Fate of Wizardoms Boxed Set

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  “Father.” She waited for him to look up at her. “Now that I have been properly trained, I would like to use my abilities and position to help make Ghealdor a stronger nation.”

  A frown appeared in his beard, his brow furrowing. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I… I don’t know for sure. I just feel as if I wake each day without a purpose. You have found a role for Eldalain. Perhaps you can find a role for me, as well.”

  “Do you believe you are ready to face other wizards? Men of power who have been practicing magic far longer than you?”

  Narine faltered. “No. Not exactly. Isn’t there some other way I can use my magic? Must it only be used as a weapon?”

  He grunted. “Magic does have other applications, but none I have found particularly useful.”

  “If I think of something, will you consider it?”

  He shrugged. “I will listen. If you propose something that offers positive gain, I will consider it.”

  Narine nodded, claiming it as a minor victory. She would need to consider her plan carefully and have all questions answered before proposing anything. The thought ran through her head as she ate. The two of them attempted conversation a few times, the subjects light and meaningless, but each time, the well soon dried. He had hardly spoken to her in the past, and she could not forget what happened the previous day, could not forget the way her father had killed innocent men for a mere misstep. Worse was the look in his eye while he did it.

  Finished, she set her napkin aside and stood. “If you will excuse me, I told Adyn I would meet her.”

  “Before you go,” her father said. “Ruthers has found another group of performers who wish to entertain at the palace. They are to perform tomorrow, just before sunset. I would like you to join me so we can enjoy the show together.”

  Images of broken bodies and pools of blood on white marble flashed before her eyes. Her heart began to pound at the thought of another episode.

  “I promise it will go better.” The tone in his voice was somewhere between sadness and pleading.

  When she tried to respond, a croak came out. She swallowed in an attempt to wet her dry throat and said, “Very well.”

  Not trusting herself to say anything more, Narine spun and hurried toward the door. Despite the ostensibly pleasantness he displayed toward her, the man had struck a bell of fear in her that would not stop ringing. It was like an alarm, warning of danger.

  Rhoa stepped out of the bathing room, untangling her wet hair with a brush. It had been a long day with her and Rawk rehearsing the same routine over and over, just as she and Salvon had scripted. They had considered incorporating Rawk’s stone-shaping abilities but decided against the idea. There was no need to alert Taladain or anyone else to what Rawk could do.

  The leap at the end of the performance still needed additional practice, something they had to modify at mid-day after receiving a message from Jace. His note highlighted something unexpected – the height of the viewing platform where Taladain sat during performances. Concern about the issue consumed her thoughts as she entered The Thirsty Goat dining room.

  Dinner time was approaching, and the tables had begun to fill. Rawk and Salvon sat at one of the tables, the latter spotting Rhoa and waving her over. With the brush at her side, she crossed the room.

  “Any news?” Rhoa asked Salvon.

  The man tapped the parchment on the table before him. “This is from Master Ruthers, the head of Lord Taladain’s household.”

  Her gaze shifted to the parchment. Anxiety swirled in her empty stomach.

  “Our proposal to perform has been accepted. We are to arrive tomorrow afternoon, two hours prior to sunset.”

  “Tomorrow?” Rhoa’s pulse suddenly raced. “We’ve only had three days to train. We’re not ready.” She leaned closer and whispered, “You read the note Jace sent. The man has no tolerance for a weak performance.”

  “Nonsense,” Salvon said. “You will do well enough, and if anything goes awry, I will assist by shifting my story.”

  “How can you not be concerned?”

  “I have faith in you, Rhoa.” Salvon’s voice grew quiet. “This is your chance. After ten years, the pieces have fallen into place and your destiny awaits. Isn’t this what you wanted?

  Rhoa sat back with a sigh. “Yes. I just…”

  She couldn’t think of what to say. Doubt coupled by worry stuck to her gut like a meal eaten too fast. For years, she had a singular goal but no idea how to accomplish it. Now she had the plan and the means, yet found herself unsure if she could follow it through. Never before had she killed a man. She was a day away from attempting to assassinate the most powerful man in Ghealdor, perhaps the world. Will I survive it? If so, what of my life afterward? Until now, her goal had never been within reach. Until now, she had never considered where her life might lead if she succeeded. Would she still be the same person if she survived? The lure of seeing Taladain dead had driven her for years. Once realized, what would remain?

  “Are you all right?” Rawk stared at Rhoa, which had become common.

  She sighed. “Yes. I just… I just wonder how we got to this point and what the future holds should we actually survive this crazy scheme.”

  Salvon patted her hand. “You are too strong a soul to allow the future to dictate your life, Rhoa. I believe in you. If this thing is possible, then you will succeed, and afterward, you will find another path – a path leading you to places you never imagined.”

  Rhoa nodded, thankful for the man’s sentiment.

  Inside, she was resigned to the fate she had chosen. She would see Taladain dead, and her death would inevitably follow. Her biggest regret was dragging others into her plot. They didn’t deserve to die, but she could find no other path to the end she had desired for so many years.

  37

  Master Performance

  Jace hurried down the corridor, keenly aware of the dagger strapped to his calf and another up the sleeve of his coat. When he moved the wrong way, he could see the lump from the hilt on his leg. The servant trousers he wore weren’t made to hide such things. He didn’t know if the extra daggers would be of any use, but he had to arm himself with something. Going unarmed into a dangerous situation was against his nature, and his nature made most situations dangerous. This evening, he would be part of the most perilous venture of his life, which was no small feat.

  His footsteps, even in his servant shoes, made little sound as he sped down the hallway. Although he moved at a fast pace, stepping softly was a way of life, and it occurred without conscious effort. He rounded the corner and collided with a blonde woman.

  Princess Narine stumbled backward as the woman beside her lunged at him, leading with her elbow. Instincts took over and he ducked the blow, spinning away. The woman – tall, lithe, and dressed in black leather – appeared more like an assassin than a guard. Her sword was out in a flash and leveled at his chest. He recalled his role as a servant and cringed, doing his best to appear frightened.

  “It was an accident,” he whined.

  The princess had recovered her composure. She smoothed her dress, and Jace found his eyes following her hands. The hills and valleys they covered were majestic. He wondered at embarking on such a journey.

  “Put the sword away, Adyn,” the princess said. “Can’t you see he’s a member of the staff? He said it was an accident.”

  The tall brunette pressed her lips together, her narrowed eyes as sharp as her sword. “I don’t know this one, Narine. Have you seen him before?”

  “We have been in the palace for naught but a week. You likely haven’t seen half the staff.” Narine looked him in the eye and nodded. “He was there…at the performance.” Her face darkened. “The one I told you about.”

  Jace recalled the horrific event and saw the same troubled thoughts reflecting in Narine’s aqua-blue eyes. The sight of her had been his only pleasant memory from that day. Cleaning up the mess, well… He would rather never relive the ordeal.
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  “Did you see how he dodged my attack?” Adyn’s blade was still pointed at Jace.

  Narine snorted. “I was a bit preoccupied trying to keep from falling onto my backside.”

  “What’s your name?” Adyn asked.

  “Chase,” he said, his voice pleading. “I’m… I’m new here. Just started as a steward two days ago. Please, don’t kill me.”

  “See,” said Narine. “He’s new. He likely replaced the older steward who died in his sleep a few days back. Now, put the sword away so we can be off. The performance will begin soon.”

  “Fine,” Adyn said, sounding unsatisfied. With apparent reluctance, she sheathed her blade.

  “Thank you.” Jace bowed to Narine. “Your Highness.”

  He then watched them walk past, his gaze lingering until he recalled his objective and ran to the storeroom at the end of the hallway. There, he retrieved a chair and hurried back down the corridor. He caught up to the princess and her escort as they stepped out into the outdoor theatre.

  The sky above was the deep blue of late afternoon, but the sun was hidden behind a dark cloudbank to the northwest. The air carried the smell of rain, a promise of what was to come.

  Doing his best to escape notice, Jace skirted the outer ring and placed the chair on the platform beside the waiting throne. He then backed away, ducking into the shadows along the wall where Hoann already waited.

  “Took you long enough,” Hoann whispered.

  “I ran into someone,” Jace said.

  The man furrowed his brow but let the issue drop.

  From the door at the opposite end of the space, Lord Taladain emerged, dressed in a dark purple robe with his customary metallic gold sash. On his head was a crown of gold with a large, purple amethyst in the center. He appeared the definition of regal. More so, he exuded the embodiment of power. Tall, lean, and stern, the man walked around the ring of columns, trailed by Captain Burrock and two Indigo Hounds. All wore expressions more suitable to a battlefield than a theatre.

  As the man drew near the observation platform, his expression softened, Narine’s arms extending, his face stretching to a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Greetings, Daughter,” he said, taking her hands. “I am pleased you agreed to join me. Based on what Ruthers tells me, I have high hopes for this performance. I pray it will please you, as well. When it is finished, we will have dinner before I am off to Devotion.”

  “Thank you, Father,” the princess replied. “I look forward to a pleasant evening.”

  Adyn, the girl’s bodyguard, walked away, joining Burrock and the other guards in the corner. Burrock spoke to the three of them before heading back to the door from which he came.

  Taladain positioned himself before the throne and sat. A gong sounded from somewhere above. Motion appeared at the far end of the theatre where a tree-filled garden waited. Down the path through the heart of the trees, Master Ruthers led a small procession. The man’s black and white uniform was a stark contrast to the bright colors of the three people following him.

  First was Salvon with lute in hand. His usual, patchwork cloak and robes had been replaced by a robe of bright yellow. Trailing him was a cloak of bright blue with a mesmerizing design, the shimmering pattern moving like the seas themselves as he walked.

  Rawk came next, but the man was hardly recognizable. On his head was an odd hat of three purple and green cones with bells attached. His doublet and breeches were purple and green, respectively, with yellow stitching. Odd slippers, one purple and the other green, with bells on the toes covered his feet.

  Last was Rhoa, dressed to match Rawk, save for her colors being blue and red. Her eyes met Jace’s. In them, he saw a hint of fear, something he couldn’t recall at any time before now. She gave a slight nod, her fear visibly shifting to resolve.

  Ruthers stopped in the heart of the bowl and bowed. The three performers lined up behind him and mirrored the action. He then announced, “Presenting tonight’s entertainment, Vandasal and His Minions.”

  Jace frowned. I have heard that name before. He couldn’t recall where.

  Ruthers moved to the side of the bowl, climbed the stairs, and faded into the shadows.

  Salvon strummed his lute, rifling off a melody that grew louder and louder, the rhythm faster and faster. Then he stopped. All fell still.

  “This is the tale of Jerrell Landish, the greatest thief of all time.”

  What? Jace took a step forward, not realizing it until Hoann put his hand on Jace’s chest.

  Salvon backed away while Rawk and Rhoa faced each other. The two fools grabbed each other by the hand and dipped low, holding their position. The lute began again, Salvon projecting his voice as he had during his performance at The Thirsty Goat. Amazingly, it sounded just as clear and deep, despite the space being far more open than the inn’s taproom.

  “Our tale begins on the streets of this very city, not so long ago.”

  Rawk and Rhoa began to step with the music, moving in a circle, still holding each other by the hand.

  “Jerrell’s roots began as a street urchin, an orphan with naught but his wits. From pickpocket to purse-cutter, from open window to locked door, no coin was safe from his mitts.”

  Rhoa released Rawk’s hand. When he spun away, she darted past him, swiping something golden-hued from his pocket.

  “A sneak he was, moving like a shadow, his targets unaware. This may seem unremarkable, but this thief was no standard fare.”

  Crouching low, Rhoa circled behind Salvon with her head on a swivel.

  This is ridiculous, Jace thought.

  “In the world of thieves, none possessed such gall. For Jerrell Landish was known to have outdone them all.”

  Rhoa suddenly burst forward into a round-off/handspring combo, her bells jingling wildly. She finished with a flip while Rawk gaped and the audience clapped.

  “Who else might steal the smallclothes right off a sleeping man just to win a bet and prove he can?”

  Rhoa darted past Rawk, slipping behind him and emerging again with a pair of dirty smallclothes. She held them by two fingers while pinching her nose, running around the floor in a circle with Rawk chasing behind. In spite of himself, Jace chuckled. Both Taladain and Narine laughed, as did the three guards, who had drawn closer to watch. All seemed riveted by the show, hanging on Salvon’s every word.

  “Who else would dare to leave Montague tied up and bare?”

  Both Rawk and Rhoa stopped right in front of Taladain. They looked at each other with wide eyes and hands to their cheeks. The audience laughed again, harder this time.

  “I recall the tale.” Taladain turned to Narine with a smile on his face. “Montague will never live it down.”

  “Nor will he forgive,” Jace muttered to himself.

  Salvon continued. “No other thief, I tell you, for his skill was unmatched. Wait until I reveal the greatest scheme he hatched."

  Rawk ran his hand down his face, transforming his expression into someone with a haughty attitude, his chest out, his elbows swinging side to side as he walked toward Rhoa.

  “A man came to Fastella speaking of great treasure. In the ruins of an old castle, one would find this pleasure.”

  Rawk’s hand made a sweeping gesture, his gaze far off, as Rhoa pretended to listen. Jace wondered how Salvon had heard of the story and how much he knew.

  “But, behold, the castle was deadly to the extreme, and none who entered were ever again seen.”

  The sky grew dark, the clouds closing in. A boom of thunder followed, echoing in the distance.

  “Those who heard the tale were filled with dread, but Jerrell saw it as a challenge instead. He hired a man, reputed in arms, and set off to best the castle’s charms. They journeyed west, into the mountains deep, for high upon a peak was this ominous keep.”

  Rhoa approached Rawk and gave him a gold coin. From somewhere in his loose trousers, Rawk drew a wooden sword, thrust out his chest, and the two made off as if the
y were on a march, moving lockstep with the beat of Salvon’s music as they circled the floor.

  “Dark, abandoned, and in disrepair, the very sight of the castle caused a wave of despair. Our two heroes were not alone, for a pack of wolves called the mountain peak home. A flight and a standoff forced a rushed entry, only to come across the keep’s dreadful sentry.”

  The two jesters ran up the stairs, reacted to some imaginary being, and ran back down, cowering in fear. Jace shivered as he recalled the monster.

  “Ten feet tall, half-man and half-bull, it was a beastly Minotaur with horns in its skull. With a club, it attacked, smashing walls, breaking stones. If any strike hit, it would surely shatter bones. The warrior fought heartily with sword and shield, yet the monster was fearless and would never yield. This warrior, this hero, had never known defeat, but he feared this monster was the death he would meet. When a brutal strike smashed him to the ground, low, the beast lifted its club for the final blow.”

  During this phrasing, Rawk swung his sword wildly while looking up at his invisible foe. He blocked with his shield and was driven to one knee, apparently spent. All the while, Rhoa snuck around the perimeter, watching the battle.

  “But Jerrell was a sneak, so he snuck. From behind the beast is where he struck. Finding a weapon among pickings quite sparse, he rammed a long and rusty sword up the beast’s arse.”

  Rhoa produced a wooden blade and darted forward, lunging with a thrust, the strike in time with a forceful strum of Salvon’s lute and another crash of thunder from the oncoming storm.

  Jace recalled the actual event, his attack nothing more than a moment of desperation. He had never intended the blade to strike where it did, but his mistake had yielded the desired result.

  “The Minotaur bellowed and stumbled like a drunk most foul, and like a phoenix arisen, the warrior stood with a growl. The mighty arc of his sword removed the bull’s head, beheading the beast, and the Minotaur fell dead.”