Fate of Wizardoms Boxed Set

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  No other soldiers stood to the same side of the tower as them, but rather, two score lined the wall from the gate tower to the far side of the gate.

  Rindle toyed with his helmet. It chafed his forehead and made him long to toss it off the wall. “Standing watch for long stretches is tedious to the extreme, but the alternative is worse. How many will die tonight?” The enemy lined up at the far end of the bridge, preparing for something. “And for what? Who cares which wizard rules the city or which wizardom you call home?”

  Herrod grunted. “Seems stupid to me.”

  “Exactly. If I’m going to risk my life, there’d better damn well be gold on the line.”

  The big man looked at Rindle. “Speaking of which, you had better pay me, or it’ll be your life at risk.”

  Rindle sighed. “I have the coin. We survive this, and you’ll see your gold.”

  “Cordelia is going to be upset.”

  “She doesn’t own us. We can do something on the side, so long as it doesn’t harm the guild. Besides, if we succeed, she and the guild will be better off.”

  A commotion from the tower drew Rindle’s attention. In the torchlight, he spotted McCanda, Prince Eldalain, and his imposing bodyguard, Klondon, step onto the wall. The dreary boredom of the past hours faded in a flash, lost to the rush of adrenalin pounding through his veins and the queasiness in his stomach.

  “There he is,” Rindle whispered.

  “Both of them,” Herrod muttered.

  “I told you. Klondon is always with the prince. It’s a big reason why nobody has attempted to eliminate the man.”

  “Yeah. He’s big, but everyone bleeds,” Herrod grunted. “What now?”

  “Now we wait for the opportunity.”

  Crouched on a rooftop, Garvin waited and watched. Once the Ghealdan soldiers stationed inside the gate were roused, he’d know Henton had shown his hand. The Farrowen soldiers would fill the bridge, preparing to advance.

  When a lone Ghealdan soldier mounted a horse and rode off toward the heart of the city, Garvin took note. He suspected the man would warn the prince and bring more soldiers. The action was inevitable but anticipated.

  Timing was critical. Once inside the city gates, Farrowen’s superior numbers would come into play. Eldalain could have no more than fifteen hundred soldiers in the city, less than a fourth of what Farrowen had brought to the party. Garvin knew the bulk of the Farrowen force would be stationed at the heart of the city, ready to respond if an attack came to either gate. However, it would take ten minutes to cover the distance on foot. Add in the time to rouse, arm, and organize the soldiers, a fifteen-minute window remained. Within that narrow window, Garvin and his team had to open the gate.

  He glanced toward the eastern sky, faintly lit with a purple hue. It was time for his force to advance.

  A careful climb down a drainpipe took him to the alley where the others waited. With his feet on the ground, he turned toward them.

  “The attack will come within minutes. We must storm the tower and reach the winch room at the top before the main Ghealdan force reaches the gate.” His gaze swept across the shadow-covered faces. “Any questions?”

  “What of the wizards?” Bean asked.

  “I haven’t seen any, but that’s why we have Charcoan with us.”

  “Keep the Ghealdan soldiers away from me. If I go down, you lose your wizard,” Charcoan said. “If we come across any enemy wizards, just get out of my way.”

  “You heard Charcoan. Any more questions?” Garvin looked each man in the face, men he trusted. No questions came. “All right. Let’s go.”

  Garvin snuck toward the mouth of the alley and peered around the corner while the others gathered behind him. Two officers argued outside the tower entrance, one man waving in the air, the other shaking his head. The sound of approaching horses came from the heart of the city. Garvin pulled back into the alley and pressed against the wall, the others doing the same.

  Two horses sped past.

  Peering around the corner, Garvin spotted a man in robes on one horse, a hulking soldier on the other.

  “Eldalain,” Charcoan hissed in Garvin’s ear as the man peered past him.

  The prince dismounted and followed one of the officers into the tower, his bodyguard trailing. The remaining officer began issuing orders, the soldiers forming ranks inside the gate.

  Garvin whispered to Charcoan, “Can you handle Eldalain?”

  The man narrowed his eyes. “He is no wizard lord. He can be defeated.”

  “Good.” Garvin waved for them to follow. “Cross now. Stay out of the lantern lights.”

  He scurried across the street and hugged the wall, easing toward the tower with his men close behind. The tower blocked the lanterns lighting the square, drawing a line of light and shadow on the street just beyond his toes. When he reached the tower, he eased around the curved wall, toward the door. The last few feet would place them in the light, so they would need to move quickly.

  A backward glance revealed the silhouettes of his five companions, all with their backs to the wall, waiting for his signal. Slowly, he drew his dagger. When each of the other soldiers held a weapon ready, he gave them a nod and darted for the tower door.

  Yanking the door open, Garvin dove inside. Two startled guards turned toward him. Without pausing, he drove his blade into the first, burying it deep in the man’s stomach. He pulled the man close and placed his hand over his mouth as he tried to scream. Shouts came from outside as Korm fought off a Ghealdan soldier and pulled the door shut. Bean slid the bar into place, locking them in. Daggett had already slit the throat of the other soldier, the man lying on the floor, feebly clutching at his neck as his life bled out.

  The guard with Garvin’s dagger in his stomach weakened and fell limp. Garvin let him go, his body slipping off the blade as he crumpled to the floor.

  Garvin wiped his blade clean and headed for the curved stairwell, followed by Deveron, Bean, Charcoan, and Daggett. The squad advanced with Korm acting as rear guard, facing backward as they eased up the stairs.

  Eldalain narrowed his eyes as the Farrowen warriors advanced across the bridge from the south riverbank. The front line was heavily armored, holding oversized shields up to protect the archers behind them. McCanda called out and a volley launched, a flurry of arrows aimed at the advancing force. Most arrows struck shields, but here and there, men fell, some screaming in pain, some quiet in death. Either way, they were no longer of concern.

  The prince drew in his magic, preparing for what might come next. However, there was no sign of magic being used or any sighting of the enemy wizards. It didn’t make sense, and he began to wonder at their intent. He then thought about the gate. Until it was broken or lifted, the city would hold.

  Magic is the only thing that might defeat the gate, but what of lifting it? He spun toward the tower, alarmed. What if the attack is a ruse designed to draw our attention?

  He ran past Klondon and into the tower’s uppermost room. As Eldalain ran inside, men dressed in black appeared in the stairwell across the room. The first man’s eyes grew wide as he gripped a bloodied dagger. Eldalain lashed out with an energy spell consisting of dozens of tiny knives of magic. The man at the front dove to the floor, the blast going over him to strike the soldier behind him. Magical blades tore through the man, shredding his clothing and body alike. He fell backward and down the stairs as the men in the stairwell flattened against the wall to get out of the way.

  The glow of magic came from the stairwell, and a man shouted, “Get back!” The robed man rushed up the stairs while forming a shield of protection.

  “Charcoan!” Eldalain exclaimed as he crafted a new construct. “You slime!”

  Without waiting for a reply, foulfire burst from Eldalain’s hands, engulfing the traitor.

  From his position on top of the wall, Rindle watched Eldalain. The wizard seemed focused on the scene below until he spun around and rushed back into the tower. Klondon turned to follow
but hesitated just long enough.

  “Herrod. Now!” Rindle said as he surged forward and thrust his rapier at Klondon’s midriff.

  The big man was faster than Rindle suspected, the swing of his bracer deflecting the blade as he drew his battle axe. Dark, wild eyes bulged as the man lifted the axe, intent to cleave Rindle in half. The axe deflected off Herrod’s shield when he burst between Rindle and the giant bodyguard. Klondon followed with a meaty fist, striking the side of Herrod’s helmet, causing the big man to stagger. Herrod recovered and swung his cudgel, striking Klondon’s armored shoulder. The bodyguard rolled with it and spun, his axe leveled at Herrod, who twisted to block the strike, his shield taking the brunt of the blow. The impact drove him toward the wall and nearly over the edge. Klondon lifted his axe for the killing blow.

  Rindle, fully recovered, had been waiting for an opening. When Klondon lifted his axe overhead, it exposed the man’s armpits…and a gap in the armor. With every bit of power he could muster, Rindle drove his rapier into Klondon’s ribs, the tip sinking deep before it stopped. The man’s axe fell toward Herrod, then slipped from his grip, spinning out into the open air beyond the wall.

  Herrod recovered and swung his cudgel, striking Klondon’s helmet with a shattering blow. The giant man fell to his knee. Herrod lifted his cudgel and drove it downward. At the same time, Klondon drew a knife and slashed at Herrod. The cudgel smashed into Klondon’s head as he cut deep into Herrod’s leg. Klondon collapsed, his body unmoving, his face covered with blood, his helm dented. Herrod fell to one knee, clutching the other leg, which was torn wide open.

  Sitting on the wall, Herrod grabbed Klondon’s bloody dagger and began cutting clothing away.

  Rindle gathered himself, realizing Herrod would be of no further use. He would have to kill Eldalain alone. Anything less was failure.

  He put his back to the tower wall and peered through the open doorway.

  Eldalain’s back faced him, arms extended, fire pouring from them toward another wizard. This was it. His chance to prove he was better than Landish. Gritting his teeth, Rindle dove inside and thrust his rapier forward with all his might. It struck Eldalain in the back, plunging deep. Shocked by the ease with which it happened, Rindle released the blade and stumbled backward.

  The fire from Eldalain died away, revealing another wizard, a bald man with tattoos covering his head, his hands held up, palms exposed and blackened, face twisted in pain. Eldalain turned and stumbled toward Rindle, his mouth open, glittering blood oozing down his chin. He fell to his knees, wobbled for a moment, and fell to his side, dead.

  Men dressed in black rushed past the other wizard. Bloody knives flashed. Rindle held his hands up, backing away.

  “Please, don’t kill me,” he cried.

  The fire from Eldalain suddenly ceased. Garvin lowered the arm that had been blocking his face from the heat and saw Charcoan, the man’s face twisted in pain, hands blackened by the fire. Across the tower room was Eldalain, eyes wide, a foot of narrow steel poking from his chest. Blood, sparkling with magic, ran down his robes. The prince turned toward a tall, thin guard, who backed away in shock as Eldalain fell to his knees, then to the floor.

  The guard attacked Eldalain from behind, Garvin realized. “The prince is dead. Come on!”

  Garvin ignored the guard who had killed the wizard, instead peering across the circular room, toward an open doorway. Four stunned guards stood on a balcony, beside levers and a massive wheel with chains wrapped around it.

  With Deveron dead, Garvin’s remaining members emerged from the stairwell. Bean moved toward the lone, unarmed guard until Garvin grabbed his arm. “Leave him. He killed Eldalain, so he is on our side.” He pointed toward the balcony where the lift mechanism waited. “Take them, and we take the tower.”

  As one, the four Midnight Guard rushed through the open doorway. The Ghealdan soldiers were armed with swords, but the quarters were too tight for them to use the longer blades to their advantage. Garvin and his crew dodged the enemy attacks and drove inside their defenses in a flash, daggers finding exposed faces and gaps in armor. The guards didn’t stand a chance.

  Daggett pulled the lever to release the lock, while Korm and Bean began cranking the wheel. As the gate opened, shouts arose below, followed by the clash of steel as the Farrowen Army stormed into the city, instantly engaging the guards protecting it.

  Relieved, Garvin stepped back inside, his gaze sweeping the room.

  Charcoan sat on the floor, his back against the wall as he stared at his mangled hands, blackened and covered with blisters. Four guards lay dead, as did Prince Eldalain. A rapier still protruded from the man’s chest, and his assailant stood just a few feet away with his hands in the air, staring at Daggett’s dagger pointed at him.

  “Who are you?” Garvin asked. “Why did you kill Eldalain?”

  “I, um… I am a thief. People call me Rindle. I was hired to kill the prince.”

  “Well, thief…” Garvin grinned. “You just saved some lives. Now, let’s go save some more.”

  Rindle’s brow furrowed. “What?”

  “See the rope over there?” Garvin pointed at a coil of rope on a hook across the room. “Grab it and bring it here.”

  While the thief retrieved the rope, Garvin bent, gripped the rapier’s hilt, and put his foot against Eldalain. The blade came free, streaked with glittering blood. The thief returned with the rope, and Garvin exchanged it for the rapier.

  “You try to poke any of us with that thing, and it’ll be the last stupid move you make,” he said as he relinquished the sword. Garvin looped the rope around the neck of the dead prince and tied it into a slipknot. “Thief, sheath your sword and take his feet.” Still visibly confused, the man did as he was asked. “Korm, Bean, Daggett, grab weapons and head out onto the wall. I need you to get us out over the gate.”

  The men stormed past, each with a sword in one hand, a dagger in the other. Garvin and the thief followed, carrying the dead prince. Once outside, they had to step over the body of a dead guard, the massive man’s head bloodied, his helm dented. Beside him was another large man. His leg had been hastily bandaged, the torn cloth blood-soaked. He appeared pale.

  “Are you all right, Herrod?” the thief asked.

  The big man shook his head. “I don’t know. I lost a lot of blood.”

  “I’ll be back for you,” the thief said as they rushed past.

  Ahead, the soldiers in black fought with the men on the wall, leveraging surprise and cutting through them while forging a path above the open portcullis. The square below was a frantic melee of swords and soldiers, some fighting to capture the city, others battling to defend it.

  When they reached the middle, Garvin and the thief set the prince down. Garvin then looped one end of the rope around a merlon, tying it securely.

  “Help me throw him off,” he said to the thief as he squatted to grip Eldalain’s shoulders. With a mighty heave, they tossed the dead prince off the wall.

  Eldalain’s body turned slowly, his purple robes rippling as he plummeted. When the body was twenty feet above the ground, the rope grew taut, snapping the man’s body around. It then swung toward the open gate a few times, like a pendulum, before it lost momentum. The fight below began to wane as soldiers took notice of the dead prince. As the roar quieted, Garvin cupped his hands around his mouth.

  “Stop! Stop the fighting!” He took a breath. “The prince is dead. The city is ours. Throw down your swords and live to fight another day!”

  Amazingly, men began to do that very thing. In moments, the battle ended, the city guards capitulating after the death of their leader.

  Fastella is ours.

  31

  Illustan

  The clouds were orange, red, and pink streaks against a deep blue backdrop, the sun somewhere below the western horizon. At a slow, steady pace, the barge drifted south, the water flowing toward the ocean but at a far slower pace than it had upstream, before the river had widened and level
ed. Even with the crew swapping their long poles with paddles, the pace was slow compared to the first day and a half.

  The barge rounded a point and the distance between shorelines widened, the river becoming wide as a lake. Narine realized why the bridge they had passed was so far upstream from Illustan. Then the city became visible for the first time. A breeze hit, and she pinched her cloak tighter as she looked out to the capital of Pallanar.

  Built on a slope, the distant city hugged the water’s edge, the walls pale in the light of dusk. Those walls climbed the hillside, enveloping the palace at the top. Tall towers jutted above, none taller than the Tower of Devotion. There, a frost blue fire burned.

  A ship drifted into the harbor, settling among others lined along the piers. Just upshore from the harbor was a flat bay, surrounded by ships in various stages of construction. The shipyards were famous, the largest in the eight wizardoms. Ahead of the barge, logs that had floated down the river gathered in clumps along the western shore. When asked the day prior, Captain Dorsey had explained the logs were sent downstream to feed the shipyards. Each morning, crews in rowboats would collect the logs and guide them into the yard, where they would be milled into planks used to build the watercraft.

  The sky darkened further until stars began to emerge, the city walls seemingly growing brighter.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Jace said as he sat beside her on the bench.

  Narine glanced at him. The two had spoken little since sighting the wyvern and their subsequent spat. At first, she had been irritated with him, but as the days passed, her anger faded, leaving a vacuum she had never noticed before. “Yes. I had always wondered… You hear stories about Illustan and how the walls glowed at night. I wondered if I would ever see it myself.”

  Adyn, who lounged to Narine’s other side, said, “I just hope they let us in when we get there. After three days on this pile of sticks, I long for a hot meal and a bed.”