The Sorceress: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Origins Book 3)

by James Eggebeen

  He focused his mind on it, as he had done with the fire. Could he draw it forth? Why was it happening now? He had heard that magic came awake in a boy when he reached a certain age. When he had seen the girl in the fire, he was certain that day had come, but what if there was more? What if that had only been the beginning?

  He let his thoughts wander. The warmth turned to heat.

  He plucked at the heat with his imagination. Drew strength from it as he had with the burning fields. Fire. That was it. Fire. Could he raise fire?

  He stretched out his hand.

  Words? Were there words?

  He let the magic flow within him, directing it toward his hand. As the power reached his fingertips, he heard a voice whisper in his ear. “Incendio ignius,” it said. Strange words, but words that seemed natural, appropriate.

  “Incendio ignius,” Zhimosom whispered, as if afraid to let anyone hear him.

  Fire sprang to life in his hand. Wild and indistinct, the flames burned his flesh.

  He closed his hand and shook it.

  The flame extinguished, and darkness returned.

  He’d done it. Raised fire, but it was raw and uncontrolled. Surely that was not the way a wizard did it. How to shape the fire? Fire was wild and untamed, but he’d heard that wizards formed it into a ball. When they had need, they could throw a ball of flame at a person or an object. The fireball would consume whatever it struck. Was that why it had burned his hand? Because he lacked the wit to control it?

  His thoughts had called it into being. Could his thoughts shape it?

  “Incendio ignius.” He held his hand out, wincing as the fire erupted, but this time, he directed his imagination toward it. How would he control the flame? It was growing hotter by the moment.

  “Spin,” he shouted, imagining the fire twisting into a neat ball.

  For half a heartbeat, nothing happened, but slowly, the flame began to turn. The tip of the flame leaned away from him as if the gentlest of breezes had touched it. More. It was growing hot.

  Spin.

  The tip of the flame tucked itself beneath the base and the fire began to form. At first, it was lopsided, little more than a blob, but as Zhimosom pressed his will at it, it started to spin. Slowly at first, but picking up speed. Soon it was a whirling ball of fire that wrapped itself into a perfect sphere. The sphere spun wildly, half a digit above his outstretched palm.

  A fireball.

  He’d done it.

  Now what? Could he drive it through the air?

  He glanced at the empty corner of the cell. The one where the chamber pot should have been, but where there was only a stinking pile of excrement.

  “There,” he muttered, not sure if there were magic words he needed to speak to drive the spell.

  The fireball hesitated for a moment, then leaped from his hand.

  Whsst. The pile of excrement vanished in a brilliant flash.

  The fire consumed excrement and splashed against the stone wall. Stone, it appeared, was immune to wizards’ fire.

  Wizards’ fire.

  He liked that idea.

  He was a wizard. Perhaps that could save him from the headsman.

  In the darkness once more, he lay down to contemplate how he could use his newfound magic to save himself. He’d heard the baron was not one who looked favorably on wizards. Perhaps magic wasn’t the answer.

  No sooner had he lay down than he felt another tug. This time, it was his head that felt the pull.

  He sat up.

  An image formed in the air before him.

  It was Rotiaqua.

  “What in the name of all the gods are you doing?” she scolded him.

  “Making fire.”

  “Using magic. In the castle. Do you want to get burned? Where are you?”

  “I’m in the gaol. I came to the castle with Brill, the young girl that helped me bury my father. She ran off into the crowd and the guards grabbed me. They said I was a thief. That I’d taught her to steal. They want to take my hand off.”

  “Wait. Your father died?”

  “I was pressed to work for the baron’s men harvesting. When I returned home, the place was burned to the ground. I headed to town to see if I could find Zheet. He must have been headed here, but he never made it. The king’s men strung him up just like Brill’s family. We buried them all, then came to town. Brill ran off and they threw me in here.”

  Rotiaqua held up her hand. “Slow down. The king’s men?”

  “They burned out the family I was staying with. They burned down my home. They killed my father. They killed Brill’s family. The king’s men. I’m sure of it. I saw the baron’s men fight with them and chase them off. They saved me.”

  “Who saved you?”

  “The baron’s men. The knight was going to kill me for defending a woman and he attacked me, but the baron’s knights came and he ran them off. They saved me. That’s how I survived. The rest died.”

  “That’s a lot of death.”

  “Of course it’s a lot of death.”

  “And you’re in the gaol? In the castle?”

  “Yes. I said that. They threw me in here. They said they’re going to take off my hand.”

  “Surely not.”

  “Certainly. They said I am a thief. That’s the penalty for thieving.”

  “I won’t let them.”

  “You can stop them?”

  “Of course.” Rotiaqua straightened up. “I’m the baron’s daughter. His heir. The guard listens to me.”

  “Well, tell them to let me go. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Besides use magic?”

  Zhimosom felt his face go flush. “It was dark. I was practicing.”

  “I felt it. You had best keep that to yourself.”

  “Aren’t you using magic?” he asked. “To talk to me?”

  “I suppose so. Ever since I came to the castle, it’s been so hard to contact anyone by magic. It’s as if there were a shield around the castle. That’s probably why I can see you so clearly now. You’re inside the castle.”

  “I am. When will you get them to let me out?”

  “Just a moment.” Rotiaqua turned to someone outside of Zhimosom’s vision. She spoke at length then turned back to him. “I’ve dispatched a messenger.”

  “Thank you, My Lady.” Zhimosom bowed.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “You are, aren’t you? My Lady?”

  “I thought we were going to be friends. My friends don’t call me that. They call me Rotiaqua, or Queue if they are old friends.”

  “All right. Rotiaqua, then.”

  “Tell me about what happened,” Rotiaqua said. “Slowly, so I can remember it. My father will want to hear all about this. The king’s men have never been so bold as to attack one of our towns before. Something must have happened.”

  Zhimosom told his story. He began with their first contact and ended with him being thrown in the gaol. Just as he was wrapping up his tale, the door burst open. Light streamed in.

  Rotiaqua’s image shrieked and vanished.

  “You. Thief. Don’t know how you managed friends in high places, but someone wants you out of here. Caused me no end of trouble, you did.”

  Zhimosom stood.

  His legs cramped from sitting for so long.

  The guard grabbed him by the arm and dragged him from the cell.

  Zhimosom heaved a heavy sigh. She’d done it. She’d freed him. He must remember to thank her.

  “Hold on, thief,” the guard said. “Before I hand you over, I want to give you a little reminder. When one of us puts you down, you stay down.”

  The guard elbowed Zhimosom in the gut.

  He doubled over in pain.

  “You hear me? Or do I need to beat it into you.”

  This time, the guard struck him in the head with something hard and heavy. Zhimosom barely felt the rest of the blows as darkness took him.

  16

  Zhimosom woke in a strange bed
.

  His thoughts came to him slowly.

  He was in a bed, not a cell.

  They had taken him to the gaol. How did he get here?

  He sat up and rubbed his head.

  There was a lump on the back of it that hurt when he touched it.

  “Gently, you hit your head pretty hard. Take it easy.”

  Zhimosom blinked to clear his eyes. A man in his middle age looked down at him. He was just starting to go bald.

  He was dressed in fine clothes and stood beside the bed with a tray of bread, fruit, and cheese. Sitting beside the plate was a jug of water.

  He set the tray down on the table next to the bed, fluffed the pillow, and placed it behind Zhimosom’s back, helping Zhimosom into a sitting position.

  “What happened?” Zhimosom asked.

  “You hit your head when you fell. You must have passed out from exhaustion.”

  “I was ... I was in the gaol. How did I get here?” Zhimosom looked around the room. It was a nice room, in a nice inn. A memory came to him. A vague memory of a woman who came to rescue him. “The woman who came to get me...”

  “I came to get you.”

  “Rotiaqua said she was coming.”

  “I hardly believe that. She would never make such a journey late at night. She sent me to get you. When I arrived, you were out cold, propped against the gaol wall, waiting.”

  “Who are you?” Zhimosom asked.

  “I am Heyk. I am the manservant to Mistress Rotiaqua. She liberated you from the gaol and brought you here last night. She asked me to watch over you until you regained your strength.”

  “Why did she help me?” Zhimosom recalled meeting her in the flames, and again when she came to him in a dream in the gaol. It was starting to come back to him.

  “I don’t know why she chose to help you. A manservant does not ask why a lady does anything.”

  “Is she really a lady?”

  “Of course. She is the baron’s daughter.”

  “I saw her before ...” Zhimosom didn’t want to admit he’d seen her in the fire.

  Heyk laughed. “I’m sure you are mistaken. Mistress Rotiaqua is the heir to the barony. It must have been another you saw.”

  “Where are we?” Zhimosom asked.

  “You are at the Regal Hound, a public house. Your stay has been secured for the rest of this moon, so you will have time to rest and recover. Her Ladyship has covered your room and board until then.” The man straightened up. “I will be here until nightfall, and then I must return to my duties at the castle. I will look in on you from time to time, just to make sure you are doing well.”

  “Will she be by?” Zhimosom wanted to thank Rotiaqua for her kindness, but he was uncomfortable around the nobles, even though she had rescued him. Things could have gone badly for him if she hadn’t intervened. He rubbed his wrist, thinking of how they’d meant to take his hand.

  “She did not indicate to me one way or another.” Heyk picked up the water, poured a cup, and held it out.

  Zhimosom took it and drank it down without stopping for a breath. He reached for the tray and stuffed his mouth with bread. It was soft and moist, not the type he was accustomed to.

  “The girl?” Zhimosom asked, chewing noisily. “There was a girl with me when I came into town. What happened to her?”

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  Zhimosom held out the cup and Heyk refilled it. He drank it down again. It was cool and went down his throat like liquid silk. It soothed the dryness that lingered there.

  “I have to find Brill,” Zhimosom said. “Her family was killed … She ran off into the market.”

  “I’m sure you will find her. In time. For now, I suggest you rest and eat.”

  Zhimosom consumed everything on the plate Heyk had brought him, ashamed of his hunger, but glad to eat his fill. Despite repeated attempts to get Heyk to answer questions about Rotiaqua, he stayed silent on the subject. He remained with Zhimosom until the noon meal, then brushed his clothes as if to remove the dust. “I must be getting back to the castle,” he said. “If you need anything, ask the proprietor. He will see to your needs.”

  “Will you be back?” Zhimosom didn’t want to lose his only connection to Rotiaqua.

  “I will check on you in a few days to make sure everything is to your liking. I have duties in the castle that I must attend.” Heyk bowed and backed out of the room, quietly closing the door behind himself.

  Zhimosom spent the afternoon resting. He slept on and off, to wake in the evening feeling somewhat better. He decided that this was the best time to try to get in touch with Rotiaqua. He desperately wished to thank her for her help and find out why she had helped him.

  He lit the candle on the nightstand, sat cross-legged on the bed, and opened his mind, searching for her. He could tell she was in the castle. He sensed her presence, but she was not open to him. There was a slight sign of recognition at one point, even though she failed to appear.

  He gave up his attempt to reach her, extinguished the candle, and lay down.

  He would try again later, but for now, he was still tired.

  When he awoke, it was full dark.

  He felt something pulling at him, as if someone were calling his name from a distance, but he could not make it out.

  He reached out for the connection and felt Rotiaqua trying to contact him. He sat up and lit the candle, settled into a comfortable position, and opened himself to her.

  “You’re all right, then?” she asked.

  “Yes. I am doing much better. Still sore, but well fed and my injuries have been tended to. Your man Heyk was most kind.”

  “I was so worried about you. I’m glad you are well. I felt you try to contact me, but I was engaged. This was the first chance I had to get away from everyone and reach out to you.”

  “Thank you for your kindness.”

  “Think nothing of it.” Rotiaqua leaned into the fire. Her face was as clear as if she were in the room with him. “I need your help. There is a wizard here. He is trying to get my father to allow him freedom to remain in Frostan. I’m worried. I know him. His name is Sulrad. He is not right. I feel it in his magic. He’s contaminated. I’m not sure how to explain it.”

  Rotiaqua shifted in the fire.

  She was in her room as she had been the first time Zhimosom saw her.

  She looked upset.

  “I don’t trust him,” she said. “Father was so dead set against wizards, but he just let this one walk right in and gave him whatever he wanted.”

  “What do you think this Sulrad is up to?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we can find him, the way that I found you. We can look in on him. See what he’s doing.”

  “You know how to do that?” Zhimosom asked.

  “How do you think I found you?” Rotiaqua laughed the pleasant laugh Zhimosom had heard from her on their first encounter.

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t doing anything but opening myself to the fire, and there you were.”

  “I was searching. Searching for someone else like me,” Rotiaqua said. “We can do the same with Sulrad.”

  “Will he be able to see us?”

  “Not if we’re careful.” Rotiaqua reached her hand out of the fire. “Care to try?”

  Zhimosom was hesitant.

  Rotiaqua had been able to see him.

  She had even held the contact open when he wanted to flee.

  If this wizard were powerful, he might be able to do the same. Then what would happen?

  “I would like to,” he said. “But I fear I am still a little weak. I don’t want to risk it just yet.”

  “Tomorrow, then. I’ll contact you when I can.”

  Zhimosom felt the contact break and, once again, he was alone in his room.

  By the next evening, Zhimosom’s strength was returning. He sat before the fireplace, staring at the flames as he so often did. He let his mind drift through memories of the home he shared with Zheet that was
now only a pile of ashes. As his mind wandered, he felt a tug, a familiar presence.

  He opened himself to it.

  Rotiaqua’s face appeared in the flames.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “I’m fine. I think I’m almost back to normal.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Are they taking good care of you?”

  “They are. I’m grateful for your assistance. I thought I was going to lose my hand.” He absentmindedly rubbed his wrist.

  “We wizards have to stick together.” She winked at him from the flames. “I feel your power and it’s growing quickly. Soon your power will surpass my own. That’s why I need your help.”

  “What do you think I can do to help?” Zhimosom was only a poor farmer. He wasn’t even sure where he was going to find his next meal when her generous support ran out. How could one such as him help her?

  “Ever since Sulrad appeared before my father, my magic has been stronger. I sense his presence more strongly now than before. Can you sense him? Can you tell me if he is evil or benign?”

  “I don’t know how to sense magic,” Zhimosom said. “Can you show me how you do it?”

  She nodded. “Here. Do what I do.”

  Zhimosom followed her lead. He reached out with his senses and traced the route her magic took. He felt the presence of the wizard in the castle, but it was indistinct and insubstantial. “I can sense him, but nothing more.”

  Rotiaqua held her hand out to him.

  Zhimosom was taken aback when the hand extended out of the flame and became solid. He reached out and gingerly took it in his own. Her grasp was firm but not too strong. Her hand looked fragile and smooth next to his. He felt the slight plumpness beneath her firm flesh.

  Then the power surge hit him.

  Without warning, he found he could sense her whole being. Her magic was open to him and he could feel what she was feeling.

  He was shocked.

  What had happened?

  Somehow, their magic had linked together.

  He knew her much more intimately than anyone he’d ever known before. He was instantly comfortable, at home with the bright golden glow of her power as much as he was with his own.