddenly rose from the stream, the fist-sized rocks floating on nothing but the breeze. Joshua pinwheeled his arms, and one by one, the river rocks began to collect in stacked cairns along the shoreline.

  “Manipulation of the inanimate, yes, but this was not exactly what I had in mind.” Demetry produced a red leather-bound book from his satchel, its pages torn and singed.

  Joshua’s eyes went wide. He crossed himself and took a step back. “Blessed Guardian, where did you get that?” He frantically searched the forest with his eyes to make sure they were alone. “The Paserani Haote is forbidden. It should have been destroyed,” he whispered.

  Demetry showed Joshua the burn marks that wreathed the binding. “It looks like someone tried to dispose of it, then had a change of heart. I found it buried under some other books while I was cleaning the headmaster’s study.”

  “You’ve read it?” Then with a nod, “Of course you’ve read it.” Joshua scowled, his face twisted with a mixture of intrigue and concern. “That’s Shadow worshiper doctrine, Demetry.”

  “Undeniable,” said Demetry with a dismissive shrug. Within the great pantheon of gods, full of saints and devils, deities and demigods, there was one overarching theme — extol the Guardians, shun the Wyrm, and damn all things associated with the Shadow. Demetry found such narrow-minded views of good and evil to be too limiting.

  “There’s knowledge in here that our elders wish to deny us,” said Demetry, clutching the book to his chest as if it were his most prized possession. “Spells and incantations that the Arcane Council see
ks to have stricken from the records. As far as I’m concerned, the destruction of knowledge is the greatest sin of all.”

  “Lies aren’t knowledge.” Joshua jutted out his lower lip in a gesture that was meant to look stern, but instead ended up looking like a pout.

  “These aren’t lies, Joshua. They’re hidden truths. Secrets the gods wished us never to know. Have a look for yourself.” Demetry offered Joshua the book.

  Joshua raised his hands and backed away. “I’m not touching it.”

  “I said I would train you, teach you things the other boys don’t know, give you an edge, so the next time Hanberg and his thug friends come along you might be able to defend yourself. You want to be more skilled than the other boys? You need to practice the things the others boys are afraid to try.”

  Joshua’s shoulders slackened, his eyes slowly wandered back to the book in Demetry’s hand. Demetry grinned. Joshua’s resolve was breaking down. The temptation was too great. Joshua issued a heavy sigh, a vain attempt to feign displeasure, and snatched the book out of Demetry’s hands. “I’ll have a look.” Joshua plopped down on top of a rock and spread the book open on his knees. His face flickered with a mixture of fascination and horror as he discovered the contents of the forbidden text.

  Demetry peered over Joshua’s shoulder, noting the pages he stopped on, noting the pages he quickly turned. Demetry couldn’t help but smile. He had half-expected Joshua to balk at the mere mention of the Paserani Haote. There had once been thousands of copies of the book in circulation, but almost all had been destroyed. Shadow worship was forbidden. Anyone caught in possession of the book was subject to the king’s justice.

  Joshua sounded off the headings of various chapters as he thumbed through the pages. “The Perversion of Calaban. On the Fallacy of the Guardian’s Doctrine. The Splintering of the One Soul and its Implications.” He shook his head. “The gods help me. There’s enough foul teachings within this text to condemn a soul for all eternity. It’s sacrilege, every word of it. I can see why the Arcane Council ordered the book destroyed.”