“Come in.”
He opened the door and stepped inside. Nobody was visible, but the door to the study stood open, pale light coming from inside. Crossing the room, he peered through the doorway and saw Thurvin at the desk, an open book before him, patterns and text gracing the visible pages.
Dressed in a midnight blue robe with a gold sash, Thurvin had not only assumed Malvorian’s room, but obviously his wardrobe. The golden crown of Farrowen rested on the man’s head, the sapphire at the front sparkling. It was a simple crown with a single peak, the band clean and polished.
Thurvin sat back, his squinty eyes examining him. “I am listening.”
“Yes. My report.” Despaldi rubbed at his mustache, a habit that arose when he was nervous. “Where to begin…”
“Begin when you left Marquithe,” Thurvin spat out, his irritation apparent.
Grimacing and wishing he could run a blade through the man, Despaldi gathered himself and gave the report he had been rehearsing for the prior week.
“My men and I pursued the fugitives aggressively. We caught up to them at a village called Giant’s Ridge, not far from the southern border. However, they were prepared to ride when we first sighted them. By then, our horses were spent. Shortly after entering Pallanar, we followed their trail into a secluded mountain valley and had them cornered.” His mouth twisted in frustration, recalling the event. “A confrontation ensued. Most of my men died. Only Ranger Aradon and I escaped.”
“Are you serious?” Thurvin arched his brow. “A team of seasoned warriors against an old man, two dwarfs, an acrobat, a thief, a princess, and her bodyguard?”
“They had help – a former soldier, a man I knew from the Murguard. His name is Brogan Reisner, a previous member of the Pallanese Gleam Guard. The man is reckless and lacks finesse, but he is experienced and knows how to use his size in a fight. There was also an archer, someone highly skilled. Between those two, the princess’s magic, and a dose of bad luck, the encounter went very poorly. My horse was spooked and raced off with me struggling to remain in the saddle. When I returned, everyone was dead except Aradon, who had fled and hid in the forest.”
With a hand to his forehead and eyes closed, Thurvin sighed. “I see.” The wizard lowered his hand and scowled at Despaldi. “However, you were away for a good three weeks, maybe longer. Surely there must be more to your story.”
“Yes. Aradon and I followed their trail to a logging camp. We discovered the fugitives had taken a river barge the day prior. Unfortunately, it was the last one and a replacement barge was still under construction. Those barges run directly to Illustan, the trip taking half the time as it would on horseback. We were forced to wait two full days before the barge was ready. By the time we reached Illustan, three days after their own arrival, much had transpired.
“Believe it or not, a dragon had attacked the city.”
Thurvin scoffed. “You must be joking.”
“Exactly what I said to the first few citizens who reported the event.” Despaldi shook his head, recalling the destruction. “Buildings around the city had been damaged, many scorched black, some burnt to the ground. Lord Raskor himself attempted to fend off the dragon. Later that evening, he succumbed to his wounds. I missed the funeral by one day.”
Thurvin stood, leaning forward with his palms on the desk. “Raskor is dead?”
Despaldi nodded. “He is. The throne of Pallanar sits empty, the ice flames dormant.”
Standing upright, Thurvin rubbed at his chin. “This is interesting news, indeed.”
“Do you not find it disturbing?”
“How so?”
“Three wizard lords dead in a brief time span. Doesn’t that make you wonder if something nefarious is occurring?”
Chuckling, Thurvin replied, “I see it as the gods opening the door to a new era. With Raskor out of the way, Pallanar will be that much easier to conquer once we have Ghealdor under our control.”
“Another wizard lord will take Raskor’s place. The Darkening will reach Illustan soon.”
“True. However, Raskor was famous for his wisdom and held the respect and adoration of his subjects. Anyone taking his place will be less of a threat and more apt to make mistakes.”
While Despaldi agreed with Thurvin’s assessment, he had other concerns but chose to keep them to himself, opting to resume his tale.
“I discovered our quarry housed at Lord Raskor’s castle, which complicated my task. Aradon and I devised a means inside, posing as Ghealdan ambassadors. When we were allowed to see the queen, we learned Landish and his cohorts had sailed off on a ship earlier that morning. You will never guess at their destination.”
“Hmm. Let me see…” Thurvin flashed a humorless smile. “Kelmar.”
Despaldi flinched. “How… How did you know?”
“Did you forget? I am the hub of all information in Farrowen.”
While Despaldi admitted that Thurvin’s network of informants was impressive, he could not fathom how the man could have gleaned such information. No messenger could have reached Marquithe faster than he had, not with the snow in the mountains. An ember of doubt sparked inside him, burning with fear he had never before felt from the man.
He forced himself to complete his report. “Obviously, the fugitives were beyond my grasp. I could not follow them to the home of the witches, their location unmarked on any map. With the bitter taste of failure on our tongues, Aradon and I returned here to share the news and to receive further instructions.”
Thurvin sat down, leaned back, and brought tented fingers to his lips. He glared at Despaldi through narrowed eyes, his gaze then shifting toward the open book on his desk, lingering for a moment before looking back up.
“You have failed me.” Thurvin’s statement cut Despaldi to the quick, a blade’s edge tearing through his pride. “Normally, I would have little patience for failure, but I know your history and have no evidence of prior transgressions. Since you have previously proven yourself reliable, I will consider this an anomaly. At the same time, I will not suffer future disappointment in your duties.”
The dent to Despaldi’s pride was not insignificant. He would see it repaired. “My reputation is built upon diligence, detail, and determination. I will not fail again.”
“Yes. I have a means to ensure your future success.” The man’s scowl turned up into a smirk. “You will be the first to receive an augmentation of my magic.”
Frowning, Despaldi glanced toward the book, the patterns on the page a twisting, confusing mess. “I don’t understand.”
“Come here,” Thurvin said, rising to his feet.
Steeling himself, Despaldi circled the desk and stood beside the shorter man.
Thurvin held one hand against Despaldi’s chest. “Show me your hands.”
Despaldi held his palms out, Thurvin’s other hand hovering over them as he gazed down at the book.
“No disruptions,” the wizard warned. “Anything less than perfection could end quite poorly, perhaps even obliterating the both of us.”
Standing still, Despaldi endured the silent tension, waiting for… What? He had no idea. Suddenly, he gasped, his back arching, body trembling as pain erupted in his hands, shot up through his arms and into his chest, sharp and excruciating. The world spun, blackened, and he fell to the floor, landing on his hands and knees. Spots danced before his eyes as he panted, almost like he had run for miles. His hands tingled with the points of a thousand needles. A smell arose, reminding him of charred metal, as if he had just entered a forge.
When his vision cleared, tendrils of smoke rose up from the floor beneath him. He pulled his hands away to reveal blackened prints where they had been. Turning his hands, he discovered his palms glowed with the deep orange of angry coals. Startled, he rose to his feet, gripping the desk to steady himself. The wood crackled and burst into flames. He jerked his hand away and staggered backward.
Thurvin scooped the book from the desk in a flash. Backing from the rising f
lames, the wizard lord extended his hand toward it and used his magic to smother the fire. Black smoke filled the room.
Despaldi coughed and backed away, his tingling hands still held out before him, fearing to touch anything.
Turning to the window, Thurvin unlatched it and flung it open. The cool breeze whistled into the room, bringing fresh air and stirring the smoke.
Thurvin shook his head. “It appears I will need a new desk.” The wizard’s gaze shifted toward Despaldi’s hands. “How do you feel?”
“My hands…” They were still glowing. “What have you done to me?”
“I used an augmentation called ignatious, focusing the effect on your hands.”
Appalled, Despaldi stared down at his palms, which pulsed like melted metal. “Why?”
“I had to start somewhere, test it. What you did to the desk…” The wizard glanced down at it, then the handprints on the floor. “It is incredible. But there is more.” There was an eagerness in Thurvin’s voice. “According to the instructions, you should be able to control it, extend the effect to inanimate objects.” Walking out the door, Thurvin spoke over his shoulder. “Follow me. We must test your new abilities, determine what is possible and how to best utilize them.”
Despaldi paused and gazed down at his palms, still afraid to touch anything. What has the madman done to me? How can I eat without burning my food? How will I sleep without igniting the bed? He gasped. How will I relieve myself without scorching my manhood?
“Come along, Despaldi!” Thurvin insisted.
With an uncertainty he had never before experienced, Roddem Despaldi followed his new master into the corridor, praying to Farrow to grant him strength.
25
Insurgence
Squinting in the bright, mid-day sunlight, Garvin peered across the bay. Mountains lined the northern horizon, beyond the water. From his position twenty miles down the coast from where the army camped, Dorban’s harbor was too distant to see. At the same time, lookouts at the garrison could not see what was about to transpire.
The docks where he stood were quiet, occupied only by a single fishing boat, the others undoubtedly out on the water in pursuit of the day’s catch. Two ships hugging the coast drifted in from the east, sails down as they dropped anchor a quarter mile from shore. Longboats were lowered into the water, a pair from each ship, and the sailors on board began rowing.
Turning around, Garvin walked the length of the dock and followed the path up to the village of Bedow’s Point. Ironically, the actual point was a couple miles to the west, the strip of land creating a natural bay. The fishing village consisted of fifteen buildings, most of them houses. In the center was the town hall, a building without walls, filled with tables and benches beneath a peaked roof. Three men, nine women, and a handful of children occupied those tables, the area surrounded by a squad of armed soldiers.
Garvin climbed the hillside, walked past the quiet, scared townsfolk, and headed toward the cluster of carriages parked along the gravel road – the only street in the village.
Palkan Forca emerged from one of the carriages, the tall man striding toward Garvin. “You are determined to move forward with this plan?”
Garvin nodded. “I am. Under the given circumstances, it is the best means to take Dorban before mid-winter.”
“In that case, I wish to go with you.”
Garvin was careful not to show a reaction. “So, you changed your mind?”
The wizard shrugged. “Your plan has some merit and might succeed with proper care and attention to detail. I don’t trust Durr with my wife’s life on the line.” He frowned. “In truth, you leave me no choice.”
“Very well. Please tell me you have the cleric’s robe I provided to Durr.”
“I do, and I have given my role some thought. I am ready.”
Good man. Garvin nodded. “Get changed. The longboats will dock in a few minutes. I wish to be on our way expeditiously to reduce chance of discovery.” Turning toward the carriages, Garvin shouted, “Everyone out! We are to board in five minutes!”
The wizardesses began to emerge from the carriages, including Portia Forca, just before her husband climbed back inside to change. Despite Garvin’s request that the wizardesses dress as poorly as possible, many of them appeared ready for a dinner party. Their worst garb was quite a distance from that of a commoner. Garvin swept past them, intent on the cluster of soldiers at the tail of the carriage train.
“Korm, Daggett, Bean, are the men ready?”
The three members of the Midnight Guard glanced at each other, Daggett nodding. “Ready, Lieutenant.”
Four Thundercorps soldiers stood ready, each dressed in civilian garb – simple cloaks over a variety of greens, browns, blues, and grays. The swords at their hips were visible, at least for now.
“Gather up, men. Each of you, find a partner among the wizardesses. I’ll see you at the docks.”
Turning, Garvin strode through the cluster of women, some appearing frightened, others with their chins thrust out as if the entire thing were beneath them.
Perhaps it is, but war cares nothing for status.
Stopping beside Portia Forca, Garvin extended an elbow. “Shall we?”
Portia glanced toward the carriage where her husband was changing. “Yes. Let’s get this over with.”
The woman, ten years Garvin’s senior and thicker of build than his preference, walked alongside him as if they belonged together, which was the point. He slowed as he drew near the town hall and addressed the soldier in charge of the prisoners.
“Sergeant Haim, to ensure these good folks don’t do anything stupid, I ask you to remain with them until nightfall. Once it’s dark, return to camp and rejoin the troops. If any of the fishermen return, hold them with the others.”
Haim thumped a fist to his breastplate. “Yes, sir.”
With Portia on his arm, Garvin followed the path down to the docks. A sailor dressed in black stood there, waiting.
“Lieutenant Garvin?” the man asked.
Garvin nodded. “Yes.”
The sailor extended a hand. “I am Captain Churles of the Line Walker. My compatriot, Captain Flair, is waiting upon his ship for your arrival.”
Garvin gazed out toward the two ships, one of which was a long, three-masted freighter. “Yours is the freighter?”
“It is.”
“It appears long enough.” His gaze locked on the other man’s. “You are aware your ship will be forfeit in this venture?”
“I have been compensated, as have my crew.”
Charcoan did as requested. I wonder how much gold it cost him. “Your sacrifice will save many lives.”
“Wonderful.” The man grinned. “I can retire a hero.”
He clapped the man on the shoulder. “Should we succeed, I will be sure your name is known across Farrowen for your part in this battle.”
Garvin hopped into a longboat before helping Portia climb down. The soldiers and other wizardesses followed until the four longships were full, then they pushed away from the dock and headed toward the waiting ships.
It was late afternoon when the ship docked at Dorban. With Portia Forca at his side, Garvin waited while soldiers dressed as civilians crossed the plank to the pier, wizardesses on their arms. In twos and fours, the couples headed toward the city. Portia’s husband then exited the ship alone, his white cleric’s robes ruffling in the sea breeze.
Garvin turned to the man beside him, his wavy black hair speckled with gray, his mustache waxed and curled. For a sailor, Captain Flair was a striking display of vanity, the man’s doublet deep blue, the shirt beneath it white and ruffled.
“Thank you, Captain,” Garvin said, extending his hand toward the man. He leaned in close and whispered, “I trust she will be ready to sail at sunset.”
“Aye,” Flair said in a hushed reply. “The cargo is ready, and I’ll have her on course as planned.”
“Good.” Garvin’s gaze flicked across the ship. No other sa
ilors were nearby. “It may be difficult to say goodbye, but once we are done, you’ll have enough gold to buy two ships.”
“Perhaps.” Flair shrugged. “Or maybe I’ll just find me a lass and retire on an island in the shoals.”
“It’s your gold to spend as you wish. Just do your job.”
“Consider it done. I just hope Churles is in position on time, as well.”
With Portia on his arm, Garvin descended the plank. He glanced at the woman, her brow knit in concentration. He felt nothing of her magic, but when he glanced down, the sword he knew to be on his hip was not visible.
Looking toward the pier, he saw Daggett waiting with one of the older wizardesses. Garvin only knew him by his green cloak, the man’s face altered to appear in his sixties, his black hair now balding and gray, his lean torso turned to an overstuffed belly.
Masked by illusion, nobody will guess we are soldiers.
“Let’s find an inn to stay for the night,” Garvin said loud enough for the dock workers to hear.
The two couples walked down the dock, trailing Palkan Forca by a fair margin. Ahead, a squad of Ghealdan soldiers occupied the road between the docks and the city gate. A line of wagons and people on foot waited to enter the city, the guards carefully inspecting each party. Garvin watched with interest as the first soldier and wizardess were questioned. The interrogation lasted only moments before the soldiers moved on to the next couple.
Garvin wondered about his decision to take eight soldiers, worrying it might appear odd for so many civilians to be entering Dorban via ship at once. Accordingly, he had trained the men diligently, each possessing a false history and the same explanation as to why he needed to reach the city, one that was solidified by the presence of a Ghealdan cleric.
Four couples passed through without issue, disappearing through the city gate by the time Palkan Forca reached the guards. Garvin was close enough to hear the exchange.
Forca addressed them with disdain. “May Gheald bless you soldiers and give you the strength to protect our wizardom, unlike your compatriots in Shear and Fastella, who failed miserably.”
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