Fate of Wizardoms Boxed Set

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

Brogan took a step toward Jace, his fists clenched, knuckles white. “If you need me to pound sense into you, keep it up, runt.”

  Rhoa snorted. “Jace, your ability to irritate others remains as keen as ever.”

  Blythe put her hand on Brogan’s arm, drawing his attention. Immediately, his anger cooled. “Who are these people? Are you truly leaving?”

  He sighed. “I… I owe you an explanation. Perhaps you should come inside and sit down.”

  Her sparkling eyes gazed into his before she nodded. “Very well.”

  Blythe walked toward the porch, Brogan shadowing her. He stepped up and turned to find Jace and the others following. “This conversation is private.”

  He slammed the door, leaving his startled guests outside.

  27

  Whitewater

  Narrow beams of morning sunlight filtered through the trees, their leaves colored yellow, orange, and red. Many leaves had already abandoned their trees, carpeting the forest floor with color, clusters of dark pines a stark contrast to the bright surroundings. Rhoa sat on Brogan’s front porch, her chin resting on her fists as she stared into the forest. Rawk and Algoron sat to one side of her, Narine and Salvon to the other. The lone surviving enemy soldier was tied to a post, his leg bandaged, head drooping. Rhoa wondered if he would survive. The man had lost a lot of blood.

  Jace approached from one of the trails, shaking his head. “I couldn’t find even one of them.”

  Adyn appeared from around the cabin and shook her head when Jace gave her a questioning look.

  He sighed. “It looks like we will have to walk. So much for a pleasant ride.”

  Rhoa had mixed feelings about walking. It would obviously take longer, but she was still sore from the previous days of riding.

  The door opened. Rhoa turned toward it as Blythe emerged. The tall woman slipped past her and hurried down a path into the woods. Brogan remained inside the cabin, making a ruckus. Jace headed toward the door, and Rhoa followed him, her curiosity getting the better of her.

  Brogan had a pack on the kitchen floor, filling it with food and supplies.

  “I have bad news,” Jace said.

  With a grunt, Brogan continued to dig through the shelves. “Let me guess. Your horses are gone.”

  Jace glanced at Rhoa, who shrugged. “How did you know?”

  “If I were Despaldi, it’s what I would have done, even if things went sideways.” He chuckled. “It would prevent us from getting far, allowing him time to circle back for another attempt.”

  “You don’t seem too concerned. Illustan is a long way off. Walking there will take us a week.”

  Pausing, Brogan turned toward them. “You don’t know this area, and neither does Despaldi. In that, we have an advantage.”

  When a beat of silence followed, Rhoa asked, “What advantage?”

  Brogan dumped a bin of carrots and potatoes into his pack, grinning. “Riding isn’t the best way to Illustan from here, so his actions won’t slow us one bit.”

  The man crossed the room and opened a chest. From it, he lifted a chainmail cuirass, eyeing it as he held it up. With a sigh, he pulled it over his head. It fit snugly, most notably at the waist. The man was big, but he wasn’t fit by any stretch. Rhoa wondered what he had looked like in his twenties.

  After belting the chainmail at the waist, Brogan pulled a baldric from the chest. He slipped it over his shoulder, the strap tight across his chest. With impressive accuracy, he slid his falchion into it. Last came a shield, circular and made of banded metal, ringed by rounded studs. The dumpy, middle-aged man had transformed into an imposing warrior.

  Brogan shot them a grin. “Let’s go.”

  He bent, hoisted his massive pack, and slung it over his shoulder before walking out the door.

  “Come along. We don’t want to keep Blythe waiting.”

  The others stood, Salvon arching a brow. “Blythe has decided to join us?”

  Brogan stepped off the porch and headed toward the same trail she had taken. “Surprisingly, yes. She seems to think I will get myself killed without her supervision. She doesn’t realize I will end up dead either way, and she is merely delaying the inevitable.”

  Jace, who trailed behind a step, said, “We all end up dead, Brogan.”

  He stopped and grinned. “Yes, but given the choice, I would prefer to go out in style.”

  With everyone following Brogan, they passed through the woods, down a narrow trail. They soon emerged in a small meadow split by a rivulet. The area had been plowed, save for a small patch of dark green in one corner.

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” Jace said, “why are you so happy about joining us? Last night, you were grumpy and appeared set on sitting alone in your cabin until you croaked of old age.”

  Brogan stopped and turned to face the others. “Three things happened.”

  He held up one finger. “You brought Augur back to me.” His expression appeared wistful. “It was like stepping back in time – gripping the hilt, looking at the blade, wielding it again in battle. I have missed it.”

  He held up another finger. “Despaldi appeared. If he has a stake in this, so do I, regardless of which is right and which is wrong.”

  A third finger joined the first two. “Lastly, Blythe joined us. I can tell you, she is skilled with a bow, perhaps the best shot I have ever known. Her hunting and tracking skills are top-notch. With her on board, I feel better about our chances.”

  He spun about and continued down the trail, leading them back into the woods.

  A few hundred paces later, they came to another cabin. Blythe sat on the front porch, a pack to one side, her dog to the other. She had a bow and a quiver strapped across her back.

  The woman and her dog stood. “Took you long enough.”

  Brogan said, “I knew you would say that.”

  She stepped from the porch, visibly appraising Brogan. “You look good. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you armed. How does it feel?”

  “Like I’m back home again.”

  Blythe smiled and patted his cheek. “There’s the man I miss.”

  She and her dog led them around the cabin and to a downhill path. Through the trees, Rhoa spied a peak to each side and distant peaks ahead. She wondered how far they would be forced to walk.

  It turned out they walked for no more than three or four miles. By then, the sun was well into the sky and the breeze had picked up, the heat of the sun balanced by the wind. The valley trail had run alongside a creek and past two waterfalls before the creek joined a larger river. There, they came to a village.

  Whitewater consisted of a few dozen log buildings. Big, burly men with weathered complexions walked the dirt streets. With brown, yellow, or red hair, most of the men had beards – some thick and curly, others neatly trimmed. Two mills sat beside the river, no more than a thousand feet apart, the swift current turning the wheels attached to the two buildings. Men on the far bank used axes to cleave branches from tree trunks before rolling the trunks into the water. Rhoa watched the logs float off and thought of her only visit to Illustan. She recalled large pods of floating logs along the banks just upstream from the shipyards. This must be where those logs originated.

  Brogan led them past the village and to a building a thousand feet downstream. The building was the only one with a dock. After stepping inside for a brief moment, he emerged again and gave a nod.

  “Captain Dorsey has agreed to take us downriver. His men are moving the barge and should have it in the water soon.”

  Not more than two minutes later, twenty men appeared, along with a large platform of logs bound together. Six of the men stood before the platform, pulling it along with two ropes. Six more men pushed from behind, the odd structure rolling on logs between it and the ground. Each time a log would clear the back of the platform, a pair of men would hoist it up, loop around, then place it at the front again.

  The process went on for a few minutes, the platform covering a couple hundred fe
et before it reached the river. It slid into the water, bobbing above the surface as men secured it to the dock.

  Five men emerged from the building, four following a balding man with a curly red beard. The man gave them a nod and placed an odd, red cap onto his head. The cap reminded Rhoa of the one Rawk had worn when they first met – angular in shape and peaked at the back.

  “Well met, gentlefolk.” The man dipped his head. “My name is Captain Dorsey. This is my crew. Bran, Phipps, Tomtom, and Shanden. We’ll be taking you downriver.” The man gestured toward the water. “As soon as you’re on board, we’ll push off and be on our way.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Brogan said with a nod.

  Everyone followed the ex-soldier to the dock. Rhoa eyed the floating craft as she approached and stepped on, the flat design unlike anything she had ever seen.

  “It’s a barge,” Blythe said.

  Rhoa was puzzled. “A barge?”

  “Yes. Suitable for the river. There are rapids and other places too shallow for other watercraft.”

  In the middle of the barge, benches were arranged in a square, with a large, elevated bin in the center and a canvas awning above them. Brogan and the others threw their packs into the square bin before taking a seat. With a wave from Blythe, Phantom leapt into the bin and lay down amid the packs. Rhoa took a seat between Blythe and Salvon as the crew pushed off.

  In moments, they were beyond the dock and drifting downstream. The captain stood at a tiller secured to a pivot at the rear of the craft. The other crew members each held a long pole, the men strapped to stools at each corner of the boat. When they reached an area where the water was capped by white foam, the barge burst forward.

  Blythe was around the same age as Sareen, the woman who had acted as Rhoa’s mentor for so many years. Rhoa missed having Sareen around. For that reason, she found herself drawn toward Blythe.

  “Brogan says you are excellent with the bow. A good hunter, as well. Those are…uncommon skills for a woman.” Rhoa, worried she might have offended Blythe, felt relief when the woman smiled.

  “He said I was an excellent shot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting. Compliments from him are rare. Did he say anything else about me?”

  Rhoa shook her head.

  Blythe sighed. “As I suspected.” She shook her head. “As for your question, I was trained by my father. He was once the best hunter and tracker in the Gleam Guard, Lord Raskor’s elite command. After he and my mother married, I was soon born. However, male children are a great source of pride in our culture. Having only a daughter was not enough, so my mother became pregnant again, but there were complications. Neither she nor my brother survived the birth.”

  Rhoa missed her parents every day, but at least she had childhood memories to call on. Blythe had not one memory of her mother. “I am sorry.”

  The woman smiled and patted Rhoa’s knee. “Thank you. I often wonder what path my life might have taken had she not died so young. I never knew what I lost, but the death of his wife and son greatly affected my father. Left to raise me alone and haunted by the loss of my mother, he abandoned his duty and retired to a forest home just east of here. There, he raised me, teaching me to survive in the woods – hunting, fishing, tracking, and general woodcraft. He taught me to carve a longbow from yew and trained me to use it.” She patted the one on her shoulder. “This is a bow I made myself, one of dozens.

  “By the time I had reached my mid-teens, my abilities with the bow had surpassed his own. It soon became obvious my archery skill was a source of pride for him, and I would do anything to gain his approval, so I trained and trained until I was the best. He never said it, but I know he wished I were a boy. Even when he died nine years past, he had never said it, but I knew.

  “I buried him near his cabin, then tried to live there on my own, but the memories haunted me. It had been his place, and I felt the need to find my own path. So I left.

  “For the next few years, I bounced around, living in small, mountain villages like the one we just left. Eventually, Salvon came to visit one of those villages.” A grin split Blythe’s face as she leaned close so the man couldn’t hear. “His skill with storytelling lit something inside me. I was hooked and, at first, feared I might have fallen in love with a man many years my senior.”

  Rhoa’s eyes widened at the thought. She glanced at Salvon, who appeared to be staring off toward the riverbank.

  Blythe continued her story. “Each night, I would listen to his tales, his voice transporting me to another place and time, one of magic and discovery. On the tenth evening, he announced he would be leaving the next day. By then, I was also ready to leave, and I begged him to allow me to join him. Although he appeared reluctant, he agreed. Two days later, he and I came across Brogan. At first, I thought him dead.”

  Her gaze grew distant and troubled. “There was so much blood.” She ran a hand through her hair, as if wiping the concern away. “Thankfully, he was alive. Salvon stitched him up, and I applied salves using herbs and moss – things I had learned from my father. When Salvon said he had to leave, I knew I could not. Who would care for Brogan?” She shook her head, her mouth drawn into a smirk. “Who knew I would still be caring for him six years later?”

  The personal nature of Blythe’s story had drawn Rhoa in, but the way it ended left her uncomfortable. She sensed there was more between Blythe and Brogan than either would admit. Rather than delve deeper, she changed the subject.

  “How long will it take to reach Illustan?” she asked.

  “It depends on the season and rainfall. This time of year, it takes about three days, longer if there has been no recent rain. In the spring, if you are willing to risk it, the water flows fast enough you can reach the city in a little more than a day.”

  Salvon snorted. “I did a spring run once.” He wiped his brow. “It was among the most frightening experiences of my life, which is saying something.”

  Rhoa smiled at his comment, trying to picture the river heavy with ice melt and rain runoff. Another concern arose. “What about when it’s dark?”

  Blythe replied, “The crew will find a place to moor for the evening, and we’ll resume at sunup.”

  Rhoa exhaled in relief. She had worried about them crashing into a boulder in the dark, the barge smashing to pieces and sending them all into the river.

  Jace came around the corner and stood before their bench. “Interesting way to travel, eh?”

  Salvon nodded. “Quite. I have done it many times. Most of them enjoyable.”

  Rhoa wondered why Jace had approached them. He rarely did anything without an ulterior motive.

  “This river is rough,” Blythe said, her tone one of warning. “There is a reason everyone is sitting.”

  Jace waved it off. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. It’s all about balance, you see.”

  The look Blythe gave made Rhoa burst out laughing.

  “Salvon,” Jace said, ignoring the two women. “Something is bothering me.”

  I knew it, Rhoa thought.

  “Yes, Jace?”

  “It’s about wyverns and dragons.” Jace ran his hand through his hair. “You mentioned wyverns being more common and much smaller than a dragon. I saw the monster. That thing was big, intimidating, and not something I’d wish to face again. What if we have dragons running loose, as well?”

  “It won’t happen. At least not multiple dragons.” Salvon appeared saddened. “You see, according to legend, the last male dragon died ages ago. The only remaining dragon is a female named Zyordican.”

  Narine leaned over from the neighboring bench. “That’s the dragon from your story about the dwarf king. The one you told us around the fire.”

  Salvon smiled. “Exactly.”

  When Jace looked at Narine, she arched a brow at him. “Am I not allowed to join this discussion?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Do whatever you wish. I won’t try to stop you.” His gaze shift
ed back to Salvon. “We are talking about an overgrown lizard. How does one even tell a male and female apart?

  “Color,” the old man replied. “Females have green bodies. Their heads and necks might vary in color, but their bodies are always green. In contrast, male dragons are red.”

  “So, if this Zyordican actually exists, what then? Other than size, how does a dragon differ from a wyvern?”

  “If she appears, it could be devastating. She is the size of a barn and covered in scales as hard as armor. Moreover, she is quite intelligent. You see, wyverns are animals infused with magic, making them something different than what we are used to finding in the wild. However, dragons are magic. Even their fire is magic. After all, how can something breathe fire without burning its mouth if not for magic?

  Jace’s brow furrowed. “Magic, huh?”

  “Very much so.”

  Rubbing his jaw, the thief stared at Salvon with his eyes narrowed. Rhoa wondered what had driven the questions. She glanced up at the sky as a white, fluffy cloud floated past, obscuring the sun. Wyverns already sounded bad enough without also worrying about dragons.

  The raft lurched, one of the front corners rising. Jace stumbled but kept his footing. Another lurch, and a front corner dipped into the water, a heavy wave washing over the platform. Everyone on board released a collective whoop, those who were seated instinctively lifting their legs. The raft jerked to a short stop as the wave reached Jace, sweeping his feet from beneath him and sending him sprawling. His eyes grew wide as he gasped, half his body covered in water while he held on tightly.

  “Cold! Cold!” he shrieked as he scrambled to his hands and knees.

  The water receded, much of it seeping through the gaps between the logs.

  Jace climbed to his feet, his clothing soaked, cloak hanging heavily, face reflecting shock.

  “I told you to sit,” Blythe said, shaking her head.

  Narine and Rhoa burst out laughing, the others joining in as Jace scowled and stomped back to his bench.