Fate of Wizardoms Boxed Set

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  “How are you feeling?” Adyn said from behind her.

  Narine jumped with a start, yanking her extended hand back and pressing it against her chest as she spun around. “Adyn! You nearly had me leaping over the rail. I hate when you sneak up on me.”

  She grinned. “I know.”

  Recovering outwardly, although her heart still raced, Narine replied, “I feel quite better, thank you.”

  The bodyguard snorted. “You should. There can’t be anything left in your stomach. How many times did you vomit?”

  Narine glanced at Jace, suddenly wishing he weren’t there. “I didn’t think to keep count.”

  “I did, for a while. I gave up somewhere beyond twenty-three.” Adyn ran a hand through her short, brown hair. “You were sleeping when I woke, so I left quietly. I suspected it had been a long night for you.”

  “I think it was a long night for all of us,” Jace said.

  “True.” Adyn nodded. “Thank you for getting us out of the city.”

  He bowed his head. “You are welcome.” He then gave Narine a sidelong look. “It is good to see some women properly thanking another for risking his life to save hers.”

  Narine rolled her eyes. “Fine.” Her tone was thick with sarcasm. “Thank you.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Your gratitude seems so sincere.”

  Adyn said, “He did help us escape the inn and the city with Charcoan’s soldiers eager to find you. Don’t forget. He helped us escape Fastella, as well.”

  Narine’s jaw set, anger stirring. “I am aware of all that. You needn’t remind me. I said thank you and meant it.”

  She walked toward the bow, the wind blowing her hair. She knew Jace had saved her and Adyn from being captured, but for reasons she couldn’t explain, she resented owing him gratitude or anything else.

  What is wrong with you, Narine? You are behaving like a child.

  Somewhere deep inside, she knew the answer but was afraid to admit it.

  6

  Alliances

  Eldalain stood in the middle of a street, halfway between two intersections where enchanted lanterns provided islands of light on a cloudy evening. A guard stood to either side of him, the men’s clothing covered by hooded, black cloaks, their armor left back at the palace. The cloak Eldalain wore was similar in color to his guards but made of more expensive material.

  The sound of a door opening came from the shadows, followed by Klondon’s low grunt as the bodyguard stepped aside.

  Without a word, Eldalain walked past the hulking man and into the dark building. The two guards and Klondon followed. The door clicked shut, and Eldalain drew in his magic. The construct of illusion bent and twisted into a ball of light, hovering above his open palm and giving the surroundings definition.

  The living room furniture was covered in dust, the fireplace opening occupied by cobwebs, as were the dark beams overhead. The house had been dormant since the owner had been selected by the lottery over a year past. With no family to claim it, the estate went to the throne. At some point, the building would be gifted to someone deserving. For now, it served another purpose.

  “The door under the stairs,” Eldalain said.

  Klondon approached the door and opened it. Kneeling, he stuck his finger into a knothole and lifted, exposing a trapdoor.

  “Wait here,” Eldalain said to the guards. “Nobody enters unless I call for assistance.”

  “Yes, sir,” one of the guards replied.

  With his magic-powered light as a guide, Eldalain followed Klondon down the steep stairs.

  The cellar below was even worse than the room above, the empty shelves coated with dust and cobwebs. The dirt floor was marked by recent footprints. A sliver of light came from beneath a door at the far end of the room. The bodyguard headed for the door while drawing his axe. Eldalain gave the man a nod and dismissed his magic, dousing the light. With one hand on the knob, Klondon flung it open and stood ready.

  “Nobody move,” Eldalain said from the shadows of his hood. “Unless you wish to lose a limb, or worse.”

  “There is no need for dramatics,” said a female from inside the room.

  Eldalain entered the small room, empty save for three people, a single chair, and a rug. A woman in a cloak – her hood up, face hidden in shadow – sat in the chair with her legs crossed. Two men in hooded cloaks stood beside her.

  “You two.” Eldalain pointed at the two men…one tall and thin, the other as bulky as Klondon. “Out. Cordelia and I need to speak in private.”

  The thin man growled, “I’ll not–”

  The woman gripped the man’s wrist before he could draw his rapier. “Be still, you idiot.” Her tone left no room for argument. “Leave us.”

  The two men walked out, followed by Klondon, leaving Eldalain alone with Cordelia.

  He lowered his hood. “It is nice to meet you, Cordelia. Or should I call you Wizardess Dalia Corcoran?”

  She sighed and pulled her hood back, revealing a handsome face framed by blonde hair. Her eyes were blue with age lines at the edges. Pursing her lips, she replied, “You are the prince. You may call me what you wish.”

  He chuckled. “Very well. Of anyone I may deal with, you understand the need for secrecy. I must confess, you have done a stellar job of keeping your true identity separate from your business.”

  “Business is business. The persona I have developed with Cordelia has far more power than a widowed wizardess from a minor estate. Still the Wizards Guild would be displeased to discover my affiliation with another guild in the same city.”

  “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me…assuming you agree to my proposal.”

  She arched a well-preened brow. “Proposal? We hardly know each other.”

  “I am not speaking of marriage. Instead, I speak of business. I will officially declare martial law in the morning. The city will operate as if we are under siege until the next Darkening.”

  “Until you are crowned.”

  He nodded. “Precisely.”

  “What does this have to do with me?”

  “I need certain…activities to stop, unless they occur under my directive.”

  “Such as?”

  “No murders, no stealing.”

  “Until spring?” Her brow arched. She sounded aghast. “That would cripple our income. It will crush us.”

  “Not if I pay you.”

  “Go on.”

  He began to pace. “Under martial law, I intend to close the port. I can’t afford to have foreign ships coming and going. However, the city still needs food and supplies.”

  “Smuggling?”

  “Yes. You will procure and smuggle in the items I require, the crown will pay you, and we both win.”

  “I get the feeling there is more.”

  He flashed her a smile. “I knew I would like you. The Wizards Guild must comply with my plans, and none, not even Van Parsec, should believe they dare risk challenging me for the throne.”

  “Your power is well-known. You could just face him.”

  “True, but at what risk? If I somehow fail, I gain nothing. I also suspect Parsec will do what he can to block me at every turn. If I can override his influence, the guild will comply, regardless of his own designs.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I require a well-placed murder.”

  “A wizard?”

  “No. A wizardess.” He gave her a serious glare. “I want you to kill Parsec’s wife, Gilda. Make it messy so nobody misses the message. Just don’t get caught. I’ll deny any involvement and won’t be able to protect you should the Wizards Guild seek retribution.”

  Cordelia leaned forward, her hand to her forehead, her eyes closed as if in pain. “You want me to break into the home of the second most potent wizard in the city, kill his wife, and make it a clear message?” She opened her eyes, brows raised in a hopeful arch.

  Eldalain grinned. “I am so glad we understand each other.”

  The cellar was
dark, only a slice of light seeping through the door where Cordelia met with her contact. In that dim light, Rindle examined the hulking figure across from him – a man even bulkier than Herrod.

  The door opened. A cloaked man swept past him and up the steep stairs, his bodyguard trailing. The man’s guard was so big he had to twist to fit through the trapdoor. When he did, his cloak opened and Rindle caught a glimpse of a battle axe in the man’s hand.

  I knew it.

  “Come in and close the door,” Cordelia called from the neighboring room.

  With Herrod leading the way, Rindle stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

  “What does Prince Eldalain want with us?” he blurted.

  Cordelia sighed as she sat back. “It appears our business is about to undergo a change, one I hope is temporary. When we leave, I need you two to contact each of the guild lieutenants. They are to cease all operations until they hear otherwise.”

  “But that will break us. We’ll have no income. How are we going to eat?”

  The woman’s hand swept through the air. Although she sat two strides away, pain flared from Rindle’s cheek and his head snapped to the side as if he had been slapped. He blinked and willed the tears away as his hand cupped his face. The display of magic was rare, a thing Cordelia did only when under a great deal of stress.

  “This is not a negotiation, Rindle.” Her tone was stinging. “You will do this, and everyone will obey. This isn’t the end for the Thieves Guild. Not if we comply.” She sat back, and the tension in her shoulders relaxed. “Our prince did give us a number of opportunities to earn some coin while we are under these restrictions. The first is an opportunity suitable for yourself.”

  “An opportunity?”

  “Yes. You have often expressed an interest to prove yourself…especially since Jerrell returned to the city.”

  The name made Rindle frown. “Yes.”

  “I have a mission for you.”

  He arched a brow. “What sort of mission?”

  “Have you ever wanted to kill a wizard?”

  7

  Primary Objective

  Rhoa sat in the back of Salvon’s cart, watching a farm slowly drift past. Three days had passed since Narine and Adyn had disappeared. The rest of the group had spent one day in Starmuth, waiting while Salvon’s cart was being repaired.

  It had been discovered abandoned near the south gate, the axle broken. Jace or whoever had stolen it had not been kind to the rickety old cart. Then again, perhaps the axle had been bound to fail. If so, Salvon had noted, having the cart break down while in Starmuth was a boon and certainly much better than it occurring on the road, distant from shelter or someone who could perform the repairs.

  Now, two full days outside of Starmuth, the cart approached the border between Ghealdor and Farrowen. After all the time she had dreamed of returning to Ghealdor, Rhoa longed to flee the wizardom and the memories it held. The blood of two men…one of whom she had killed out of revenge, the other during their desperate escape…had stained her heart. She felt the urge to wash her hands again, as she had so many times over the past ten days. Banishing those thoughts, she wondered about her troupe, the family she had left behind.

  During her stay at The Golden Chalice, Rhoa had discovered the menagerie left Starmuth weeks earlier, and rumors said they had taken the coastal road toward Lionne. She wanted to see the troupe one last time, to let them know she was safe and to say goodbye. It had taken little convincing for Salvon to head the same direction.

  “I have no place I need to be, Rhoa,” the storyteller had said. “If you wish to visit Lionne, I will do so, as well.”

  Rhoa knew she could have left the old man and gone on her own, but the thought of being alone frightened her. With Prince Eldalain intent on capturing Narine, Rhoa worried she was also at risk. After all, it was Rhoa’s fulgur blade that took the wizard lord’s life. Will I ever be at ease again? Have I ever truly been at ease since my parents’ deaths? The tragic series of events leading to this point weighed on her and left her wishing she could go back ten years, to a time before her parents were sacrificed. On countless occasions, she had wondered what her life would have been like if her house had never been chosen by the lottery. Almost as often, she pondered if it would have been better if she had died alongside them.

  The cart slowed as it reached an incline. With a plodding pace, Jabbers pulled them up the rise, one of many amid the rolling hills. Briefly, the sea to the north appeared through the gaps in the trees. They passed a vineyard filled with awning-topped trellises and a cluster of shoddy, wooden buildings. Orchards and vineyards were common in the area, one valley away from the sea.

  To the south, Rhoa noticed the distant, wooded hills were dotted with orange and gold amid a sea of green. The leaves had begun to change color with winter approaching. Farther south, in the mountains and beyond, snow would soon fall, coating the landscape white. She had always wondered what Pallanar was like in the heart of winter. But Stanlin and the menagerie avoided such weather, instead traveling to warmer regions during the colder months.

  At the top of the rise, Jabbers moved a half-step faster, pulling the cart around a bend before Salvon pulled the cart to a stop.

  A cluster of Farrowen soldiers approached at a trot, slowing as they neared the cart. Among the soldiers was a man Rhoa recognized.

  “That’s him, Captain,” said the only man not wearing armor. “The old man who came into Starmuth with the princess and her bodyguard.”

  The man beside him, tall with dark hair and a mustache, nodded. “Very good, Garvin.”

  “More importantly,” Garvin said, “the girl matches the description of the one you sought. Look at what she is wearing.”

  Instinctively, Rhoa’s hand clutched the amulet on her chest, clearly visible outside her tunic.

  The captain grinned. “I do believe you are correct. We seem to have caught our little bird. Better yet, she still has the amulet.”

  Garvin rode at a trot beside Despaldi. Twenty-four of the Midnight Guard trailed behind them. In the center of the pack were the prisoners – the old storyteller, the short man, and the girl, each shackled, gagged, and strapped to a saddle. The old man’s horse and cart were left behind. Perhaps someone will find them and claim them. Perhaps not. Garvin doubted the horse would be of much use to anyone anyway.

  The rolling hills faded behind as they came to a river valley, marking the edge of Ghealdan lands. After the party crossed a bridge, the trees parted to reveal an open field situated between two branches of the river. Two miles across and twice the length, the field was filled with Farrowen troops numbering in the thousands. Without pause, Despaldi led them toward a cluster of three large, white tents with dark blue standards waving in the breeze, each with a white lightning bolt intersecting a circle of white.

  Slowing outside the tents, Despaldi dismounted. “Deveron, Korm, Pike… Get the prisoners off the horses and bring them to my tent.” He turned as Garvin climbed off his horse. “Lieutenant Garvin, go to Henton’s tent and request he join me.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Garvin snapped before turning on his heel and heading to the farthest of the white tents.

  As he approached, he thumped his chest to salute the two soldiers standing outside the entrance. “I am to request Captain Henton join Captain Despaldi.”

  One guard replied, “He is inside, but he has company.”

  With a grimace, Garvin said, “This is important.”

  “Suit yourself. It’s your funeral.”

  “Fine.” He pushed past the men, ducking through the tent flap.

  Two men were inside. One tall, broad-shouldered, and every inch a warrior. The other short with long, dark hair, a narrow face, and slight frame beneath a dark blue robe. The shorter man glared at Garvin with fire in his eyes.

  “What is this intrusion?” the short wizard snapped.

  Garvin thumped his chest and addressed the bigger man. “Captain Despaldi has requested y
ou join him in his quarters.”

  Henton gave Garvin a shallow nod. “Thank you, Lieutenant. However, I have a guest. Have you met Master Thurvin Arnolle?”

  Ahh… The weasel. I thought he only lurked in the shadows. “Well met, sir.” He turned back to Henton. “Perhaps you both could join Despaldi?”

  Thurvin nodded. “Yes. Let’s go see what the captain considers so urgent.”

  Obvious reluctance in his eyes, Henton nodded and slipped past Garvin. Thurvin gave a haughty smirk and followed the man from the tent, Garvin trailing.

  The three marched to Despaldi’s tent, entering without a word to the guards standing outside. When Garvin stepped through the flap, he found Despaldi leaning over a table, crafting a missive. The three prisoners stood with their backs facing each other, their wrists bound to the same tent post.

  “What is this?” Thurvin asked, staring at the captives.

  Despaldi looked up, eyes narrowed. “This is our primary objective.” He lifted his hand, revealing the amulet dangling from his fist.

  Thurvin’s eyes widened. “The Eye of Obscurance.” He glanced toward the three prisoners. “They had it?”

  Stepping away from the table, Despaldi nodded. “Yes. The girl was wearing it.”

  “The girl…” Thurvin stared at her. “She is so small, innocuous. Did she do it? Was she the one who killed Taladain?”

  “Hard to say for sure.” Despaldi stared at the prisoners. “We haven’t been able to get them to say anything about the incident. In truth, they have said nothing at all since their capture, but I am sure I can get them to bend if given some time. It’s just a matter of discovering what they cannot endure.”