Fate of Wizardoms Boxed Set

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  A man dressed in a dark blue coat over a white doublet bowed. “Good evening, Wizardess.” He held his hand toward Jerrell, who took it gently before climbing out. The man gestured toward the open castle doors. “The party is inside.”

  “Thank you,” Jerrell said in a high voice.

  Deliberately and with his hips swaying, Jerrell climbed the stairs and entered the castle. He paused inside the doorway to scan the crowd.

  A vaulted, mural-covered ceiling capped an entrance hall three stories tall. The massive chandelier hanging over the room held dozens of lit candles. Wizards and wizardesses mingled in the space – the men dressed in robes of various colors, the women in gowns. Masks, decorated with sequins that sparkled when they moved, covered the upper half of the guests’ faces.

  Numerous men in the room noticed Jerrell, their gazes sweeping the length of his body. He ignored them. He was only seeking one man. His head on a swivel, he scanned the room, stopping when a man with dark hair descended the stairs at the far end of the hall. Dressed in a silvery robe with shimmering stitching and a dark blue sash, the man was difficult to miss. His squinty eyes and narrow lips detracted from his appearance, but Jerrell was aware of the man’s ego.

  Montague reached the floor and shook a wizard’s hand, nodding as he greeted him and the wizardess on the man’s arm. Jerrell began walking across the floor, focused on Montague, drawing the high wizard’s gaze. The man did not flinch, but drank in the view as Jerrell advanced with slow, easy steps and swaying hips.

  When he reached Montague, he touched the man’s hand as Hedra had taught him. “High Wizard, I thank you for inviting me.” His finger ran up Montague’s arm, as if he could not resist doing so. “Your home is exquisite, nearly holding up to the image of the master of the castle,” Jerrell said in his best sultry voice.

  Montague smiled. “Yes. Welcome to Castle Montague.” He tilted his head and narrowed his already squinty eyes. “I didn’t get your name.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Jace held his gloved hand to his chest, purposely drawing his attention there. “I am Terissa Wrenthal, from Shear. I have come in my father’s stead.”

  The man has fallen ill. Poison has a way of doing that to people.

  The smile returned to the man’s face as he took her hand, bent over, and kissed it. “Ah. The eldest of the legendary Wrenthal girls. I am graced by your presence. While it is disappointing your father could not join me, I believe I have come out ahead in the exchange.”

  Jerrell smiled coyly, knowing he had the man on the hook. A few drinks, a bit of dancing, and just enough physical contact would reel him in.

  Montague opened the doors with a flourish, revealing his sprawling bedchamber. “Here we are, as promised.” He waved his hand while rubbing his fingers together. Jerrell sensed the tingle of magic as flame bloomed from candles on both nightstands and the table in the sitting area. “This is where the magic happens.” He laughed while escorting Jerrell in, the pair walking arm in arm.

  Jerrell giggled in his high voice while playfully hitting the man. “Oh, you nasty man.”

  “I can do nasty.” Montague waved his arm, and the door slammed closed.

  He gripped Jerrell by the hips and leaned in. Jerrell had not expected the kiss but knew he had no choice but to comply or his ploy would fall apart. Montague’s lips were surprisingly soft, and Jerrell had to admit, the man was adept at kissing. Finally, Jerrell pushed him away, flashing a coy smile.

  “Do you mind if I wash up?” Jerrell asked. “A woman must properly prepare herself.”

  “Of course, my dear.” Montague gestured past her. “The washroom is through those doors.”

  Jerrell walked toward the room, trying not to rush. What remained of the hair on his arms stood on end as the candles in the room ahead of him lit up. Once in the washroom, he closed the door and moved to the counter, where a bowl waited beside a pitcher of clean water and a towel. From between the two grapefruit on his chest, he pulled out a vial and slid it into his left glove, uncapping it, the vial facing upward. The mirror in front of him reflected a woman who was far more nervous than she appeared. Montague’s ease with magic had reminded Jerrell of the risk involved. Any wizard was dangerous, but the man outside the door was a high wizard – one who had defeated and killed his predecessor.

  He took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and shifted to the door. When he opened it, he was caught unprepared for what waited for him.

  Montague had shed his robes and now stood completely naked, save for a gold bracelet secured around one ankle. The man was even thinner than Jerrell had suspected. Judging by the sight before him, Jerrell wondered what exactly had created the man’s ego, because he was not impressed.

  “My, you are quick,” Jerrell said.

  “Come, join me.” Montague gestured toward the bed. “I will prove I am far from quick.”

  Jerrell noticed a decanter filled with brandy and a pair of glasses on a table beside the wall. “Yes, of course.” He walked to the table. “But first, a drink.”

  Jerrell pulled the stopper from the decanter and poured two glasses. He dropped the stopper on the table and fumbled to pick it up with one gloved hand while the other hovered over one of the glasses and tipped up, allowing the liquid in the vial to pour into the brandy. Montague’s hands gripped Jerrell’s hips, and the man began kissing his neck. Jerrell capped the decanter and turned, handing him the tainted glass of brandy.

  “A toast,” Jerrell said in his sultry voice. “To High Wizard Montague. May you someday take over for Lord Malvorian.”

  Montague smiled. “I can drink to that.” He then slammed back the half-filled glass as if it were water.

  Jerrell took a sip and tried to back away, but the man was too aggressive. He pulled Jerrell close with one hand pressed against his lower back, the other groping Jerrell’s chest as his mouth went to his neck.

  The man stopped and pulled back, his face twisted in a frown. With both hands, he squeezed the fake breasts, and Jerrell knew it was trouble. Before he could react, weaves of magic wrapped about his wrists and ankles, lifting him off the floor. His dress suddenly tore open down the front, followed by his corset. The grapefruit fell to the floor, along with the clothing, leaving Jerrell in only his smallclothes, slippers, and white gloves.

  “I don’t suppose you find this funny?” Jerrell asked in his normal voice.

  “You!” Montague roared. “How dare you!”

  The man flung his hand open, and Jerrell slammed against the ten-foot-tall ceiling, smacking the back of his head and back. The wig fell to the floor. He blinked at the pain in his head and stars in his eyes, wheezing for air. Suspended, his vision cleared, and he noticed the wizard holding his own head.

  “What…” He wobbled and fell to one knee. “What did you do to me?”

  When the wizard fell face-first onto the floor, his magic faltered. Jerrell fell, unable to right himself. He landed on the man’s back, the impact driving the wind from Jerrell’s lungs. Gasping for air, he rolled off the naked man and held his stomach. As his breath returned, he crawled forward and lifted the man’s foot. He blinked at the bracelet, recalling it from memory.

  After stealing the bracelet from an ancient castle a year prior, Jerrell had sold it to Montague’s captain of the guard for ten gold coins. Within a few weeks, Montague had used the power of the bracelet to defeat his predecessor and claim rule of Lionne. By then, Jerrell had left the city, not returning until now, thanks to his latest contract. He was about to yield a second solid profit from the same bracelet in a short span of time.

  The irony drew a smile while Jerrell searched for the trigger. It took him a moment to locate it, and when the bracelet unclasped, he slid if off Montague’s ankle. On the inside, he spotted the scrawling silver of the enchantment.

  Bracelet in hand, Jerrell ran to Montague’s closet and found an unassuming dark blue robe. It was too long, so he hiked it up the best he could and used a yellow sash to tie it at the waist. He th
en went to the washroom and washed the makeup from his face, rubbing the remainder away with a towel.

  Once back in the bedroom, he stopped and considered what to do with the man lying face down on the rug. Inspired, he lifted Montague onto the bed and propped him up against the headboard. He then used strips of the ruined dress to tie the man’s wrists to the posters and another to gag him. The entire time, Montague remained unconscious from the sleeping drug Jerrell had slipped him.

  Once finished, Jerrell collected the two grapefruit and walked to the doors, peering out before walking into the hallway, pulling the doors closed. The third floor was empty, but he could hear the party continuing downstairs. He descended past the second story until he stood a few steps above the crowd.

  “The high wizard!” Jerrell shouted. “He has fallen ill. You must hurry!”

  Servants and a number of guests rushed up the stairs, pushing past him.

  Whistling, Jerrell walked through the crowd and out the door, juggling the two grapefruit, the enchanted bracelet hidden in his robes. From inside came cries of surprise followed by laughter. They have found the high wizard. A big grin split his face as he nodded to the confused carriage driver and climbed inside, knocking four times to signal their departure.

  With a snap of the reins, the carriage began the trek back to the city. Jerrell would be gone before morning, returning to Eleighton with his prize. Wizard Gurgan would reward him as agreed, and the legend of Jerrell Landish would grow even more impressive.

  “What a wonderful evening,” Jerrell said while staring out the window at the moonlit harbor.

  14

  Outriders

  The menagerie troupe set up camp in a mountain pass along the Ghealdan border. Although the camp was in a shallow valley between two saddles, the elevation and mountain breeze chilled the evening air.

  After dinner, Rhoa spotted Sareen exiting the wagon she shared with Juliam. The woman had a fistful of knives and headed away from the fire in the center of camp and toward the road. Rhoa followed. Night was upon them, but the sky was clear, the pale light from the round moon making it easy to navigate.

  Sareen stopped and turned toward Rhoa. “So, you are no longer avoiding me?”

  “Was it so obvious?”

  “After your reaction to my question on the first night of our journey? Yes.”

  “I do not wish to avoid you.” A pang of regret struck. She valued her relationship with Sareen and did not want to poison it. “I only wish to avoid the subject. Can we not just spend time together without the questions?”

  Sareen took a deep breath and nodded. “You are a woman now. I often forget and still see the precious nine-year-old who came to us all those years ago.”

  “I haven’t been that girl for a long time.”

  Sareen put her arm around Rhoa’s shoulders and held her close. “I know. You have grown into a fine young woman. Your parents would be proud.”

  Rhoa did not respond. She feared tears would follow if she delved any deeper.

  Sareen stepped away and held up her blades. “It has been a while since you last practiced with me. Would you care to throw?”

  A grin split Rhoa’s face. “Very much so.”

  When she smiled in return, the white of Sareen’s teeth was a beacon in the night. “Wonderful.” The woman led Rhoa toward a massive tree beside the road. “Stand with your back to the tree, and I will trace your outline.”

  The tree was wide enough for Rhoa to extend her arms out to each side without them extending past the trunk. Sareen produced a chunk of chalk and began tracing around her, leaving a jagged trail of white on the thick bark. When finished, Sareen backed up a dozen paces as Rhoa followed.

  Sareen cocked a knife beside her ear, focused on the target, and threw. The first blade struck just outside the line marking Rhoa’s right armpit. The woman readied another knife and threw, the second blade mirroring the first, impaling the gap on the left. Her third blade struck the tree just below the outline’s crotch. The fourth buried itself beside one ear, the fifth beside the other. With only a second between each throw, the woman’s precision was impressive.

  Sareen relaxed and turned toward Rhoa. “Go fetch the knives, then you can take a turn.”

  Rhoa walked to the tree, gripped a bare-metal hilt, and wiggled it until the blade pulled free. She did the same for the others, collecting all five knives before returning to Sareen, who had moved closer, four paces now separating her from the tree.

  While Rhoa stared at the tree, Sareen whispered into her ear. “Relax your body with your right foot forward. Focus on the target until you only see the exact spot you wish the blade to strike. Once you are focused, release in one fluid motion. Do not hold back, and do not think.”

  Rhoa held the first knife by the hilt as she had been taught, gripping it as if it were a hammer, her arm cocked back, the blade over her right shoulder. She chose the triangle formed by the left armpit first, staring at it until she saw nothing else, and released. The blade struck the tree a few inches inside the chalk.

  “Good,” Sareen crooned. “Focus on the next target, but refine it further, tighter.”

  The other armpit became Rhoa’s focus. She released the blade, which lodged in the bark just outside the chalk.

  “Very nice,” Sareen said with pride. “Do it again on the next target.”

  Rhoa threw and the knife buried deep, right where the chalk person’s crotch would have been.

  “Hmm,” Sareen hummed. “If that were a man, he would have just lost a bit more than he might wish.”

  Rhoa laughed. “Sorry.”

  “Oh, don’t tell me. Tell him.” Sareen pointed at the tree. “He’s the one with the missing appendage.”

  Rhoa laughed harder, her amusement cutting off suddenly when shadows appeared on the road.

  Men emerged from around the bend, forming a wall across the road. More followed, the total count exceeding twenty. Among them was a short, stocky silhouette who appeared bound by rope. The distinctive ring of swords being drawn followed, some blades glinting as they reflected moonlight.

  “My, my,” a tall, broad-shouldered man said from the middle of the group. “What have we here? Two pretty lasses throwing knives?”

  Sareen pulled Rhoa beside her and faced the men. “You had better move along before things get out of hand.” Rather than showing fear, her tone was threatening. “I would hate for a misunderstanding to leave you and your men dead.”

  The man who had spoken laughed, the others chuckling. “As travelers, you must be unaware. This pass belongs to the Outriders.”

  “Who are the Outriders?”

  He took a step closer. “We are the Outriders.”

  Rhoa snorted. “If you are riders, where are your horses?”

  The comment caused a stir among the group.

  “Never mind our horses,” the leader growled. “You should fear us. We have killed others who have shown us disrespect.”

  “She meant no disrespect,” said Sareen. “We only wish to be left alone, whoever you are.”

  “They call me Harden. I lead the Outriders. We will leave you alone only after you pay your tithe.”

  Sareen glared at the man. “This is a public road, and you hold no claim over it.”

  Harden laughed again. “Oh, but you know little of the world. It is a difficult place, and one must find creative means to survive. In this case, we police this pass to ensure it remains safe for travelers. All we require is half your coin.”

  Sareen backed away, pulling Rhoa with her. Two men raised bows, arrows nocked.

  “Stop!” Harden demanded. “Take another step and my men will loose.”

  The two women stopped. Sareen glared at the leader, while Rhoa’s mind raced. She clenched her hands around the cool metal of the throwing knives. Shifting, she gently bumped her shoulder into Sareen’s, then pressed the hilts against the woman’s rear. Sareen, sensing what she intended, reached behind her to take the knives.

&nbs
p; “Come closer,” Harden said. “We won’t hurt you, as long as the others in your camp give us their gold and silver. Once paid, we will return half the coin and you will be released, unharmed.”

  Rhoa whispered, “I’ll distract them while you take out the two with bows, then we will run.”

  Before Sareen could respond, Rhoa burst into action.

  She darted away from the tree and leapt. Arrows flew at her as she twisted in the air, one flying beneath her, the next narrowly missing her torso as she completed her flip. Sareen threw her knives, the first blade striking one archer in the eye, the second burying deep in the other archer’s chest.

  Both women turned and ran.

  Harden’s shout arose from the road. “Get them!”

  “Alarm!” Sareen cried. “To arms!”

  “It’s an attack!” Rhoa shouted as she raced past the taller woman.

  Rhoa passed the outer wagons and reached the firelight as Stanlin emerged from the shadows, a loaded crossbow in each hand. The Bandego Brothers ran to the fire and began to light torches. Juliam burst from his wagon carrying a massive metal-banded cudgel. Sareen ran past Juliam and dove inside, while Rhoa rushed to her own wagon.

  Willem and Rhett jumped out, each holding a short bow and a handful of arrows. Rhoa climbed in and found Pippa inside, her eyes wide with fear.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Bandits,” Rhoa said, scooping her fulgur blades off a shelf. “Stay in here where it’s safe.” She then jumped out and slammed the door behind her.

  The first bandits ran into the firelight. Stanlin fired, his crossbow bolts striking one man in the shoulder, another in the stomach. Flaming torches flew through the air, striking the attackers and causing them to flinch away. Some caught fire, as did the dead grass on the ground. Willem and Rhett stood on top of their wagon and fired arrows at the enemy, while Rhoa crawled beneath it.

  More bandits emerged from another gap in the wagons. Juliam met them, swinging his cudgel, knocking the first man aside with a sickening crack of broken bones. His following swing clipped another man, breaking his arm and knocking his sword away. Four bandits backed away from the big man, but another had circled the wagon and thrust with his sword, slicing through Juliam’s side as Sareen reappeared from her wagon.