by Mike Shelton
Roland was having a hard time remembering how he had gotten there but felt joy at the confidence they put in him. “How many?” he asked.
“About two dozen, including the Chief Judge and a young scholar wizard,” came back the report.
The Chief Judge? Roland thought. That didn’t seem right. Daymian Khouri wasn’t a rebel. Roland surveyed the group of wizards again and realized they were all Kanzar’s men. Then it dawned on him—he was one of Kanzar’s men!
The jolt from this fact almost meant something to him, but he lost that thought while the other men clearly awaited an answer. Roland also had a good idea of who the young scholar wizard would be, and he had no intention of killing his friend.
“I will go by myself and scout out the buildings,” he said to buy himself some time. “The rest of you will circle around the town, making sure there are no other reinforcements.”
The other wizards nodded their heads in agreement to his plan. That felt good. Someone finally appreciated him for who he was: a great wizard leader.
The men took off, and Roland walked into town. Masking the sound of his feet and staying close to the trees, he had no problem getting close to the main building. It was an inn that he recognized, one they had stayed at on the way to the Citadel. This was a strange thought, and he couldn’t place how long ago that was.
Roland peered through a side window and saw Bakari sitting next to Kharlia, the young girl he had grown attached to. Roland felt slightly envious of the young man. His own escapades with women always ended badly. Maybe it was only the conquest that held the allure for him, because boredom always followed.
Focusing back on the situation, Roland noticed the Chief Judge, his personal guard, and some other nobles, business owners, and political leaders gathered around a large table. The discussion seemed to heat up as one man stood up with his arms flapping in the air. Moving around to a window with a small crack in it, Roland tried to hear what they were saying.
“We cannot attack the Citadel,” the Chief Judge said. “That would be suicide.”
“Well, we shouldn’t sit here and do nothing either,” the man who had been so animated moments before continued. “Kanzar’s men grow more powerful every day. They already control Whalen and Cassian.”
“We will keep recruiting. We must go from town to town and let the people choose whom they will follow.”
“But Kanzar has set himself up as king. The people are flocking to a king,” another man said. “The people want a king, Sir.”
Roland blinked, surprised to hear that Kanzar was king. He shook his head to clear his mind. It was something he seemed to have forgotten. But it sounded wrong. He didn’t trust Kanzar. But, remembering the wizards that were with him earlier, he surmised that he, himself, was one Kanzar’s men. This didn’t make sense to him. He wouldn’t have chosen that.
“Maybe you should step down, Daymian.” Bakari spoke for the first time.
Roland turned his head to where Bakari sat, away from the table. He smiled at how close Bakari was sitting to Kharlia. They both held books in their hands. They made a good pair, and Bakari did raise a good point.
A thought flashed through Roland’s mind: Wait—Bakari had left with Kharlia before the group left River Bend. No one knew where they went. How could they be back here again? With that thought, Roland heard voices around him. Whipping around, he scanned the trees. Nothing there. Yet, he was sure he had heard something.
A large, meaty hand fell on his shoulder. Roland jumped and turned around to find Kanzar Centari himself, looming over him. The self-proclaimed king motioned Roland back into the trees.
“Congratulations, you found the rebels.” Kanzar considered Roland with only a hint of a smile. “This will be easy. Once and for all, we will rid ourselves of the Chief Judge and his troublemakers.”
Troublemakers? thought Roland. That group? They were trying to find peace.
“Are you ready to attack? Are the men in place?” Kanzar interrupted his thoughts.
Roland thought hard about the Chief Judge and the last time they had spoken in the Citadel. Wasn’t it only yesterday? Wait, it couldn’t have been yesterday if he was here in River Bend now. No. He had watched the Chief Judge’s speech that morning, right before…his wizard test.
The test! That was where he was now, and this was, once again, only an imaginary scenario playing out in his mind.
“Kanzar, I am surprised that you came into my test yourself,” Roland said. “Are you taking a personal interest in me?”
Kanzar’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “You cannot be aware of the test. That cannot be.”
“Surprised you again, didn’t I?” Roland said, and he opened his mouth to say more.
But, at that moment, Kanzar bellowed, “Attack!” Kanzar yelled the command to his other men.
The other wizards came running in from the woods, surrounding the small inn. Two of them busted down the front door and, with ease, killed two surprised guards. The rest of the Chief Judge’s men drew their swords.
Roland turned to Kanzar, but the man had disappeared. “Bakari,” Roland yelled through the window in warning. He knew his friend didn’t exhibit much in the way of fighting skills and would sorely lose in a battle against these men of Kanzar’s.
Leaping into action, Roland busted through a window. The Chief Judge studied him with questioning eyes.
“This is wrong,” Roland yelled. “Protect yourselves.” In his mind, Roland screamed back to the wizards in the room, This is not a test! This is a slaughter. I will not be part of this.
“What kinds of powers does this apprentice possess?” they asked among themselves.
Roland didn’t want to kill anyone, but he now knew this wasn’t real, so he plowed into Kanzar’s men with a vengeance. And, once again, realizing that he was only limited by his mind during the test, he performed tricks he normally couldn’t have done.
Running up the side of a wall, he ran across it sideways and knocked out two of Kanzar’s wizards with a strike of his hand. Two more ran toward Bakari, and Roland stopped them with a push of air, sending them head first through the wall. Was this how Alli felt when she fought? It was euphoric. Nothing could stop him.
“Kanzar!” he yelled. “Why did you run away before the fighting started?” Roland goaded the High Wizard.
Then, without warning, more men rushed into the building, with Kanzar in the lead. Roland jumped through the air, sending fire toward two of them, taking them down instantly. Then he threw a knife and hit another one.
The Chief Judge came up beside Roland, and, with Kanzar’s attention elsewhere, the Chief Judge somehow managed to stab the High Wizard with a small hidden knife. Kanzar bellowed and tried to throw a stream of fire at the Chief Judge, but his pain seemed to have limited the use of his magic.
Two wizards picked up Kanzar and began moving him out of the building, protecting their master. Another one battled Bakari. Roland rushed to the aid of his friends, only to slip on something and miss the man by inches. The man then turned and sliced Kharlia down her thigh.
A scream pierced the building. Then two screams: Kharlia’s pain and Bakari’s anger. Bakari closed his eyes briefly, and a dozen birds came flying through the broken window. These pecked at the man that had stabbed Kharlia until he lay on the floor dead.
Roland turned around, ready to take on another attacker, to see that the only ones left were the two wizards with Kanzar.
“Come with us, wizard.” They reached their hands out toward him. “We must get King Kanzar back to the Citadel in time to be healed.”
“He is no king of mine,” Roland spat and roared these same words at them through his mind. He knew the Wizard Council was now in upheaval. Many scrambled across the floor, Kanzar being one of them. The High Wizard had come into Roland’s test too strongly.
Roland realized now that, although this test occurred in his mind, the wizards could be hurt still, not physically but mentally, magically, and emotiona
lly. The strain he had put on them, with his knowledge of what was happening and with the ensuing fight, had exhausted them. This knowledge he kept in a part of his mind that they couldn’t see. It was something he had over them—all of them—even Kanzar.
“Roland!” shouted Bakari.
Roland turned toward his friend. Bakari was kneeling down next to Kharlia, tears trailing down his cheeks.
“Heal her, please!” Bakari asked with such raw emotion that Roland himself could hardly hold back tears. Bakari was the closest thing he had to a friend. Roland had teased him a lot and knew Bakari would never be as great of a wizard as he, but Roland would help him, even if this was only in his mind—because this was the right thing to do, to help his friend.
“You need to come back with us, Roland,” the other wizards said. “Kanzar is suffering and needs help. If you don’t come with us, you won’t pass the test.”
Roland stopped dead in his tracks. What did they mean, he wouldn’t pass the test? How could they not let him pass, after all the power and abilities he had shown them? He reached inward once again and saw the testing room. He still sat in the testing chair.
Looking up in the testing room, he saw Kanzar, writhing with pain. Onius sat nearby with barely disguised anger.
“Roland, she is losing too much blood,” Bakari said, bringing Roland’s attention back to Kharlia again, if only in his mind.
“Ahhhhhhhh,” Roland roared with frustration. Why must everyone want him? It wasn’t a fair test: to choose between becoming a wizard or helping his friend. He looked back and forth between the two groups and then fully realized what he needed to do.
He would heal. He had done it twice before; he would do it twice again. Running to Kharlia, he knelt down beside her. Her breathing was labored, her leg slick with blood. He placed one hand over her leg, sank his mind deep into her wound and chanted a spell. He felt the veins healing, and blood stopped leaking out. The tissue gathered together once again, and her flesh mended itself.
Opening his eyes, he saw a hint of color return to her face. Bakari reached his hand over to Roland’s shoulder and thanked him, then turned his attention back to Kharlia.
Roland then stood, letting a small wave of dizziness end before he walked over to Kanzar and the other two wizards. In his mind, back in the Wizard Council, he could hear them marveling at his healing of Kharlia, especially after he had expelled so much energy in the fight.
“I will heal you, Kanzar, but only if you will name me a wizard, as is warranted by the power I have shown in these tests.” Roland spoke these words out loud and in his mind.
“Boy, you have the gall to threaten me?” came the reply. “You have broken so many rules—”
“Rules? Rules you did not tell me. I’ve not broken any rules. I have only shown you things you never thought possible. You should be happy and excited to have my abilities as a wizard. I broke through the mind barrier, communicated with you, controlled a tempest, led the wizards back to the Citadel, and now healed someone. How am I not a full-fledged wizard?”
The wizards conferred among themselves. Some agreed with his argument; others not. He placed his hand on Kanzar’s gut and felt the sword wound inside. Instead of healing it, Roland first prodded deeper, bringing more pain to this man who would stop him from becoming a wizard.
Kanzar roared deeply and reached his mind out to stop Roland, but he was too weak.
“I could take your life now, Kanzar,” Roland said in anger and exhaustion.
“No, Roland. This is not what you want,” Onius said, speaking up for the first time. “We all acknowledge your power, and you will be named a wizard if you heal Kanzar. But, if you cause him any more pain, you will be killed here, in the chair, where you sit.”
“Level-four wizard!” Roland yelled in response.
Again sounds of confusion and disbelief broke out among the Council.
But Onius only said, “Heal him.”
Roland dug deeply into the wound and then closed it up, layer by layer, fusing organs back together and bringing the flesh back to new. Soon he removed his hand from the wound, leaving only a small scar on Kanzar’s side.
“I leave this scar for you to remember me by.”
Roland then lifted his head up. Once again, he sat in the chair in the middle of the Wizard Council. The chairs were now strewn across the balcony and floor of the testing room. Some wizards looked sick or ready to faint.
Kanzar pulled himself up off the floor and lifted his cloak. There, on his right side, sat a thin scar.
The High Wizard’s eyes blazed with a deadly look, and Roland knew he needed to be careful around the man.
“Congratulations, Roland Tyre,” Kanzar said, forcing the words out, barely holding on to a modicum of control. “You are the newest level-four wizard. As is our rule, let nothing that happened in here today be spoken of outside of these walls. You are dismissed.”
Roland headed toward the door and, with one hand on the handle, turned back to his older mentor, Onius Neeland. Roland was now one level higher than his mentor—well, former mentor—and he knew that, one day soon, he would be a level-five wizard—the most powerful wizard of all.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Erryl stood in the circle with the other guardians in Celestar once again. He had dreaded the daily ritual because he was becoming bored of it. But a part of him still delighted in it because he could be part of the awesome power of the Orb. One by one, the guardians took turns placing their hands on the Orb and feeding it their own life source. Each time, the Orb glowed brighter for a brief moment.
In the last week, the Orb had once again grown larger. It was now the size of a man. Erryl thought back to the day when the Orb had spoken to his mind. He remembered its command to find someone, but he didn’t know whom or how. He had always felt anxious to leave Celestar and see the world around him. But, could he really leave when it came down to it? How would he survive?
It was now his turn, and he placed his hand on the Orb, as he always had. Instantly, he sensed his own life source being drained out of him, feeding the Orb. He knew what they did here was a great service and a sacrifice for all of Alaris. But he wondered if the rest of the people in the land even realized where the barrier got its power from. It was a thankless job, but Erryl felt a sense of personal pride in knowing he was a part of protecting their land.
As he had done for the past week, he tried now to listen to the Orb again—but it stayed silent. No other directions came to him. He frowned but kept his hand on the Orb until his turn was finished.
Pulling his hand away, Erryl closed his eyes and let the next guardian take her turn. Time seemed to stretch forward endlessly as they stood there around the Orb, basking in its power. Then Erryl felt a lurching in the power, and someone screamed and fell out of the circle. He opened his eyes and saw his mother on the other side of the ring of guardians, sprawled out on the marble floor. Forgetting their protocol, he broke the circle as both of his hands left the chain of guardians.
“No,” yelled one of the protectors from outside of the circle. “Guardians, close ranks now.”
The Orb flared suddenly, growing thinner and brighter for a moment, almost as if it had sensed their apprehension. Erryl turned toward it and thought he saw a faint outline of a creature inside the Orb—a creature with wings. As soon as he had seen it, though, it faded away, and other guardians filled in where Erryl and his mother had left the circle.
He wondered if anyone else had seen what he had. But he pushed thoughts of the Orb out of his mind and fell to the floor beside his mother. He put his hand to her cheek and held back his own tears.
“Mother, Mother, are you all right?”
His mother’s eyes flickered open, and she smiled ever so slightly. “Erryl.” Her lips parted.
Soon his father stood over him. He had not broken the chain. How could he have not? His wife lay on the floor.
His father shook his head. “It is her time. You must get back int
o the circle, Erryl. Do not forget your duties.”
“My duties?” Erryl couldn’t believe that his father could be so callous.
“We all face it, Son. She has done all that was expected from her, but now she is too weak. The guardians cannot be weak. Someone else must take her place now.”
Erryl felt anger rise within him, a feeling he found foreign compared to his peaceful life as a guardian. Then he noticed how hard his father was clenching his neighbors’ hands on either side, his knuckles white. He studied his father’s face. The glow from the Orb reflected lightly off a tear rolling down his cheek.
“But she is your wife,” Erryl said.
“I know, Erryl.” His father let out a small sob. “That is what makes remembering my duty so much harder.”
His mother groaned one last time, and then her eyes closed. A protector came over and moved Erryl aside, picking up his mother in his arms.
“Behold the guardian,” the protector said. “She has given her life source in the service of the Orb. She has sacrificed all to fulfill her duty. May her sacrifice be remembered always.”
The older members of the circle repeated, “May her sacrifice be remembered always.”
The words felt uncomfortably rote and stiff to Erryl. He had been allowed into this circle, with the true Orb of Life, only a few months ago, since he turned fourteen. This was the first time he had personally seen this happen. Now he knew what happened to guardians who disappeared from Celestar.
The Orb of Life glowed brighter as the protector placed the body on the floor next to the pedestal. Tendrils of light came out and wrapped themselves around her small, frail, tender body. A small cry escaped Erryl’s lips. He closed his eyes to fight back tears.
When he opened them again, his mother had vanished and the light of the Orb returned to normal. Another protector guided him back to the circle. He grabbed the others’ hands again and stood numbly as the guardians finished their session.
By the time they had finished the ritual, Erryl was more exhausted than normal. So he passed by the diner, where they fed the guardians, and went directly to his small home. The rooms didn’t seem as bright and inviting as they usually did.