The City of Wizards

by George Mazurek

  THE CITY OF WIZARDS

  The Book 1 of the Averot’h Saga

  By George Mazurek

  Text Copyright © 2015 George Mazurek

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover art and Illustration © 2015 Barbora Frankova

  All Rights Reserved

  e-mail: mazurekgeorge@gmail.com

  Revised: October 20, 2015

  To my family: Jane, John and James, and my brother Pavel

  Table of contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  INTERMEZZO

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  EPILOGUE

  LIST OF CHARACTERS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  AFTERWORD

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  My brother Lokmi took me to the mythical city of Averot’h on my eighteenth birthday. Supposedly to see the ‘big world’ outside our farm, but I suspect he just wanted me to be a witness of his glorious victory at a Tournament of Magic, the famous event held every four years.

  By the way, Lokmi is a miserable wizard, no more than a lousy village enchanter and fairly less than a fairground magician. It's no surprise, as he comes from a mixed marriage of an oracle and a trifling peasant. Honestly, his chances to win the tournament are slim to none, but I'm smart enough to keep quiet. After all, he towers over me by a few inches, and his fists can make sand out of a stone...

  We set out on the journey on a cold, foggy morning. The grass was covered with dew, and the air was dead calm. We could hear the distant roaring of the Yellow River, but it was the only sound near and far. Soon, our house, barn, and windmill faded away in the mist. I was leaving home without a word, preoccupied with my own thoughts. I experienced mixed feelings, both excitement and uneasiness, for I was leaving everything I knew and loved, and for my mother's words when she bade me farewell.

  What does the future hold for us? Are we going to return home some day?

  We traveled fourteen days to the north on mules, leaving behind the fertile grasslands and pine forests of our homeland. Here and there we met other pilgrims and shared the latest news and the warmth of fire with them. We crossed three rivers and went around a dam with emerald waters before a dusty road brought us to a plain hemmed by a snow-white border wall stretching across the horizon.

  On the north side of the wall, the human world ends, and the world of wizards begins. In the middle, the wall opens up to a circle, where four towers and hundreds of palaces rise to the iris sky, shrouding thousands of winding lanes in their shadows, creating the only place where both races, humans and wizards, live in peace together. Nobody knows who built this glorious city, but legends say it has been here since the beginning of time.

  We reached the city at dawn, just in time.

  The first tournament day had just begun...

  CHAPTER 1

  Day one

  We approached a drawbridge under a chalk white donjon tower. At its saw-toothed top, white and red flags flew in the wind.

  The southern gate was guarded by two royal armigers with the city's coat of arms on their chests. Averoth's emblem, two shaking hands on white and red background, symbolized peaceful coexistence of the two races sharing the city.

  Our mules stepped onto the paved road inside the city with kicking and irritated brays, but after a while they calmed down. The streets were so broad that three carriages could ride side by side, and the buildings rose so tall that their rooftops almost touched the skies.

  We found lodging at an inn overgrown with ivy except for its wine-colored doors and window shutters.

  “Blessings to your house,” Lokmi greeted Quasim, a dumpy human innkeeper with a moustache behind the bar.

  “And yours as well,” replied the man. “I'm at your service...”

  “We are going to stay for a week,” my brother said, “we'll pay for beds and breakfast.”

  “You are welcome, dear noblemen. The price is ten copper dimes for a room.”

  Lokmi paid the amount. “By the way, how far is the Arena?”

  “One hour by foot, sir.” Quasim caught sight of his brother's largest piece of luggage, wrapped carelessly in a grey spotted sheet not much cleaner than our clothes. “Or ten times faster with a tephir. Would you care for something to eat or drink?”

  “Maybe later. At the moment we need a rest.”

  Lokmi turned to me grinning and poked his elbow into my ribs. “Let's sleep for an hour and then visit the city, Syrdan. I can't wait to see the tournament!”

  I sighed.

  He is like a child...

  Quasim took off an oily apron. “Please, follow me...”

  We crossed the bar room crowded with a noisy mess of humans and wizards and climbed an iron ladder to the second floor. Quasim gave a nod to the first bedroom on the right. Inside we found two old pallets, a wardrobe standing on a worn out carpet, stained walls and a window with a broken windowpane. There was a stinky chamber pot lying in a corner. This was the maximum luxury we could afford...

  Lokmi flopped down onto the nearest pallet, arranged his haversack under his nape, and fell asleep with a delightful smile.

  I sat down on the opposite pallet. Well, it's easy to say ‘take a nap’ when your bed lies in the heart of Averot’h!

  I took a long glance out of the window.

  The four tallest spires were known to me from my mother's telling. The white one with a black top was the mythical Mag’reb, the seat of a Warlock, the mightiest wizard under the sun. The golden King's Spire of Rodan the Third glowed so brightly that my eyes began to weep. Council's tower, called Ka’tan, seemed to absorb all of the coming light with its ash-grey dragon scale-like surface. The Gatherings tower of city lords was the lowest but still magnificent in its silver-scarlet attire.

  The Four represented the powers ruling Averot’h. Both worlds, human and magical, took care of their own business separately, but in the matters concerning the whole city the two sides had an equal number of votes and followed the famous Rikard's Convention, a two centuries old peace treaty between humans and wizards.

  I wonder how it works... Lokmi and I are two as well, but we can't agree on anything...

  ♠

  Mag’reb...

  For children and wizard infants the mere mention of the tower was a more powerful incantation than any other. No human foot, not even that of a king, had ever stepped inside. Only members of the Council knew what it harbored indoors. It stood over the city like a spear, touching the clouds on rainy days. Of all of the towers, Mag’reb was the highest.

  I leaned out of the window of the inn and looked down upon the streets and markets below. My movement disturbed a flock of pigeons. They flew from the rafters and soared to the north. Out of the shade of Ka’tan a raven emerged and attacked the flock from behind. Feathers burst in the air and the raven dove to the ground with a bird in his claws.

  I couldn't expel the disturbing scene from my mind.

  “Syrdan, where are you?” My brother's sleepy voice interrupted my thoughts. “It's time to go!”

  I turned from the window unwillingly.

  “I'm coming ...”

  ♠

  “What do you think? Does it suit me?” Lokmi put on a cone hat with silver stars in his favorite color of ripe plums.

  We had stopped at a clothes shop on a lively street. Kids ran here and there under burly sycamores. Adolescents played hunger games with small balls of bread while adults were busy trading and exchanging all sorts of goods. In the shadows of the trees, old men and women were relaxing. Above them
, wizards flew calmly on their tephirs, magical beasts, half things and half animals. Lokmi owns an old tephir as well, but he can't fly it properly, so he prefers walking.

  “It's awful,” I commented, “One would confuse you with an owl...”

  Lokmi looked hurt. “Every true wizard wears such a hat!”

  “Perhaps they use some spell, which makes them look great...”

  My brother's expression got even more pitiful. He threw the hat back in merchant's hands.

  “Let's go!”

  Lokmi does not master many spells. If my memory is correct, I have seen only one. He changed a red apple into something that looked like a red pear with a loathsome taste... I really doubt his success at the tournament...

  “Move on, you lazy goat!” Lokmi pushed me further.

  We passed stalls with carpets, quilts, flowers, spices, wooden tools, fish, and birds before we got to wizards' fruits and vegetables. These articles clearly demonstrated a practical side of wizards' magic. They offered transparent watermelons so one could see inside whether it was ripe. Carrots were so soft that even a toothless old man could eat them, and potatoes had a tasty skin so they needn't be peeled.

  “What is it?” I pointed to a finger-like rainbow sprout.

  “It's called sa’ne, young lord,” replied a seller-wizard in perfect human speech.

  His eyes were all black without a trace of white and he wore dreadlocks with green and yellow beads in his hair. He stared at me closely. “It's used to dispel fatigue or to heal wounds. You eat it and you can work for a week without a rest.”

  In humans' eyes white surrounds the pupil, but wizards' eyes are compact and change colors to reflect different emotions. In Lokmi's eyes brown pupils are hemmed by a light grey so the final impression is both wizard and a man.

  “Don't be silly!” My brother whispered and pulled my sleeve away. “Do you know how much it costs?”

  I shrugged my shoulders to the merchant in apology. “Thank you anyway…”

  The man bowed twice. “You are welcome, my lord.”

  I was stunned by his respect for an ordinary boy.

  “Don't keep us, we must go to the Arena before it's too late,” Lokmi hurried me.

  I left the merchant reluctantly.

  “Did you notice his politeness?” I asked. “I like the way wizards behave to humans. They show us respect so both races can live here together in peace and harmony.”

  “No surprise at all,” Lokmi hinted. “We need each other. It's time to teach you a business lesson, brother. Consider wine, for example. Wizards like wine, but grapes can't grow on the north side of the wall, so they buy them here from some human grower and pay by a spell which increases harvests, thus all parties are satisfied at the end. Look at that!”

  I stopped, dazzled completely.

  This is the Arena!

  The magical structure didn't look like any other building I'd seen before. White as ivory, it arched sixty feet from the ground, but its facade was not constructed by any means. The entrance to the Arena was nothing less than a rib cage of a giant dragon!

  ♠

  From dragon's ribs blossoms of all colors were pouring down like a waterfall.

  Amusing welcome-spell indeed...

  When we plunged into the flow, I recognized that at least some of the blooms were genuine. I tried to catch a rose but in vain.

  We climbed a staircase while sounds of drums and flutes filled the air. An elderly wizard, all in white, stood up at the highest point and struck the ground with his staff.

  The music stopped.

  “Bai’le!” The wizard pronounced the word so that it could be heard miles away.

  “That word means begin in wizards' language,” Lokmi whispered reverently. “The tournament is open.”

  ♠

  The wooden seats in the Arena are not very comfortable, but it's not important. One has a clear and unobstructed view of the plain below, and that is important.

  We sat in the human section next to a fat man; behind us a long-haired girl took her place. Empty rows were occupied quickly. I tried to count all of the seats, but I gave up at three hundred and twenty six, though I had counted one tenth of the auditorium only...

  Meanwhile, Lokmi explained the system of the competition. Unlike duels, fights of two, magical combats are truels, which means three wizards battle at once. The ground plan of the Arena is triangular, and each corner belongs to one wizard. The truel has some advantages. The fight is more fierce and complex; it enables the formation of alliances of two against one, which means a stronger wizard may be defeated by two inferiors.

  But it also endorses wickedness and treachery...

  A wizard can attack an arbitrary opponent anytime and in any manner (with the exception of death-spells), and a victor advances to the next round until a winner of the tournament is celebrated by a crowd. At the end of the day all spells are undone by the Universal Restoration Spell, thus no one is truly harmed. Help from outside is strictly forbidden and is punishable by death. The winner is offered an honorary seat of the Council, and he can even challenge a Warlock, but this is just plain theory. No one challenges a Warlock. His power is incomprehensible even for the most experienced wizards.

  I confess, without my brother's explanations I would be completely lost. I saw a truel where a wizard left his corner without any reason, but Lokmi pointed out that the wizard was a victim of a tricky indifference spell. In the following truel a bald-headed wizard incapacitated his rivals with a stabbing spell. Opponents were sent to the ground bleeding, and I have noticed wizards' blood was the same as mine. In another truel an older wizard cleverly deflected an incoming spell, it hit his third rival, who fell to the ground with a painful muscle cramp and was forced to shout, “Abandon!”, meaning his tournament days were over.

  “Did you see that?” Lokmi asked. “That was a true masterpiece!”

  In the next truel a young wizard in green and red performed funny spells for the audience's amusement. He transformed his first rival into a toad and the second into a puddle of water. When the frog leapt into the puddle with a loud croak, the stands exploded with laughter.

  A small dragon-like lizard called Skw’r spat his flammable saliva at the victor's feet, and this meant the next round was coming soon. It was a spectacular show without any doubt...

  Humans applauded and wizards bowed their heads and whistled in appreciation whenever a successful piece of magic dazzled the playing field.

  Only the highest stands on the wizards' side kept silent. It was a place of the thirteen Council members, or ka’tans in short. Their long-coats were clipped with spiral triangles, the insignia of the Council. They leaned on their black ceremonial staffs while watching the action below. Some called them half-warlocks due to their immense power and influence. They represented the will of all wizards in Averot’h. And at the end of the row Martell the Burned, the supreme ka’tan and Council's head, occupied a special chair coated in red baize with high armrests inlaid with silver.

  Only a short glance toward him sent shivers down my spine. He was an incarnation of a devil itself. Even his long crimson hair couldn't hide the black-burned half of his face. The way he slouched in his seat reminded me of an eagle ready to catch its prey...

  “The wound on his face is due to Gael the Just, the overthrown Warlock.” Lokmi was reading my mind. “In a memorable challenge some twenty five years ago, Gael was defeated and sent into nonexistence by Ver’del the Great, the present Warlock. Martell became the supreme of the Council then. Only the most respectable wizards sit in the Council. Maybe one day I'll be promoted to the Council too. But it's not easy, though. One must pass the Trial of the Three Elements, earth, fire and water, which is extremely difficult and dangerous because those, who fail, are sent into nonexistence. Tomorrow and the next day I'll practice some useful magic and then I'm going to enter the last truel of the first round.”

  Somewhere deep inside I hoped he would change his mind and withdra
w from the tournament after all that splendid witchcraft we experienced today, but he is as stubborn as a mule.

  At least I was relieved by knowing the defeated wizards were not harmed. I had only one brother, annoying at times, but I liked him nevertheless...

  ♠

  At dusk the show was over and the crowd headed towards the steep staircases on the Arena's outer edge. Suddenly, the wooden stairs under my boots cracked, and in a split second I was falling through the stairs to the ground some forty feet below. A hand caught me and I grabbed the banister on my right and regain my footing again, sweating and shivering.

  Oh dear, I could be dead...

  I turned. The rabble was getting thicker, driving me downstairs. Whoever had helped me, he was gone.

  I thanked my anonymous savior and raised my head to look for Lokmi. He was some ten stairs ahead.

  Good.

  We met safely on the ground. Lokmi proposed to go for dinner, but I considered it too offensive for my shrunken stomach.

  So we split up. Lokmi went to the nearest tavern leaving me to dawdle home.

  At the central cemetery I passed an old beggar, the only one I had seen so far. I tossed a copper dime into his lap.

  “You are a true son of your father,” the beggar replied.

  The sentence whirled in my head.

  My father was in Averot’h?

  He died when I was a kid. I didn't know him well, but I never thought he traveled this far.

  Strange...

  Before the night fell, I stopped by a clothing stall and bought a red shirt with blue stripes and a pair of black trousers. I felt ashamed of my tattered clothing. When I was packing the new garments into my bag, I collided with somebody.

  “I beg your pardon,” I apologized swiftly.

  The wizard, whom I hit, straightened up, and I stumbled backwards in awe. He was more than two feet taller and ages older than me...

  In his eyes red mixed with grey in wrath, and then I recognized Mag’reb with the mouth of some terrible beast that attacked me with a blood curdling scream...