“He would be dead.”
“True, but at least we would be alive.”
“I don’t trust the Mezzlyn,” Wytlethane said.
“Neither do I, but our options are limited. We do not even know what the Master’s orders were. They may be here for us as well.”
“How can we possibly infiltrate their ranks?”
“Just look at me. If I turn up with information about the boy, I can offer to lead them to him. They won’t recognize me – you didn’t. You can stay at distance, and I’ll contact you when the time is right. What do you think?”
“It might work,” Wytlethane said slowly. “Or you might get killed.”
“I’m not that easy to kill,” Branock scoffed. “Besides, I doubt you’d lose much sleep if that happened.”
“True enough,” Wytlethane conceded. He actually thought the idea of not having to put up with Branock was divine, but he was also afraid. If they failed, that would mean Branock’s death and, by proxy, his own. Still, he could think of no better plan.
“Alright,” said the elder Wizard. “Infiltrate them and report their plans to me.”
“Of course,” Branock said. Inside he was bristling at Wytlethane’s superior tone, but he held himself in check. If things worked out, carrying out his master plan might be easier than he anticipated. “I should go,” he said, standing.
Wytlethane merely waved his hand as a platter of food was set before him by the elderly maid. Branock helped himself to a small loaf of warm bread and the full bottle of wine the maid had brought.
“I’ll not be needing that room after all,” he said as he strode out of the common room. At the door, he was met by an icy blast of wind. He wrapped his scarf around his head and smiled, then stepped out into the cold twilight. He couldn’t help but smile. Things were finally working out in his favor. He had bet his future on his alliance with Prince Simmeron, and now it looked as if that gamble would pan out. He recalled a sailor’s song he had learned as a boy and began whistling as he rode off through the snow toward the harbor, where he expected to find the Mezzlyn and his future.
Epilogue
The Master paced back and forth in his tower. He had felt the surge and sent all his evil intent toward the boy, but he had been rejected. Sentimental fool, the ancient Wizard thought to himself. It was a shame such power had to be destroyed. The boy had already disrupted his plans. Cassis was dead, and now he would have to send his most secret and powerful weapon to intercept the boy if he moved south. Still, the assassins might succeed. He had little faith in the tottering old fool Wytlethane, nor in the scheming Branock. But there was still a chance.
He remembered the days when he had been young. He had traveled the Five Kingdoms and battled his way to supremacy. He had no desire to do that now. He would send the twins. He could count on their combined power and absolute loyalty. He had given the girls everything they wanted and kept them from the other Wizards. When the spring thaws came, he would send them north. Until then, he would have to wait. He could feel the world powers moving, propelling him forward, toward his destiny – to rule the Five Kingdoms and be the sole source of magical power in all the land. To do that, he would have to kill, but he had no qualms about shedding innocent blood. When the time came, and it would be soon, he would come down from his tower and let the world tremble at his feet. He was Offendorl, Master of the Torr, and all would know his name and fear him.
***
Zollin opened his eyes. Brianna was there, sitting on a stool beside his bed. His stomach growled loudly, and she smiled. Her eyes were blue around the edges, and turned a rich, green color toward the dark pupil. It reminded Zollin of autumn leaves.
“How long have I been asleep?” he asked. His voice was raspy from his parched throat.
“Almost a day and half,” Brianna said. “But Master Kelvich says that's normal. Here, have some water.”
She raised a cup to his lips and let the cool water trickle in. It tasted better than any drink he had ever had. He sucked greedily at it until the cup ran dry. She poured more water from a pitcher near the head of Zollin's bed. He drank that down too, feeling the cold liquid run down his throat and into his empty stomach.
“Master Kelvich said you would be hungry too,” she said, helping him sit up.
His head was a little dizzy, but otherwise he felt okay. She settled a tray with soup and bread onto his lap, and he smiled. The warm soup smelled so delicious, he couldn't help himself and started eating right away.
“You are hungry,” she said, smiling.
He nodded, and after a few more mouthfuls, he managed to ask a question.
“How's my father?”
“He's fine. Working, of course. He and Mansel are next door, but they should be here soon.”
At the mention of Mansel, a dark cloud appeared over Zollin. He wanted to tell Brianna how he felt about her, that she was constantly in his thoughts, that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, that he would do anything for her. But what if that caused more problems? He thought about his dilemma as he spooned more soup into his mouth. If she and Mansel were together, declaring his love could drive them all apart. But he wasn't sure if he could hold back his feelings. She was watching him, her autumn eyes peering deeply into his soul.
“Is there something on your mind?” she asked.
“No,” he said with his mouth full.
“I'm glad you're okay,” she said softly. “I was worried about you.”
“Worried?” he said bashfully. “Why?”
“It's just, when I saw you lying on the floor, bleeding...” she let the thought trail off.
“I don't know what I would have done if Mansel hadn't saved you,” she said.
Saved me, he thought to himself. Mansel didn't save me, I saved him, he wanted to say, but he knew that Mansel had stepped in right as the assassin Allistair was about to kill him. I guess Mansel hadn't mentioned the fact that I saved him from the assassin's knife, he thought bitterly. But now he knew he couldn't say anything. He owed Mansel that much. Brianna obviously loved him and he would not divide her heart.
“Yeah,” he said. “Mansel was terrific.”
She smiled, and it felt like a knife in Zollin's heart. He wished he had died. He closed his eyes and yawned. He knew it was rude, but he couldn't help it. Besides, Brianna being this close only made him yearn for her, and that was a longing he could never fulfill.
“I'll let you sleep,” she said.
She took the tray, and Zollin lay back on his pillows. He closed his eyes and saw Todrek's face. His friend, Brianna's slain husband, smiled at him. It was the first time he had remembered his friend without seeing Todrek's angry glare, or his face contorted with pain and fear as he bled to death outside Zollin's home in Tranaugh Shire. I've got to let go of her, he thought as if he were speaking to his friend. He heard the door close as Brianna left and heard voices in the hallway outside. He recognized Mansel's somber tones although he could not hear what the older boy said. Tears sprang from his eyes and he felt the aching loneliness he had always felt for his mother springing up again, swallowing his hope and happiness. Then sleep came, and he floated away into the bliss of nothingness where his wounded heart no longer ached.
***
“Is he awake?” Mansel asked.
“Yes, he ate and drank a little, then went back to sleep.”
She made her way down the hallway of the Valley Inn toward the large common room.
“Did you tell him how you feel?” Mansel asked.
“No, I...” she wasn't sure why she hadn't said anything. “I didn't think the time was right,” she lied. She knew why she hadn't said anything – it was because she would have sworn Zollin was about to say something. Not that she knew what he would say, probably that he wished she had never come with him, but she had hoped he might say that he cared for her. She had realized that she loved him, but she didn't know how to show it. Sometimes she thought he felt the same way, and sometimes he a
cted like he hated her. She knew he blamed her for Todrek's death. She blamed herself too, but she knew she was supposed to leave Tranaugh Shire with Zollin. She had dreamed it, and even if he rejected her, she would never regret it. Her dream had almost come true, she had almost been left behind, and the thought of it had filled her with dread. Now a new fear was rising. She was still seeing the evil man with the ruined eye in her dreams. She always awoke to the sound of marching feet and screams of horror. She didn't know why she needed to be here, with Zollin, but she did and that was enough for now.
Magic Awakening
© Toby Neighbors, 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any print or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Published by Mythic Adventure Publishing
Greenville, Texas, U.S.A.
Copy-editing by Alexandra Charles
http://aacharles.elance.com
Cover design by Camille Denae
Dragon artwork by Ariel Hogan
Find out more about Toby Neighbors and join the mailing list to receive an email whenever new titles become available at www.tobyneighbors.com
Dedication:
To Jim and Carolyn Johnson,
With your support and encouragement we are living our dreams.
Thank you for being such great friends.
And to the love of my life
Camille.
Your love and strength make every story possible.
I love you.
Prologue
The beast felt the shock of power, although it was deep in its hibernating sleep. Hundreds of years had passed since it last opened its scaly eyelids. The fat that kept it warm through the years was gone now, but the lair, deep in the earth, was well above freezing, despite the fact that it was high in the mountains. The thick rock maintained a constant temperature, and the dragon's body shed heat like a bonfire. Still, it shivered and the beast’s pale, outer skin sloughed off.
The pulse of magical power echoed in his mind as a growl rumbled through his thick chest. Dark smoke rose from his nostrils. His stomach burned with hunger, but he wasn't ready to wake yet. Without opening his eyes, he unhinged his jaw and let flames jet into the darkness. The light flared through his thin, scaly eyelids, but the heat from the fire that was bouncing off the walls and igniting the skin he had shed, felt blissful. He stretched his legs, his wings, his long neck and tail, then settled back down into the smooth depression where he slept. The temperature in the cave had risen dramatically, and the rock walls of the dragon's lair began to weep.
The beast, whose newly shed hide was burned completely to ash, lay gleaming in the darkness. The ashes glowed red and cast the only light in the cave, which reflected off the condensation that now covered the rocky walls and winked off the dragon’s shinning scales as it breathed deeply, sliding slowly back into slumber.
Remember, it thought as it lingered between waking and sleep. Remember the magic. The dragon could sense the magic, as bright as the flames that he had just spewed through the darkness of his lair. It was powerful and enticing, like the smell of roasting meat. He wanted that magic, that bright pulse of power that quickened his blood and sent dreams of conquest once more through his mind as he drifted off to sleep again.
***
Black smoke rose from the mouth of the cave where the sudden blast of heat had blown through the snow that covered the dragon's lair. The smoke was dark and carried a sulfurous stench, had anyone been close enough to smell it. Against the bright snow, where the sun was reflecting off the high mountains, the smoke stood out in contrast. It would have been an ominous sign, had there been anyone around to see it, but the dragon had made his home high in the treacherous mountain peaks where the only way to access the entrance was to climb the vertical cliff faces for hundreds of feet. Unless, of course, you could fly, but even the eagles who kept their nests high among the mountain peaks stayed far away from this area. Most predators have an instinctive knowledge of danger, and so the mountains around the dragon's lair were abandoned, except for one lone climber. He didn't see the smoke, his focus was entirely on the ledge where he had managed to find a slight perch and rest his weary arms and legs after the tedious climb. He was a young man, an adventurer from the valley, who spent most of his time in the mountains.
When the super heated smoke blew out the entrance to the cave, chunks of ice and snow rained down the mountainside. The man braced himself, pushing his body as close to the cliff face as possible. He thought the snow and ice was an avalanche, and he shut his eyes and held his breath instinctively, but after the initial drop of snow, everything settled back down. Before long the climber was ascending the mountain once more.
It took him two more hours to reach the cave, although he had no idea he was even approaching it. When his thickly gloved hand reached the hole in the side of the mountain, he expected it to be another perch were he might stop and rest. He was hungry, and the thought of finding a suitable place to rest was welcome.
Even though he was covered from head to toe in thick wool and waterproof venison hide, he could feel the warmth from the cave as he scrambled into the opening. He was surprised by the cave; although there were many caves in the mountains, he couldn't remember finding one this high up. There was plenty of daylight left, but he didn't expect to be able to find a more suitable place to camp for the night. Here he could rest, even warm up a little, then push on to the summit in the morning, he reasoned. It seemed like a good idea and, after unslinging his pack and eating some of the dried rations and sipping the water in his canteen, he decided to explore the cave a little.
He had a small torch in his pack, which he lit with flint and a thick steel knife. He knew it was foolish, but he kept the knife out. Just having the weapon in his hand bolstered his confidence as he entered the pitch darkness of the cave. Outside the sun was bright and reflected off the snowy mountains until a person was forced to squint in the dazzling light. A few steps into the cave and the darkness swallowed every bit of sunlight. The torch seemed weak and inadequate, the flickering, yellow light casting shadows all around the climber.
The cave sloped down into the mountain, and the air grew warmer as the man navigated the twisting tunnel. The sides of the cave were rough, but not overly jagged. It didn't seem like a crack in the mountain, as many caves were, nor did it seem to have been formed by water. It was probably a vent that released superheated gases from deep in the earth, the man decided. He was about to turn back when he came around a corner into a larger cavern. The floor was level here and smooth. Along the sides of the cave, the torch light now reflected back at him. Where the stone had seemed to absorb the light in the cave tunnel, in the cavern it was bright from just the single torch. The man inspected the wall closest to him and found that the wall was smooth, yellow gold. He couldn't really believe what he was seeing. He had seen a gold vein before; it was usually mixed with quartz, which was white, and the vein was jagged like a lightning bolt captured in stone.
The man rubbed a gloved hand over the wall, amazed. He was about to return to the surface for his climbing hammer when he remembered the knife in his hand. He pressed the thick blade into the wall, which gave way under the pressure. He angled the blade down and, with a little effort, shaved a sliver of gold from the wall. He pulled off his thick glove and turned the metal over and over in his hand. It was pure and heavy. He couldn't believe it.
There was a rasp from deeper into the cavern, beyond the glow from his torch. It sounded like a tree with rough bark being dragged along the ground. The man froze, his blood turning icy in his veins. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and his legs felt weak. He turned and looked into the darkness as he slowly backed toward the entrance to the cave. He had forgotten about the gold, and the knife. He clutched his ungloved hand to his chest an
d held the torch out toward the rear of the cavern, at arm’s length.
The rasp came again and then out of the darkness came a pale, snake like appendage. It whipped forward and knocked the man's legs out from under him. The torch fell to the floor but didn't go out. The man screamed in agony, his leg broken from the blow. He pushed himself along the smooth floor, noticing for the first time that the cavern floor was also smooth, yellow gold, not stone. He scrambled forward, despite the wrenching pain, desperate to escape whatever lived in the cave.
He couldn't believe how stupid he had been. His father had warned him that nothing good lived in the mountains; that his "thirst for adventure," as his father called it, would lead to his death. He should have stayed on the farm. He could have married and lived in peace. He didn't want to be in the mountains anymore. It was stupid to have come, he cursed himself. What had he been thinking? He didn't want to die here. How was he going to climb down the mountain with a broken leg?
Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03 Page 28