Fate of Wizardoms Boxed Set

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  The other guard thumbed toward the tent. “He is inside and has been expecting you for days.”

  “Thank you.” He pulled his hood back and ducked through the tent flap.

  The interior was illuminated by a pair of enchanted lanterns providing pale blue light. One hung from the center tent pole, the other rested on a table covered by a map.

  Henton, who leaned over the map, looked up when Garvin entered. “Finally. I expected you two days ago.”

  Thumping his fist to his chest, Garvin replied, “I could not leave Fastella until the objective was complete.”

  “The tower is ours?”

  “Even now, it burns with azure flames.”

  “Well done.”

  “I remained one extra day to ensure Charcoan carried out the orders, informing the public of their new god.”

  Henton nodded. “I suppose that makes sense. What of the other day?”

  “Weather.” Garvin shrugged. “The rains slowed me down. It hardly seemed worth the risk of a fall just to save a day. I knew enough about Dorban to expect you to sit tight south of the wetlands while you determine the best strategy to take the city.”

  Rubbing his shorn scalp, Henton stared down at the map. “I still don’t know how we should go about it.”

  Garvin approached the table, his eyes on the map. “Explain what we face. Perhaps we can work something out together.”

  “Honestly, I was hoping you might suggest that.”

  Interesting, Garvin thought. In Despaldi’s stead, he is my commanding officer. Why would he wait for my suggestion? Perhaps my role in taking Fastella has earned his respect. “Let’s hear it.”

  With a finger on the map, Henton said. “We are here. The wetlands cover the area just north of us, running from the sea to the mountains, ten miles to the west. The causeway runs along the sea and is five miles across. There are three bridges along the causeway, each spanning an area where the sea and the wetlands meet.

  “Or at least there were three bridges.”

  “Were?” Garvin arched a brow.

  “The farthest bridge has been destroyed.”

  Considering the news, Garvin understood the intent. “When we were camped outside Fastella, what we feared most was Eldalain destroying the bridges, cutting off any route other than by boat. For some reason, the prince chose to avoid that method. Apparently, Heldain holds no such reservations.”

  “Without the bridge, the causeway is useless to us.”

  “What about circling west, beyond the wetlands?”

  Henton shook his head. “No good. The hillsides above them are steep and treacherous. There are also numerous creeks coming down from the mountains and feeding the wetlands. We might get a small team across, but an army could never do it.”

  Garvin examined the map and pointed even farther west. “What if we traveled inland, through the mountains to the coast, and came in from the northwest?”

  “I sent a scout that route three days ago. He just returned today. On horse, it took him that long to find a passable route through the mountains. The man estimates it would take us well over a hundred miles out of our way, with numerous, difficult inclines. Do you know how long it would take an army this size to navigate such a route?”

  Frowning in thought, Garvin stared at the map. He pointed toward an x between the wetlands and the city. “What’s this?”

  “That is the garrison, surrounded by battlements and home to two thousand troops. The Ghealdan Navy is based there, so they also control the harbor. Any attempt to cross the water will be met with force. And even if the bridges were intact, anyone coming across the causeway will need to deal with the garrison before reaching the city.”

  The situation seemed a mess, Garvin struggling to identify a strategy that had a chance of success. “Have you brought in Forca? Perhaps the wizards can offer something to address the situation.”

  The captain snorted. “Of course I have spoken to Forca about it. He and his ilk seem useless. In truth, I believe they are more likely to run off than offer any assistance.”

  “You suspect they might desert?”

  “I think it likely.”

  “Perhaps we should begin there. Fear forced them into joining this offensive in the first place. With Malvorian dead, they may feel emboldened.”

  Henton nodded. “It’s worth a shot. They seem to shut down when I am around. Perhaps you will fare better.”

  Garvin was unsure but knew he had to try.

  The heat from the sun was a pleasant change after three days of rain. A wind blew in from the sea, helping dry the tents and the water-logged army. The ground remained soggy and would stay that way for another day or two, despite the dry weather.

  Garvin strode across the muddy ground, avoiding the worst areas as he headed toward the hill to the southwest. Nestled in a small, open area, carriages and oversized tents occupied the hilltop. Unlike the drab army tents or the white command tents, these were of midnight blue, the canopy in the center large enough to hold dozens of people. A trail of smoke drifted inland, rising from fires burning at one end of the small encampment. There, cooks were busy, emptying steaming pans onto plates. A steady stream of servants scurried between the cooking area and the main tent.

  When he reached the small camp, Garvin paused, waiting while two stewards with trays of cooked ham, eggs, and oatmeal rushed inside. Following, he ducked through the flap and gazed across a room filled with tables, benches, and wizards, busily chatting and eating, as if at a banquet.

  He shook his head, caught somewhere between a sense of wonder and disgust. Even while at war, they treat themselves like royalty. He wondered how the wizards might fare if they were forced to live like the grunts. It would probably go quite poorly.

  His gaze swept the room, searching the faces of the wizards and wizardesses until he located Forca. The man sat at the end of a table, his wife to one side, his new second-in-command, Olvan Durr, to his other side. As Garvin headed toward Forca, he watched Durr. The man was in his early thirties, same as Garvin. He had long, dark hair and dark eyes, his thin build lacking muscle. The man’s narrow face and pointed nose made Garvin think of him as a rat come to life. Perhaps he was. After the deaths of the other wizards, Durr was reputed to be second only to Forca in his talent with magic, but Garvin was warned that the man held no allegiances and would likely turn on anyone if it should be in his own favor. That was knowledge Garvin intended to utilize if necessary.

  “Forca,” Garvin said as he drew close. “I would speak with you.”

  The tall man frowned. “We just sat down for brunch. Can’t this wait?”

  “Of course. But the longer we wait, the longer we camp in this field of muck and mosquitos.”

  The wizard’s frown deepened, eyes narrowing. “What is it, Garvin?”

  “Perhaps we can discuss this someplace more private?” He pointed toward the two people beside Forca. “I would like to have Durr and your wife join us.”

  Forca blinked. “Portia? What does she have to do with this?”

  Garvin tilted his head. “Is she not a member of the Wizards Guild?”

  “Of course she is.”

  “Well, as I understand, the entire guild was charged with assisting in this campaign. I would hear what the woman has to say.”

  Scowling, Forca rose to his feet and gestured for his wife and Durr to follow. Garvin trailed behind the trio as they headed out the far end of the tent. After passing two other tents, each the size of Henton’s, Forca ducked inside another, even larger tent.

  The interior was dark, until the wizard waved his hand and lights bloomed from four enchanted lanterns. The ground was covered in thick, dark blue carpet, matching the exterior of the tent. At the rear of the tent was a carpeted pallet, blankets and pillows piled on top of it. Garvin shook his head and thought of all the soldiers sleeping on the mud-soaked ground below.

  The wizard sat on a chair and bid his wife to sit beside him. Both Durr and Garvin remained standi
ng.

  “Now, what is this about?” Forca demanded.

  “This is about taking Dorban,” Garvin replied.

  Forca closed his eyes and ran his hand through his dark hair, appearing weary. He shook his head. “Can’t be done.”

  “Interesting observation.” Garvin posed. “Just like taking Fastella was impossible?”

  The wizard’s face darkened. “That was different.” He waved his hand through the air. “Here, we cannot even get close to the city.”

  “What if we can?” Garvin challenged. “All we need is a way to replace the destroyed bridge.”

  Forca snorted. “The Ghealdan archers will ensure nobody has the time to build a bridge.”

  Of that, the man was correct. “What if we can get a bridge into place in minutes?”

  He gave Garvin a contemplative look. “That might make it possible, but how could you accomplish that?”

  “Can you use magic to mask something so it appears as something else?”

  Durr interjected. “An illusion?”

  “Yeah,” Garvin nodded. “Can you use an illusion so the Ghealdan’s don’t think it’s us?”

  “Wizards are not good with illusions,” Durr replied. “That’s a female skill.”

  “Durr…” Forca’s tone was a warning.

  Garvin turned toward Portia. She was a comely woman, roughly ten years his senior, curvy but on the plump side with blonde hair and blue eyes. “You can use magic to alter the appearance of something?”

  The woman glanced at her husband as she kneaded her hands together. “Yes. Something small, not too complicated.”

  “What of the other women in the guild?”

  She shrugged. “Some are more talented than I, others less so.”

  Garvin would not be deterred. “What if you worked together? Each creating a small illusion that created something much larger when pieced together?”

  The woman blinked and glanced at her husband. “Well, I suppose that is possible. However, we would have to remain very near it. Performing an illusion at a distance is quite trying.”

  That wasn’t what Garvin had hoped to hear, but understanding what was possible helped him better see how they might solve the puzzle. “What about a person? Could you and the other wizardesses each alter the appearance of a person? Better yet, could you hide weapons?”

  Again, she glanced toward her husband before replying. “Yes. That would be much easier. Once in place, it takes very little magic to maintain an illusion.”

  With this new information, the pieces began to assemble. Garvin grinned. “I can work with that.”

  Forca stood, his face betraying outrage before he even spoke. “You can’t seriously be thinking about risking the lives of our women.”

  Garvin stepped closer to the taller man, his jaw set, eyes issuing a challenge. “I can and will if it best serves Farrowen. You may not believe it, but I have seen women as skilled in battle as any man, some twice as brave as anyone you might know. Do not sell them short. The wizardesses, your wife included, could save many lives before this campaign is finished, and not just by healing our wounded. I am talking about preventing the loss of life.

  “The garrison is in our way, but it is not our goal. If my plan works, we will be beyond it before the soldiers stationed there can attack. Capture the city and we capture the obelisk. The rest is immaterial.”

  13

  Kelmar

  After days of traveling through the icy forest, the sight of sunlight ahead had Narine longing to urge her horse into a gallop. A shallow blanket of snow covered the ground, the hooves of the horses stirring up puffs of white and leaving a disturbed trail behind. The party rode at a trot, Narine in the middle of the group, Adyn one horse ahead, Jace just behind. The journey through the forest had been quiet, cold, and continuously disturbing.

  Only Jace and Rhoa seemed unaffected, the pair of them repeatedly striking up conversations that soon died out. Nobody else had the enthusiasm for it.

  “Can’t you feel it, Jace?” Narine had whispered on the first evening. “This forest wishes us gone. Even speaking aloud seems like an invasion upon its privacy.”

  He had looked at her as if she were crazy.

  Perhaps I am, she thought. This place would make anyone go mad.

  The journey through the woods had been bad enough, but the evenings were even worse, each night uncomfortably cold, frighteningly dark, and exceedingly unsettling. After each night of sporadic, troubled sleep, Narine and the others would ride in a daze, somewhere between waking and the world of dreams. Things would appear at the edges of her vision, then fade when she turned toward them, never sure if they were real or her imagination.

  Exhaustion can do strange things to your mind, she repeated in her head, praying she might convince herself.

  When the trees finally fell away and they emerged into the sunlit clearing, she exhaled. Others did the same, the entire party experiencing a sense of relief. The air was warmer, but not exceedingly so. The sun’s heat was a loving embrace after the frigid treatment of the forest.

  They stood in a meadow lacking snow, the tall, yellow-green grass waving in the breeze. The wind has returned, Narine realized. Birds flew overhead, the first sign of life they had seen in days. She watched them float toward a landmark that could not be ignored.

  A massive, lonely mountain towered before them, bright and beautiful in the late afternoon sun. The base of the mountain was less than a mile away, the peak easily rising ten times that distance. Trees, green with needles and very much alive, covered the mountainside. Here and there were scattered yellows, reds, and oranges of autumn leaves that had yet to fall. Farther up the slope, the trees grew sparse, gray rock visible here and there amid a field of white, extending to the snow-capped peak miles above.

  “Paehl Lanor,” Salvon said. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a mountain,” Jace said.

  “You are surprisingly observant,” Rhoa noted.

  He rolled his eyes. “I mean, where is the city?”

  “What city?” Salvon asked.

  “Where we are supposed to go. This Kelmar place.” Jace looked at Xionne. “You wanted us to meet your people, right? Where are they?”

  Xionne smiled. “You misunderstand. There is no city. At least not the type you might expect. We do not live on the mountain. We live inside the mountain.” She waved them forward. “It will take hours to reach the entrance, and I suspect you would prefer to ride in daylight.”

  Moving at a trot, they rode through open fields, across small rivulets, and over rocky patches. The incline was gradual until they reached the base of the mountain. There, the trail ducked into the pines, then turned to run along the hillside. Continuing an uphill climb, the wooded path eventually came to a ravine filled with boulders, the ground covered in debris from a landslide. Rather than follow the trail, Xionne, Salvon, and Hadnoddon turned and rode up the ravine.

  The going was slow, the slope so steep Narine had to lean forward and grip her saddle horn to avoid slipping off. After a couple hundred feet, Xionne guided her horse through a narrow gap between two boulders. Beyond the gap was an unexpected grassy meadow, slightly sloped and boxed in by tall rock formations on all sides. A small pool of water, fed by rivulets running down the face of the rock, occupied the center of the glade. Another stream ran from the pool toward the downhill slope before disappearing beneath a wall of rock. It was a tranquil sight.

  When everyone was through, Hadnoddon dismounted and backtracked toward the gap that had led them to the meadow. There, he hefted a log eight feet long and as thick as his legs, wedging it into the rock just above his eye level. He then turned and jogged across the meadow, toward the uphill side, hopping on rocks to cross the stream before continuing. The riders followed him, the horses walking at an easy pace. At the far end of the glade, Salvon dismounted.

  “We get off here,” he said, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe I ever found this place.”

>   Xionne replied as she climbed down, “Oftentimes, destiny guides us, Weaver.”

  The others dismounted without speaking, and Narine wondered if the same sense of awe held their tongues as it did hers.

  “Take your things. The horses remain here.” Hadnodden removed his helmet and tucked it beneath one arm while squinting at the light. “I’ll take the lead. Just inside is a side cavern. We will store the furs there before continuing deeper into the mountain.” He then detached the bags from the saddle he shared with Xionne and walked through a dark gap in the rocks, six feet tall and half the width.

  Everyone followed, each with an armful of furs and a pack over a shoulder. Tailing Brogan, who had to duck to enter the tunnel, Narine stepped into the shadows.

  The group stopped just beyond the sunlight and waited while Hadnoddon gathered their furs and stored them in a small cave to one side of the tunnel. When finished, he led them deeper into the darkness.

  Uncertain of her surroundings and unable to see, Narine placed one hand against Adyn’s back. Someone touched her from behind before grasping her trailing hand.

  “I’m right behind you,” Jace said.

  She gripped his hand, finding comfort in doing so. They shuffled forward until dim, purple light appeared ahead, the glow emanating from an orb in Hadnoddon’s hand. The dwarf produced another glowing orb and handed it to Algoron.

  “Hold this and take rear position,” Hadnoddon said. “It will help the humans to see where we are going. Everyone watch where you walk. Some areas are treacherous.”

  Retaking the lead, the glowing orb in his hand as a guide, Hadnoddon led them deeper into the mountain.

  After a few minutes, the tunnel curved and opened into a larger cavern. A wall was visible to the right, a dark recess to the other side.

  “Careful,” Rawk said from behind. “The path is narrow, and there is a drop to your left…a very long drop.”