Fate of Wizardoms Boxed Set

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

28

  Altered Tactics

  “It won’t work,” Forca said. “You saw what happened. I was lucky to escape. If Eldalain attacks directly, I don’t think my shield will hold.”

  Henton looked at Charcoan. “What about you? You proved your strength back at Starmuth. Can you face him?”

  The man’s dark eyes scanned the tent, his gaze a challenge. “I could do it, but not alone.”

  “That’s just it,” Forca said. “None of the others from the guild are as powerful as the three wizards who died. They know it and I know it. They won’t go out there, even if you threaten them.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “Until Eldalain is gone, we cannot take the gate by force.”

  “If we can’t take it by force,” Garvin interjected, “what about subterfuge?”

  The others turned toward him with looks varying from interest to disdain.

  Henton nodded. “Go on.”

  “According to our scouts, the city appears sealed. Even ships coming into port have been forced to turn about and sail away, not allowed to dock. And that was before what happened to Shillings.”

  During the battle, the docks had burned, taking a third of the Farrowen fleet with them. When last seen, the surviving Farrowen ships were being chased by the Ghealdan fleet.

  “We are quite aware,” Charcoan said in annoyance.

  “Yes, but there is a well-established Thieves Guild in Fastella.”

  “Your point?”

  “Among other things, smuggling is a core source of income for such guilds. You can’t smuggle into a city through the gates where goods might be inspected.”

  Henton’s brow arched. “You suspect there are other ways in?”

  “I guarantee it.”

  “Interesting.” The captain stroked his chin at the idea.

  Garvin continued. “However, the routes will be of a limited nature, likely only allowing entry in single file.”

  Charcoan nodded. “If you could get a small team into the city, they could open the gates from the inside.”

  “That just might work. Very good, Garvin.” Henton nodded. “I will leave the task of finding a way in to you. At the same time, we will proceed with the plan for the wizards to destroy the gate with force. One way or another, we must get into the city, or this campaign ends here.”

  Eldalain stood before the wizards and wizardesses in the Guild Hall, all eyes on him, fifty-some people all quiet. Killing Parsec’s wife had given him martial law, but the wizards had resisted engaging.

  “Yes, I handled the enemy wizards this time, but another attack is sure to come, and they will be better equipped. If we are not prepared, we will lose the city.” He clenched his fist before his face. Some might view it as a threat, either to themselves or the army outside the city. Either suited Eldalain just fine. “I call on the wizards to rally in defense of Farrowen.”

  Parsec stood and stepped forward. He clamped a hand on Eldalain’s shoulder, gripping it firmly. “I would like to thank Prince Eldalain for joining us today. Once he leaves, we will discuss further and call a vote.”

  What are you about, Parsec? Eldalain didn’t trust the man, never had. Still, wizards were a difficult lot to manipulate, and pressing them too hard would only make them rebel.

  “Very well,” Eldalain said. “Just remember what is at stake. Think on what has happened over the past week. People have died and more will join them.” His gaze slowly swept over the crowd. “If things go poorly, you or your loved ones might be next.” The threat hung in the air like a thick fog. Eldalain hoped the others would envision the worst. He briefly caught Parsec glaring at him, the hatred in his eyes unmasked. In a flash, the man blinked the emotion away and bowed.

  “With your leave, we will discuss your request,” Parsec said, his voice even.

  Eldalain stepped off the dais and walked down the aisle, the room quiet, all eyes following him. Klondon, standing beside the door, opened it. Outside, a contingency of guards waited, the men following as Eldalain mounted his horse and led them toward the palace.

  As he rode, Eldalain considered the events of the prior afternoon. The attempt of the Farrowen force to break through the gate had been dealt with in a decisive manner. Three of the four wizards sent had died, but there were others. Worse, Charcoan was among those who remained a threat.

  The sea assault had gone similarly well, although the warehouses and a pier were destroyed in the process, leaving only one functioning pier if they chose to reopen the harbor. Unfortunately, a handful of enemy ships had escaped Ilsup’s pursuit.

  When Eldalain reached the palace, he dismounted and went straight to his chamber on the top floor. He followed Klondon into the room, the big man sitting on a sofa while Eldalain went into the study.

  The room was dark and windowless, the way his father had liked it. He activated the lantern, illuminating the area with a pale blue glow. Slowly, he walked across the room, running his hand over objects and trinkets Taladain had collected over the years. Until the man’s death, Eldalain had only been in the room twice. What was once a place of mystery and fear was now a place of refuge, a place for contemplation.

  He sat and picked up a missive from earlier in the day. Cordelia promised another delivery of fresh meat would arrive that evening, which was good since the stores had run low. A steady influx of food was required to feed a city the size of Fastella. Eldalain had enough problems without adding a hungry, angry populace to the mix.

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  Eldalain turned toward the door, realizing he had forgotten to close it. Ruthers stood in the doorway, his gray hair perfectly groomed, collar starched, black coat smooth and wrinkle-free as always.

  The man tilted his head. “For a moment… In this light, you struck the spitting image of Prince Trandain.”

  Eldalain jerked back with a start. It took a moment for him to recover. “That is a name I haven’t heard in many years.”

  “Yes.” Ruthers nodded. “Quite tragic what happened to him and Nordain. After they died, all the other incidents that followed, well… I thought your family cursed. Somehow, you alone survived until Narine was born. Even then, her brother–”

  Hearing his sister’s name stirred Eldalain’s ire. He growled, “Is there a reason you are disturbing me?”

  Blinking, Ruthers rapidly recovered. “Oh, yes. Captain Verd is waiting in the corridor with a report. Something regarding yesterday’s attacks.”

  “Tell him I will be there in a moment.”

  “Very good, Prince Tran…Eldalain.”

  The man stepped away, leaving the open doorway empty. Eldalain stared at it, his mind spinning.

  Trandain. There was a time the name stirred excitement in young Eldalain. Now, it brought on an emotion far darker.

  29

  Obsession

  Twenty-Seven Years Ago

  Eldalain’s eyes were closed. He felt the sun on his back, the heat beating on his dark purple robes. “Why do I have to wear this?” he asked without opening his eyes. “It feels so odd, so loose compared to breeches and a tunic.”

  “I told you before. Tight clothing inhibits the flow of magic,” Trandain explained. “You said you wish to become a wizard, correct?”

  “Yes.” Eldalain had waited his entire life, a full fifteen years, for the chance to test his skills. The wait had seemed like an eternity. There was nothing he wanted more than to become a wizard.

  Trandain gripped Eldalain’s shoulder. “Then you must wear the robes. The sooner you accept it, the better this will go.”

  He sighed, his eyes still closed. “Very well. What do you want me to do next?”

  “Concentrate on your surroundings. What do you feel? What do you hear? What do you smell?”

  Eldalain thought about it, considering all the things his eldest brother said. “I feel the sun on my back and the cold, hard stone beneath me. I hear the birds in the garden and…sounds of people in the distance.” Hastily, he added, “I smell flowers on the sea air.”r />
  “Very good,” Trandain said. “Now, ignore all of it. Put it aside and extend your senses beyond sight, sound, and smell. Out, beyond yourself. Seek a warmth that comes not from the sun. Do you feel the source?”

  He tried. Nothing happened.

  I am fifteen, well into my change, Eldalain thought. This is when magic comes to wizards. I will not give up.

  He pushed and tried to force it, the effort sending tingles down his spine, extending to his extremities. In the darkness, there was a glow. Distant, but it was there. From the glow, Eldalain felt a warmth, but rather than the warmth of heat, it was the warmth of adoration. It felt as if this invisible, foreign thing desired him, loved him. At the same time, he desired it, as well.

  “Yes, I feel it.”

  “Good. Extend your awareness toward it, embrace it.”

  Without moving a hair, Eldalain did as his brother said. Nothing happened at first, so he tried harder, willing himself toward the glow. When he drew close, it latched onto him. He gasped, suddenly afraid. The magic flooded in, as if to consume him.

  “Argh! Help!” he cried out, his eyes still closed. He didn’t know if he could open them if he tried.

  “Easy, Eldy.” His brother’s hand returned to his shoulder, an anchor in the darkness. “Don’t fear it. You must harness it, bend it to your will.”

  Eldalain exhaled and attempted to calm himself. The magic stormed throughout his body, his skin flush with the heat of it. He grappled with the power, and the storm quieted. Rather than overwhelming him, it made him feel more…more…everything.

  He opened his eyes and saw his brother glowing brightly, even in the light of the mid-day sun.

  “You are glowing,” he said.

  “And so are you.” Trandain gave him a smile. “Watch.”

  He extended an open palm and a disk of light spread out from it, forming a perfect circle, thrice the diameter of his hand. Within the circle was a strange pattern.

  “This is a basic energy construct. Look at it closely. Imagine this exact pattern forming around your open hand.”

  Eldalain did as instructed, holding his open palm before him while picturing the pattern. It flickered, wavered, and then fell away.

  “You must focus and picture the construct exactly as mine appears. It must be perfect. Try again.”

  He took a deep breath, clenched his jaw, and willed the construct to form. It continued to slip away, as if it were just beyond his ability. Still, he persisted. Minutes passed until, finally, it matched the one on his brother’s hand.

  “Good. Imagine the power inside you is fluid and can flow like water. Use your will to force the magic through the construct, like water flowing through a tube.”

  Eldalain poured the power inside him through the pattern and jumped backward in surprise when a flicker of flame shot out the other side. The magic fell away as exhaustion struck him. He felt empty, dull, as if all the color had fled the world.

  “You did it.” Trandain clapped Eldalain on the back.

  He gave a small smile. “I did it.”

  “That was the basic energy construct for heat,” his brother said. “To have converted it to flames on your first try is a good sign, a sign of power and potential.”

  Eldalain beamed with pride. “Father will be proud.”

  Trandain faltered, his grin slipping away. “Father… Yes, he will be proud, especially once you complete your training at the University.”

  “I can go?”

  “I have been pushing Father to allow you to apply. He has agreed, should you pass the entrance exam. The recruiter will be here sometime this summer. You are the right age and, judging by what you just did, have the talent to enter.”

  Eldalain felt overwhelmed. Over the past year, he and Trandain had grown close, the older man spending time with him multiple times a week.

  “Thank you,” Eldalain said. “If not for you and your help, I still wouldn’t know anything about magic.”

  “It is what older brothers do.” Trandain’s smile faltered. “I regret my selfishness when Nordain was your age. Fifteen is difficult for any boy, a time of change, your body going in one direction, your mind in another. And then there are girls…

  “For the wizard class, fifteen is even worse. On top of everything already happening, it is when magic first comes to bear. Yet it is nigh impossible to properly harness it without training and instruction. To anyone, it can be destructive. To the unwary, it can be fatal, which is where I failed Nordain.”

  Eldalain was seven when Trandain returned from Tiadd. Before then, he had never even met the man. “Weren’t you away at the University when he was my age?”

  “Yes. But if I hadn’t been, perhaps he would still be whole.”

  Eldalain knew what Trandain meant. Nobody in the family mentioned Nordain’s deformities. The scars from the fire had left his skin ugly and artificial. Worse, Nordain feared magic because of what had happened. After only three years at the University, he had returned to Fastella broken…in more ways than one.

  “How long were you at the University?” Eldalain asked, hoping to alter the conversation. Discussing Nordain made Eldalain uncomfortable. Just being around the man made him uncomfortable, his half-hand, melted skin, hair only growing on half his head…his haunted eyes.

  “I spent eight years at Tiadd,” Trandain replied. “Some leave after only seven, some nine, but eight is most common. I have heard of others staying as long as twelve years before passing the Trial.”

  “When I go, I will try to complete it in seven years,” Eldalain said.

  “Perhaps.” Trandain leveled a finger at him. “Just remember, it takes hard work and dedication to hone your craft and graduate.”

  Something had been bothering Eldalain since first drawing in the magic. “Will I be able to draw in as much as you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your magic… You glowed like a beacon even in daylight. Mine was nothing compared to yours.”

  “Ahh.” His brother glanced around the courtyard. They were alone, so Eldalain wondered at the secret the man was about to tell. Trandain leaned forward and held out his hand, twisting the ring on his middle finger. “Have you noticed my ring?”

  Eldalain shrugged. “Sure. You always wear it.”

  “What you don’t know, what nobody knows, is the power it holds.” Trandain stared at the black onyx. “This ring is extraordinary. Enchanted. It allows me to draw twice the magic I might otherwise wield.”

  Throughout Eldalain’s young life, there had been nothing he ever wanted more than to become a dominant wizard. Looking on this ring of power, he longed for it, as if it were required in order to take his next breath. A man’s voice interrupted Eldalain’s thoughts.

  “Prince Trandain.” The two brothers turned to find Ruthers standing nearby, his black hair slicked back, not a strand out of place. Eldalain wondered how long the man had been standing there. “Your father has requested a final meeting before you depart.”

  “Depart?” Eldalain asked as he looked at his brother.

  Trandain stood. “I must go speak with father and prepare. I am to leave at first light.”

  “Must you leave the city again?” Eldalain did not want his brother to leave. Not now.

  “I am afraid so,” Trandain said. “There is unrest in Dorban. High Wizard Bandallan is unwell. His ill health presents a risk, and his replacement must be someone loyal to our father. I am hopeful Heldain is up to the task.”

  Eldalain had met his cousin on several occasions. Heldain had always seemed reckless and impulsive. “Didn’t he just return from the University three years past?”

  “Yes. At twenty-seven, he is young, but with Father’s support, I believe he can hold Dorban long enough to gain strength. Since our naval fleet is stationed there, Dorban is a critical city to the welfare of Ghealdor. We cannot allow just anyone with talent to control it.”

  “I will practice my magic while you are away.”

&nbs
p; “No!”

  Eldalain flinched at his brother’s vehement response.

  “You mustn’t. It takes time and study. The constructs must be memorized and must be exact. Any deviation could result in disaster, such as what happened to Nordain.” Trandain walked away, speaking over his shoulder. “If you must practice something, seek the source from time to time and draw in a bit of magic, but allow it to dissipate. Just don’t hold too much for too long or you might burn out.”

  With Ruthers guiding him, Trandain crossed the courtyard, his ring of power glittering in the afternoon sunlight. Eldalain could not remove his gaze from the object until his brother had faded from view.

  For eleven days, Trandain was away. During those nights, Eldalain barely slept. His thoughts were consumed by Trandain’s enchanted ring. When he closed his eyes, it hovered there, a gold circle with a single, black stone in the center. In the meantime, his studies suffered, as did the patience of his mother. Finally, news ran through the castle that the prince had returned from Dorban. The same afternoon, Eldalain discovered he, his mother, and two younger brothers had been invited to dine with Lord Taladain.

  It was rare for Eldalain and his brothers to eat with their father. The man had little patience for their youthful exuberance and hijinks. When asked about the occasion, Eldalain’s mother had replied, “It is your father’s wish to see all of his sons together. I expect you and your brothers to be on your best behavior. It would be unwise to stir his anger.”

  Eldalain knew his father’s penchant for issuing harsh consequences on anyone who crossed him. At his mother’s wishes, he had done his best to make sure his younger brothers understood. At ages eleven and nine, neither seemed to take life as seriously as they should.

  When it was time, Eldalain’s mother came to his room. He answered the door and saw Geldalain and Raladain standing beside her, all three dressed in their finest clothes, the two boys in velvet breeches with coats to match.