“It is magnificent.” Malvorian examined the sapphire, the gem pointed at each end with four facets on each half. “It looks exactly like the gem from my throne in the Tower of Devotion.”
“The size and shape are an exact match,” Algoron said with a nod. “It took me years to find sapphires of that size, then many weeks to shape the first stone. Once perfected, it was easier to shape the others. However, I only had eight gems to start. One was flawed and shattered. Five are now ready, which leaves only two gems to claim cities beyond Ghealdor. I must soon go in search of others or the plan will stop short of your goal.”
With an absent nod, Malvorian gazed upon the beauty of the gem. To anyone else, it was worth more than all the gold in Marquithe. To him, its worth far exceeded that. He turned and held it out to Thurvin.
“You will take this with you.”
With a furrowed brow, Thurvin accepted the huge gemstone. “What am I to do with it?”
“When you capture Starmuth, you must find a means to scale the obelisk. At the top is a gem identical to this, but made of purple amethyst. Exchange the stones, and Devotion will resume in the city.” Malvorian grinned. “When it does, the citizens’ prayers will go to Farrow, and I, Lord Malvorian, will become their wizard lord.”
Balance of Magic
Fate of Wizardoms Book Two
© 2019 by Jeffrey L. Kohanek
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.
The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.
First Edition
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-949382-19-8
PUBLISHED BY JEFFREY L. KOHANEK and FALLBRANDT PRESS
www.JeffreyLKohanek.com
Also by Jeffrey L. Kohanek
Fate of Wizardoms
Book One: Eye of Obscurance
Book Two: Balance of Magic
Book Three: Temple of the Oracle
Book Four: Objects of Power
Book Five: TBD
Book Six: TBD
* * *
Prequel: Legend of Shadowmar
Runes of Issalia
The Buried Symbol: Runes of Issalia 1
The Emblem Throne: Runes of Issalia 2
An Empire in Runes: Runes of Issalia 3
Rogue Legacy: Runes of Issalia Prequel
* * *
Runes of Issalia Boxed Set
Heroes of Issalia: Runes Series+Rogue Legacy
Wardens of Issalia
A Warden’s Purpose: Wardens of Issalia 1
The Arcane Ward: Wardens of Issalia 2
An Imperial Gambit: Wardens of Issalia 3
A Kingdom Under Siege: Wardens of Issalia 4
ICON: A Wardens of Issalia Companion Tale
* * *
Wardens of Issalia Boxed Set
Journal Entry
Welcome to the second verse of our epic, where complexities arise and the struggle for power takes hold. Before we begin, I shall remind you of what has transpired thus far, but BEWARE. The information below will spoil the story if you have not fully experienced the first entry.
Here is what has happened thus far…
In a race neither knew existed, a menagerie acrobat named Rhoa beat master thief Jerrell Landish to the amulet known as the Eye of Obscurance. Jerrell, who now goes by the name of Jace, worked for the head of the Marquithe Thieves Guild, a person only known as The Whispering Man. He agreed to track Rhoa down, obtain the amulet, and use it to assassinate Lord Taladain, the Wizard Lord of Ghealdor.
Meanwhile, Rhoa and her fellow menagerie performers traveled from Marquithe to the Ghealdan city of Starmuth. During their journey, they acquired a new talent, a dwarf named Rawk, whose unique stone-shaping abilities made him an instant star in the show.
After a brief stay at High Wizard Montague’s dungeon in Lionne, Jace caught up to the menagerie. Outside Starmuth, he cornered Rhoa and Rawk and demanded the amulet. Rhoa, however, had her own agenda and her own reasons for wishing Lord Taladain dead. She suggested they work together.
The trio stopped at a village tavern during their journey and found me reciting a tale for patrons. I had a long history with Rhoa, so I invited them to ride with me to Fastella. We four traveled to the city, with me unaware of what Rhoa and Jace intended…until I overheard them arguing and pressed them for answers, demanding the truth. With my assistance, we planned Lord Taladain’s final performance.
Narine Killarius, Lord Taladain’s daughter, had recently returned to Fastella after an eight-year stay in Tiadd, where she attended the University. Now a master wizardess, she inserted herself into Taladain’s life intending to prove herself an asset. Her brother, Eldalain, only saw her as a threat.
Before the performance, Eldalain was sent off to Dorban to help his cousin put down an uprising. While he was away, Jace got himself a job as a steward at Fastella Palace, using it to provide us inside information. Taladain soon accepted our proposal to perform for him.
At the risk of sounding arrogant, the performance was masterful, leaving the man and his daughter enthralled until the grand finale when Rhoa was to kill Taladain. That was where everything went wrong. One thing led to another in an epic display of magic, twists, and surprises. When things settled, the two hundred and seventeen-year-old wizard lord lay dead. It was then his daughter demanded we help her escape, for she feared her brother’s response, and rightly so.
A flight ensued, the escape one of bravery, stealth, and magic. Our small party fled not only the palace, but the city itself. Now miles from Fastella, we journey south, while the city and entire nation of Ghealdor mourns the loss of their wizard lord.
This is where our tale resumes, and where numerous threads converge while others unravel. The impact will surprise many, but it did not surprise me. I saw it coming all along.
-Salvon the Great
Prologue
Terrin Delmont leaned against the recessed doorway. Hidden by shadows, he watched the activity inside Fastella’s south gate, where Taladain’s Dogs searched anyone leaving the city. The guards had been at it all day, stirring rumors among the populace. Those rumors were further fueled by the Tower of Devotion, the purple flame dormant since the evening prior. Whispers on the streets said Taladain was dead. Terrin, better known as Rindle, needed to know for sure.
The sun had set, but the skies had not yet darkened. The gates would soon close, sealing the city. When they did, he would learn the truth. Cordelia would make him pay for being late, but his information would be worth the price.
A bell tolled. The guards shouted last call. One last wagon slipped out, likely a farmer returning home after selling his produce to people in the city. The portcullis began to close.
With the city sealed, half the guards left the post, the other half waited to be relieved by the night watch. Rindle slipped from the shadows and followed the guards heading deeper into the city. The men chatted and laughed, as if it were any other day, speaking of taverns, cool tankards of ale, and the women who served them.
The guards entered the quarter of the city known as the Merch, where the middle class lived, and approached a tavern, the sign above the door depicting the silhouette of a dog with its nose toward the sky.
Rindle chuckled. The Howling Hound. I should have known. He followed the guards into the noisy tavern.
The place was full, with no open tables and little room at the bar. Enchanted lanterns hanging on posts along the middle of the room cast pale blue light across the interior. Another cluster of guards sat at a table, throw
ing dice. The barmaids were the typical fare – one a tall, thin brunette, the other a short and voluptuous redhead, both deft at defending themselves from unwelcome hands.
The guards he had followed shoved some patrons aside to create room at one end of the bar, placing their helmets on it while flagging down the owner – a short man with cropped hair and a trimmed beard. The man spoke with the guards for a moment, then turned to fetch a round of ale.
Rindle wandered over and slipped his tall, thin body between a guard and a civilian. When the barkeep returned, Rindle waved the man over.
“I’d like an ale and six shots of swoon.”
The man arched a brow. “Six? Are you having trouble sleeping?”
“Always, but the swoon is not for me.” Rindle thumbed toward the guards beside him.
“Ahh.” The barkeep nodded and walked away.
Rindle dug out a silver, hoping it would be a worthwhile investment. The barkeep returned with six small glasses filled with black liquid. A moment later, he placed a mug of ale onto the bar top and took the coin. Rindle took a sip of the ale and turned toward the guards, who were in conversation.
“…makes a long day. I hope we don’t have to repeat it tomorrow,” one said, running his hand across his shorn scalp.
“We didn’t find her or any of the others on the list,” another replied and took a drink, wiping the line of foam from his mustache. “I bet the north gate had no better luck.”
“Do you think she is still in the city?”
“If I were she, I would be long gone before Eldalain returns.”
Rindle tapped the guard beside him, a man roughly his height but with far more mass, mostly muscle. The man turned toward him, his brown hair shorn and a scar across his forehead that left a streak of hair missing from one dark eyebrow. The other five glared at Rindle, the look in their eyes conveying their displeasure at the interruption.
“Yeah?”
“I happened to overhear you gentlemen discussing a long day of work. I thought it only proper to offer you each a drink for your efforts. After all, we citizens of Fastella have you men to thank for our safety and for the welfare of the city.”
“A drink?” another guard asked, his interest piqued.
“Sure.” Rindle gestured toward the six glasses waiting on the bar. “A shot of swoon for each of you.”
Grim expressions softened and transformed as the guards smiled.
“Thank you, kind sir,” the closest man said.
“It is good to see a citizen who sympathizes with the Hounds rather than treating us like an enemy.”
Rindle put his hand to his heart. “I harbor no ill will toward the Indigo Hounds, nor toward our fair ruler, Lord Taladain.”
At Taladain’s name, the men’s faces darkened. Rindle had struck a chord.
“Here.” He began handing out the glasses. “Have a drink on me.”
The guards accepted them eagerly. A balding man with a short, brown beard lifted his. “To a better tomorrow.”
The other five guards repeated the toast, all lifting their glasses and tapping them to Rindle’s mug. Each drank, the swoon going down in a flash before the guards slammed their empty glasses onto the bar.
Swoon was strong, working rapidly on even the most seasoned drinker. Rindle need only allow it to cloud the men’s minds and reduce their inhibitions. However, he had their attention and was not about to let it slip away.
“I heard there were long lines at the gates today. Are so many people trying to leave the city?”
“No,” one replied. “And thank Gheald, too. It was bad enough as it was.”
Rindle’s brow furrowed. “Why would there be lines then?”
“We had to slow those who wished to leave and carefully inspect each person, horse, and wagon. Those things take extra time.”
“Why bother?”
The guards looked at each other in silence, then one sighed. “It’s going to get out no matter what orders we were given.”
“True,” another replied.
The first guard looked at Rindle. “Keep this to yourself, but there was a murder in the palace last night.”
Rindle gaped, doing his best to act shocked. “Oh my. I hope it wasn’t anyone important.”
“Not just anyone,” a guard grunted.
Another leaned close, whispering, “Have you noticed the flame missing from the tower?”
A gasp emerged as Rindle covered his mouth with his hand. “Lord Taladain?”
Half the guards nodded, one of them adding, “As well as Captain Burrock.”
“Burrock? Isn’t he supposed to be a formidable fighter?”
“Yes.”
“Who is in charge then?”
“With Prince Eldalain away and Burrock dead, Sergeant Verd stepped in and has us searching the city.”
“For the assassins?”
“Yes.”
Rindle put a finger to his mouth in thought. “But what of Princess Narine? I heard she had returned.”
The guards looked at each other before one whispered, “She was behind the assassination.”
Rindle was confused. “What do you mean? It wasn’t a short man with dark hair?”
“Well, there is a man matching the description on our list.” The guard scratched his head in thought. “But there were others, as well. A petite girl, a short, stocky man, an old man, along with the princess and her bodyguard.”
Rindle needed more information, needed to know what role Landish truly played in the assassination. “Surely you must have a witness. Someone must know who did the actual killing.”
The guards looked at each other and shrugged. “There was a witness. A servant. The man said another servant started the attack. We believe that was the short man with dark hair.”
Rindle frowned. Damn you, Jerrell. How did you do it? “But Taladain is a wizard lord, able to heal himself should anyone attempt to harm him. How could he have been killed?”
The guards looked at one another, then one replied, “The best we can figure, it must have been the princess and her magic.”
The guards turned from him and resumed their drinking, the conversation turning lewd as a barmaid tried to slide past. Rindle ignored it all, leaning his elbows on the bar and staring into space.
When Jerrell had returned to Fastella, Rindle had been worried, until he heard him admit he planned to kill a wizard lord. Despite all Jerrell’s luck, Rindle was certain the man had gone too far this time. It should have been impossible. Landish should be dead, not Taladain. Nobody kills a wizard lord, except another wizard. Even then, it was rare. Wizard lords ruled for hundreds of years, the lives of others passing like seasons. Everyone knew it.
Jerrell Landish had been away from Fastella for seven years, yet the man’s legend continued to grow. Killing Taladain would only enhance it, thickening the shadow that had masked Rindle from the respect he was due. I am still a better duelist. It was the one thing he always had over Jerrell. Unfortunately, he had not found a way to make his skill particularly useful or profitable.
Rindle thought of his father, the man who had trained him to use the rapier at his hip, the same weapon his father had used years earlier to become dueling champion of the southern wizardoms. Too bad they no longer hold the competition. I could have made you proud, Father.
Twelve years had passed since his father’s death. Still, nary a day passed when Rindle did not think of him. If only I hadn’t forgotten to douse the candle.
Guilt resurfaced, joined by his father’s haunting screams. The fire had taken the man and everything else in Rindle’s life. Only the sword remained.
A hardy round of laughter from the guards stirred Rindle from his reverie. He downed the last of his ale and hurried out the door.
The sky was dark, save for the ever-present moon to the east. Night had fallen, which meant Rindle was definitely late. He rushed down the street, wary of his surroundings lest he be followed or accosted. The first was a real risk, the latter
unlikely since he was known to work for the Thieves Guild.
He needed to set the problem of Jerrell Landish aside, for Cordelia waited.
Thurvin Arnolle stepped into the Marquithe Wizards Guild Hall, escorted by a pair of guards wearing dark blue capes over silver-plated armor. But they were ungifted, and he was a wizard. Despite his small stature, he refused to fear such men, especially now.
A buzz of conversation greeted him, the words laced with gossip and conjecture. Pausing in the shadowy entrance, his gaze swept the hall as he assessed the situation.
The room was filled with fellow wizards, men and women ranging in age from their early twenties to beyond seventy. Many possessed more raw talent than he, but he would show them something, something sure to surprise even Palkan Forca, the man seated on the dais. Thurvin’s hand went to the bracelet on his wrist, gripping it in reassurance. It was a recent gift from Lord Malvorian, a man who recognized Thurvin’s capabilities extended far beyond his meager ability to wield magic.
Cunning and calculating by nature, Thurvin had taken it on himself to alter the shape of the less legal affairs in Marquithe, using money and contacts to build his secret persona of The Whispering Man. Behind his guise, he gradually organized criminal activity in the city, creating a Thieves Guild, such as existed in some of the other great cities. However, this one was different, functioning not just toward building wealth, but also in gathering information across the city and the rest of Farrowen. This network let Lord Malvorian carry out a secret agenda without political ramifications. Thurvin’s success had seen him rise to a new position, one of even greater power. Backed by his newfound power, it was time to prove his worth to the world.
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