Fate of Wizardoms Boxed Set

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  The old city – a small, walled-in area with an ancient keep in the center – was located on a flat area between the water and the cliffside. Outside the old city were the docks, the water perpetually calm this far up the channel. Just beyond the docks, the channel narrowed to a winding river at the bottom of a chasm no more than a mile from cliff wall to cliff wall. Farther inland, the chasm continued to narrow until it was no more than a few hundred feet across.

  Above the old city and the docks, zig-zagging roads climbed the hillside. Newer houses lined those roads, built tall and narrow on small plots of land. Trees defiantly clinging to the hillside surrounding those homes created an odd mixture of man and nature.

  Shear Castle stood at the top of the rise, its walls built of pale gray rock. The city wasn’t huge, nor was the castle, but even in the dim light of dusk, the sight was impressive. Narine wondered how long it would take to reach the top and feared she would soon find out.

  “Come on,” Jace said. “Let’s go gather our things.” He led her to the stairs, descended, and turned to offer a hand.

  Rather than rebuff him, she took it. “Thank you,” she said when she reached the bottom.

  “Yes, Your Highness.” He grinned, bowing slightly.

  “Oh stop.” She couldn’t help but smile as she slipped past him to enter her room.

  Adyn was inside, napping. The woman snored, but it was far quieter than when she had been drinking. Narine nudged her, causing her to stir, her eyes flickering open.

  “We’ve arrived.”

  “Shear?” Adyn asked as she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

  “Yes.” Narine looked around the room. Save for Adyn’s cloak, her weapons, and Narine’s meager pack, there was nothing for them to take. “At least there is a benefit to traveling lightly.”

  Adyn stretched. “I do miss lugging your chest of dresses around.”

  “How droll.” She gave Adyn a tight-lipped glare. “It may be a while before I have a chest of dresses again, if ever. At this point, I would be happy to have a change of clothing.”

  “Perhaps Jace can find a game of dice.” Adyn grinned.

  “Do you want me to hit you?”

  Adyn laughed as she strapped her sword belt on. “You can try.”

  “I know magic.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Keep pushing me and you’ll find out.” Narine picked up her pack, shouldering it.

  Bending to scoop up her cloak, Adyn turned to the door. “What would you do anyway?”

  “Find a good way to embarrass you.”

  Adyn opened the door. “Hmm… You’ll find it a challenging task.”

  “Indeed.”

  Jace stepped from his room and climbed the stairs, Adyn and Narine following. They emerged on deck as the ship drifted into a slip.

  Zard approached Jace. “Welcome to Shear. Safe and sound, as promised,” the tall sailor said. “I must say, you three were entertaining passengers.”

  With a shrug, Jace replied, “You’re just saying that because I gave you the chance to win back your coin.”

  Zard grinned. “I’m saying it because I did win it back.”

  Overton descended from the quarterdeck. “Some of us weren’t so lucky,” the man grumbled.

  Jace extended a hand, the captain grasping it. “Sorry, Overton. Somebody has to lose or it’s not a game.” He leaned close and whispered something to the captain, the man’s eyes going wide.

  As Jace stepped back, Overton nodded. “Thanks for the tip. I know how to turn such information into profit.”

  “Any captain of a trading ship would if he knew his business.”

  Overton grinned. “I would’ve lost my ship years ago if I didn’t do a few things right.” The captain turned toward Narine and Adyn, bowing. “It was a pleasure having you lovely ladies on board.”

  Adyn snorted. “First time I’ve been called a lady.”

  Zard raised an eyebrow. “You prefer feisty wench?”

  With a nod, Adyn said, “Actually, yes. It feels less like you are trying to sell me land six feet beneath a swamp.” She glanced over at Narine. “She might have apoplexy from being called a wench, but it suits me fine.”

  “Oh please,” Narine said. “I am not so brittle as to break from a lewd comment.”

  “In that case…” Zard pointed toward Narine’s chest. “You’ve got… Oof!”

  Adyn’s fist had struck him soundly in the stomach, forcing him to double over and cough. “Sorry, Zard. You can say what you wish about me, but I have to beat anyone who affronts Lady Reene.”

  Reene was the name Jace had come up with to mask Narine’s identity. Even after five days of hearing it, she hadn’t quite grown used to it.

  Narine glared at Adyn. “I am sorry, Zard. She overreacts. Please, accept our apologies.”

  The man backed away, gasping for breath, waving it off.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Narine said. “We are all packed and will leave you to your ship. Thank you for the hospitality, and I’m sorry about my sickness the first couple days.”

  “It was no problem, my lady.”

  Jace led them toward the plank, descending the narrow board with ease. Lifting her skirts, Narine crossed, wobbling twice. She reached his extended hand, took it, and leapt to the dock. I wish I weren’t so clumsy. It was her curse. One of many.

  Adyn followed, appearing as graceful as Jace. When she reached the dock, the three of them headed toward the old city.

  “We will head to the top in the morning. Will I need to buy you a horse to ride, or can you make the climb?” Jace asked, giving Narine a sidelong look.

  Narine’s gaze followed the switchbacks up the steep hillside. Many hundreds of feet up, the castle walls were visible, but just barely. She wanted to say she could make the climb but feared failing. It was more daunting than climbing the steps at the University. Her gaze shifted to Adyn, whose knowing smile triggered Narine’s anger.

  I’ll show her.

  She turned toward Jace. “No need for a ride. I can make the hike. However, if you are willing to spare the coin, I would love a new dress. This one is beginning to stink.” She walked toward the buildings. “Let’s get a room and a meal. I’m famished.”

  Sweat ran down Narine’s face, stinging her eyes. She looked up. Again. It had become a habit during the climb, most often yielding disappointment. Turning toward the northeast, she looked out over the channel and the city at the shore. It was beautiful, but the beauty was lost to her exhaustion. Internally, she admitted she had underestimated the incline and the length of time it would take to climb to the top. Externally, though, she refused to give Adyn the satisfaction.

  “Are you all right?” Adyn asked.

  “We can stop for a bit if you like,” Jace offered.

  “No,” Narine said between gasps. “We are nearing the top. Let’s get there before it gets any hotter.”

  “As you wish,” Jace said as he resumed climbing.

  Narine forced her legs forward, one step at a time. Her feet felt heavy, as if weights had been strapped to them. To take her mind off the climb, she recalled the events of the previous evening.

  They had been fortunate to find both a tailor and a small inn just inside the city walls. The tailor had a blue dress that would require only minimal adjustments for a proper fit. The woman promised it would be ready by sunup, so the trio visited the inn, procuring a room and a meal for each of them. It was the first decent night of sleep Narine had since leaving Fastella two weeks earlier. They woke, ate a quick breakfast, picked up her dress, and began their climb before the rising sun crested the eastern ridgeline.

  Now, two hours later, they neared the top and Narine was exhausted. While she wanted nothing more than to sit, she forced herself forward, telling herself she was too strong to give up.

  They rounded a bend and followed another switchback lined with houses on the uphill side, just as each of the other ones they had taken. How many? Narine had lost count. It had
become too depressing.

  She was thankful when the road finally began to level. At the next turn, she noticed the castle walls above her. The road followed the wall, curving with it and leading them to another section of the city.

  Unlike the older buildings below, there was no wall surrounding the city and the only defensible location was the castle. The sight of the buildings, and the paved road heading out of the city, brought Narine to a decision.

  I don’t care what they think of me. This is ridiculous.

  Narine reached out and grabbed Jace by the arm. “I need a ride to Marquithe.”

  “You need a ride?”

  “Yes. Get me a ride, not a horse. A ride. I don’t care how you do it. Just do it.”

  He stared at her as a smile spread across his face. “You need me.”

  Still panting from the exertion, she said, “Fine. I need you to get me a ride.”

  “What’s it worth to you?”

  She fixed him with a glare. “My endless gratitude.”

  “Hmm… That might be of some value.” Stepping back with a flourishing bow, he said, “I will find milady a carriage.”

  He crossed the square outside the castle gate, circled the fountain, and continued toward a big building that appeared to be a stable.

  Adyn moved closer. “Was that a good idea?”

  “What?”

  “You just told a man who is obviously smitten with you to procure a ride at any cost. He is a thief, Narine. You do realize he is likely to break the law on your account.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t care. He says he is good at what he does. It’s time we reap some benefits.”

  Adyn looked at her with a smirk. “I’m not complaining. I just find it interesting. After harping on him repeatedly about his antics, you then encourage him to steal when it suits you.”

  Narine wiped her brow again and fixed Adyn with a glare. “Listen. I am sweaty, exhausted, and my feet feel as if they are twice the size of my shoes. I don’t care how he gets us a ride. I just want to sit.”

  “Is that what it takes to get you to toss propriety aside? A difficult uphill climb?” Adyn arched a brow. “You are changing.”

  “No. I’m just done pretending.” Narine headed toward the fountain. “Come on. I need some water and to wash. I feel disgusting.”

  11

  Loss

  It was dark, an hour past sunset. Normally, Devotion would occur during this hour. With Taladain dead and Fastella under lockdown, nothing was normal.

  Rindle stood on Herrod’s shoulders and gripped the top of the wall. With gritted teeth, he pulled himself up, kicked a leg over, and slid down the other side until he hung with arms extended. Releasing his grip, he fell, stumbling when he hit the ground, falling into a row of hedges lining the wall. Swearing to himself, he pulled away from the hedges. His palm hurt. There was a hole in his glove, his skin pierced by a twig. But it seemed, no one had heard him.

  He darted across the garden and to the stables, putting his back against the outside wall. Someone worked inside, whistling and shuffling about. The rear door to the mansion opened. An armed guard and a man in dark robes walked out, the two of them heading down the path toward the stables. Rindle eased backward and remained cloaked in shadow, praying the man would not see him.

  “Damon!”

  The whistling stopped. “Yes, Master Parsec?”

  “Is my carriage ready? I don’t wish to be late for my meeting with the prince.”

  “It is ready. Climb in, and we’ll be off.”

  “Very good.”

  When the carriage rolled away, Rindle poked his head around the corner. Two men at the wrought-iron gate opened it, waited until the carriage rolled past, and then closed it again.

  As Eldalain had promised, the wizard was gone, along with his bodyguard. It was now up to Rindle.

  “He wishes it to be messy,” Cordelia had said. “It is meant to send a message.” The job was important, and she trusted him to do it.

  This is my chance to prove I am better than Jerrell.

  He hurried down the path to the rear door, careful to stay low. When he tested the knob, he found the door unlocked. After a brief prayer to Gheald, he slipped inside.

  The corridor was dark, the only light coming through the window beside the door. The room at one end appeared empty and black, the other end led to a swinging door with a glow of light coming from beneath it. Rindle headed toward the swinging door and pushed it open just enough to peer through the crack.

  It was the kitchen. Inside, two women cleaned, one scrubbing pots in the scullery at the far end, the other wiping down the counter in the center. They chatted while they worked, discussing the menu and tasks for breakfast the next day.

  With the closer woman’s back to him, Rindle pushed the door open and drew his knife. She continued wiping the table while the other woman went on about how difficult it was to clean a particular pot. Neither woman stood a chance.

  He clamped his hand over the first woman’s mouth and dragged the knife across her throat. She struggled for a bit, shook violently, then sagged in his arms, dead. The woman at the scullery rinsed the pot, turning when he was a stride away. He lunged and buried his knife into her eye. The woman tried to cry out, but the strangled sound was pitiful. She fell backward, tumbled over some pots, and collapsed to the floor. Any sound she made was masked by the clattering pots.

  Rindle stood over her, panting from the rush of the killing. He knelt and pulled the knife from her eye socket, the eyeball coming with it. He wiped it off on the woman’s dress, cords still connected from the eyeball to the empty eye socket.

  “This should qualify as messy,” he muttered to himself, grinning.

  He spun away, crossed the kitchen, and peered out the door opposite from where he had entered. The room was dark and quiet, as was the corridor beyond. Distant footsteps arose, drawing closer. He ducked back into the kitchen and hid behind the door. Moments later, it opened. A man with gray hair and a black coat entered. He stopped in his tracks and gasped at the scene before him, stiffening when Rindle’s knife plunged into his temple.

  Van Parsec climbed into his carriage, followed by his bodyguard, Lang, who sat across from him. The carriage lurched into motion, Parsec’s gaze going toward the open curtain. The scenery outside the window slipped past as he thought about his meeting with Eldalain.

  The prince’s intent to declare martial law, if approved, would place the man in a position of control. Eldalain had insisted it was for the safety of Fastella and its citizens. Parsec suspected it was a preemptive move to keep others from challenging his ascension. Worse, the enactment would effectively hand the Wizards Guild over to Eldalain.

  As set out in laws established centuries earlier, unless the city was under attack by a foreign power, martial law could only remain in effect for ninety days. The next Darkening was over a hundred days away, placing Eldalain in control for the majority of the time span. However, the Wizards Guild, with a majority vote, could foil the prince’s entire plan.

  I will make sure the vote swings my way.

  The meeting left Parsec wondering if the prince suspected his intent to challenge him for the throne. After nine years as the head of the Fastella Wizards Guild, Parsec had put in his time, built a reputation, and continued to hone his craft. Unlike the other wizards, he did not fear Eldalain. Also unlike the others, his ambition stretched beyond hosting the next social gathering.

  The carriage stopped outside the gate to his mansion.

  “Ulric! Thane!” Damon called out.

  When Parsec heard no response, he stuck his head out. The gate remained closed, his guards nowhere to be found.

  With a sigh, he climbed from the carriage, Lang following, and walked to the gate, peering down the drive. All was quiet inside the estate. He pressed his face to the bars and looked to the side.

  He gasped at the sight of two bodies between the hedge and the wall. He drew in magic and willed a construct of p
hysical manipulation into existence. An extension and twist of the magic unlocked the gate – a skill he had practiced for years before mastering. It swung open, and Lang pushed it further to allow the carriage to pass.

  When Parsec drew nearer, he realized Ulric and Thane were dead, both men covered in blood with cuts on their cheeks, arms, and legs. One had a bloody hole in his jerkin, the other was missing an eye.

  Lang grunted, “Neat work.”

  Parsec glared at him. The man shrugged.

  “We have had an intruder,” Parsec said to Damon, who had remained in the carriage driver’s seat. “Drive the carriage to the stables and arm yourself.”

  Damon rode past as Parsec and Lang stalked up the driveway. The wizard held his magic, prepared to shield himself should anyone attack. The bodyguard gripped a sword in one hand, a cudgel in the other. The mansion at the top of the hill was quiet. Light came from the windows of three rooms, the same three as when they had left two hours earlier.

  The two men reached the stables just as Damon came out holding the massive blade he used for trimming the shrubs.

  “We’ll go in the back door,” Parsec instructed. “Lang will lead. I’ll follow. Damon will enter last. If we come across any intruders, attack swiftly. Judging by the wounds, whoever killed Ulric and Thane was highly skilled.”

  “I’m on it, boss.” Lang headed toward the door.

  “Yes, master.” Damon nodded and followed Parsec.

  The bodyguard opened the door and stepped into the dark corridor, pausing. Parsec pointed toward the kitchen. Lang nodded and crept down the hall with the wizard a step behind and Damon trailing. The man opened the door to a scene of horror.

  Sharene, the head cook, and Keadalt, Parsec’s manservant, lay in pools of blood. The other cook, Lorena, was dead in the scullery, her face covered in crimson, her missing eye dangling from her collar.

  “Dear Gheald,” Damon muttered. “What happened here?”