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

by James Eggebeen

  He saw her reaction.

  She was just as shocked as he was.

  “What was that?” Zhimosom asked.

  “I don’t know.” She smiled at him. “I can sense where you are, and how you’re feeling.”

  Zhimosom drew back slightly without even thinking. He looked at her in amazement for a few moments, and then relaxed. It seemed their fate was tied together somehow. He wondered what had just happened. She was a noble, he a poor farmer. How could their fates be tied together? Was it their magic?

  Rotiaqua sat quietly as Zhimosom absorbed the shock. After a hand of heartbeats, she leaned in to speak. “We need to find out what Sulrad is up to. I can lead you.”

  Together they reached out to probe for the wizard. Rotiaqua guided his examination as they found the room in town where the wizard sat. He perched on a chair, bending over something on the table before him. The moon cast a shaft of illumination on the wall behind him.

  Zhimosom shifted his perspective until he could see what the wizard was doing.

  On the table before him was a rabbit, bound by simple leather thongs.

  Sulrad sat quietly, a knife enfolded between hands lifted as in prayer.

  As the moonlight struck the rabbit, he drew the knife across its throat.

  Blood rushed out of the wound, covering the knife, the table, and the wizard’s hands.

  As it rushed from the animal, the blood began to glow a dark green, the green of fresh cut grass.

  Lit from within, it became brighter and brighter until there was a flash.

  The rabbit and the spilled blood vanished.

  The wizard’s power ebbed then surged as the animal vaporized.

  He sat back in his chair, smiling as the swirling dark-green energy wrapped itself around him and sank into his body.

  Zhimosom was shocked.

  Sulrad had taken the life force of the rabbit into his body.

  Magic was so new to Zhimosom, he thought magic came from within and that how much a person possessed or wielded was decided by fate.

  Sulrad had taken magic and stored it within himself. He clearly planned to use the sacrifices to make himself more powerful than he already was.

  “I knew something was wrong with him,” Rotiaqua said. “I could feel it in his magic.”

  “We had better keep an eye on him,” Zhimosom said. He bid his farewell to Rotiaqua and dropped their connection.

  What did it mean that Sulrad could absorb magic of life force from another? Did that make him strong? Whatever it did, it would certainly make him a formidable enemy, and Zhimosom didn’t need any enemies.

  A few days passed as Zhimosom recovered from the bump on his head. The inn was comfortable and much nicer than he would ever have been able to afford on his own. He worried that soon he would need to support himself. He decided to seek work at the stables in the castle. He knew about horses and knew how to work hard. He was certain they could use a lad like himself.

  The stable master was a rough man with a ruddy complexion who towered over the rest of his staff. As Zhimosom approached, he rose from his stool and limped into the doorway.

  He held up his hand. “We don’t need any help.”

  “Sir,” Zhimosom said. “My family was burned out of our farm. I only seek work to feed myself. I don’t eat much and I’m accustomed to hard labor.”

  The stable master gestured to the walls of the stable. “Look around you. The whole city is flooded with refugees. Folks come flocking here when things get tough out there and expect us hard-working folk to take ‘em in and feed ‘em.”

  “I can clean stalls. I can carry hay. I can fetch water for the horses. I don’t mind hard work.”

  “I said no. We don’t need any help.” The stable master reached behind his stool and brought out a whip. It was long and sturdy-looking and had strands of leather tipped with iron barbs. He shook it at Zhimosom. “Get yourself gone.”

  Zhimosom hung his head and turned back to the inn. Soon enough he would have to vacate the room there. What was he going to do for food and shelter once Rotiaqua’s charity ran out? He could ask her for more assistance, but he was too proud. He needed to stand on his own two feet. He needed to find honest work.

  He scoured the town looking for work, but the answer was much the same everywhere. The town was choked with refugees, able-bodied men and women who had been forced off their farms by the king’s men.

  That night, as he sat by the fire, Zhimosom was consumed with his misfortune. Zheet was dead, the farm was nothing but ashes, his brothers were dead in the war. Even the memory of his mother’s passing was fading. It all seemed so overwhelming.

  He was totally and utterly alone.

  As he watched the fire, the flames danced on the logs, licking them with their consuming tongues. Zhimosom stared at the glowing embers, so much like his own life. They would soon turn to ash and be swept out with the morning’s refuse.

  “Why so sad?” came the voice in his head.

  “I have nothing. No hope. I can’t even find work to keep myself fed. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Zhimosom focused his eyes on the image of Rotiaqua that had appeared in the fire.

  “Surely a strong lad like yourself could find work. The stables are always in need of help.”

  “I tried. The stable master sent me away.” Zhimosom shook his head. “He said there were too many refugees in the city and that everyone is looking for work.”

  She frowned at him. “Try again tomorrow. After the noon meal. Give me a little time to arrange matters.”

  “But he said they don’t need help.”

  She winked at him. “They will tomorrow.”

  Zhimosom was skeptical, but he agreed to try. What would the stable master do to him for returning after he’d been told to leave? He shuddered at the memory of the whip. Was that all it took? A word from the baron’s daughter? Zheet had been right to caution him about getting involved with her. He hoped he never ended up on the wrong side of her.

  “What about Brill?” Zhimosom asked. “Have you heard anything?” He was still worried about the girl he’d vowed to protect, and guilty about failing to protect her when she needed him the most. If they were going to take his hand off for letting her escape into the market, what would they do to her? Had she been caught by the guard, or had she found her aunt as she’d hoped?

  “Brill?” Rotiaqua asked.

  “The girl I came here with. She ran off into the market. That’s why they thought I was a thief.”

  “Sounds to me like she got you into trouble. Why are you worried about her?” Rotiaqua waved her hand in dismissal.

  “I promised I would take care of her. She’s an orphan. Just like me. He parents were killed along with my pa. I was supposed to look out for her, but I’ve lost her.”

  “I haven’t heard anything,” Rotiaqua said. “I can have my servants keep an eye out for her.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” Zhimosom was already deep in her debt. He didn’t want to get any deeper. He would search for Brill. It was his problem.

  Rotiaqua leaned forward until her image separated from the fire. She looked sternly at Zhimosom. “You are my friend,” she said. “Friends help each other.”

  “I am worried about growing ever deeper in your debt,” Zhimosom said. “I could never repay you.”

  “No debt is owed among friends.” Rotiaqua smiled and raised her hand in dismissal.

  Zhimosom let the connection drop and retired for the evening.

  The next day, Zhimosom was indeed given work in the stables. It was the most menial and back-breaking of tasks, and paid very little, but he didn’t mind. He had worked hard on the farm. He was used to it. And with his own coin in his pocket, he was on his way to making a life for himself.

  Included in his responsibilities was caring for the horses and preparing them when the castle folk wanted to go riding. He groomed them, fed them, and got to know each of them by name and temperament. He left the inn and h
ired a small room not far from the livery. The couple he rented it from had so many children that he never learned all their names. The woman called each child by a different name seemingly every day. It made Zhimosom miss his own family. And Brill. She was his responsibility. He tried to tell himself she would have already found her folks. She was probably living in comfort with her family.

  No matter how hard he tried to reassure himself, he just couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad had happened to her.

  17

  Rotiaqua stared out her window as Odray tugged a comb through her hair. She wished she could be out amongst the folks she witnessed. They seemed so carefree and happy, while she was kept in the castle like a prize bird. She longed for the days when she could don the dress of a merchant and mingle with the common folk, but alas, that was no longer permitted. She was a proper lady now and expected to fulfill her function as the baron’s daughter and heir.

  “You are to attend him this morning. A light meal, then court.” Odray said.

  Rotiaqua hated it when her father did that. He made her sit with him when he pronounced judgment on his subjects.

  He said she needed to learn how court was conducted, that one day she would be the one sitting in judgment. She never believed it. Not for a moment. He would wed her to some lout with coin in the hopes she would produce an heir to carry on the lineage. She would never be the ruler. He was. He was sadistic and took pleasure in being arbitrary, just to see what sort of reaction he would get.

  “Is there no way around it?” she asked.

  Odray finished combing out Rotiaqua’s hair and placed the comb back on the dresser. “Let’s get you dressed for court, shall we?” The maid stepped behind the short privacy screen and returned with a corset and dress.

  “Do I have to wear that?” Rotiaqua protested.

  “Yes. This is court. A lady needs to be properly dressed.”

  “I hate that. Why do I need to look as if I hadn’t eaten in a moon? Why do all the women who parade themselves around my father look like that?”

  Odray shrugged. “Who’s to say?”

  “He doesn’t care about me,” Rotiaqua muttered. “Do you think he suspects I have magic? Is that why he wants me there? To see him torture the wizard? Could he know?”

  “Stop fidgeting. He doesn’t know.” Odray yanked the cords tight. “Breathe out.” She gave another tug.

  “Maybe he knows and he’s just trying to frighten me. I won’t be frightened. I have magic, and I’m going to learn to control it, even if I have to leave the castle. There is a place. I’ve read about it. A place where wizards and sorceresses are welcome. Lofty towers built by wizards and dragons. A library so large, you could never read all the scrolls if you lived to be two hundred summers old.”

  Odray tied the corset tight and tucked the cords in. “It’s a myth. Doesn’t exist.”

  “It does. Why else would there be so many stories about it? I met a wizard who lived there. The one who appeared in court not long ago. He was a student there. It does exist. Just like the dragons.”

  “Dragons don’t exist.”

  “They did.”

  “Perhaps, but not for a thousand summers. They might well be no more than stories to entertain children. Made up tales to frighten them into obedience.”

  “Is that what Father hopes to do? Frighten me?”

  “I’m sure your father simply wants to educate you in the matters of the court. You will see. I keep telling you that in his own way, he loves you.”

  “He just can’t stand the sight of me.”

  “Turn around.” Odray held out the first layer of silk petticoats. “We don’t want to keep him waiting.”

  Rotiaqua waltzed into court as if she owned the place. Let her father get a taste of his own arrogance.

  Her father was already seated when she arrived. He was engaged in a discussion with a wealthy lumber trader about duty and what the trader owed to his baron. The discussion was not going well.

  “We have the rule of law,” the trader was saying. “You can’t simply raise taxes and assess duty on a humble trader without the consent of the council.”

  “I’m the baron,” Reik said.

  “Indeed, you are, but King Omrik has decreed that taxes are to be no more than one part in ten and that is what I am paying. You have no justification for taking more.”

  “Omrik is a tyrant. He takes more than that on the trade that happens on his lands.”

  “That may be true, but the king’s word is backed by the council of nobles. Respectfully, it’s not up to you to decide.”

  “Where am I to get the lumber I need?”

  “I’d suggest you open that treasury of yours and part with some of that gold. Coin has been known to grease the wheels of commerce.”

  “That’s all you ever think of, isn’t it? How you can line your own pockets with gold even as you bleed me dry.”

  “It’s the way trade works. Gold, in exchange for goods.”

  “Get out of my sight.” The baron waved his hand at the man. “If it were up to me. I’d have you hanged for your insolence.”

  “Good for me that it’s not.” The man bowed and backed out of the room.

  Rotiaqua watched him go. The man was one of those merchants that thought he was better than the royals just because he had coin. He was a thorn in the baron’s side and playing a risky game. She despised having to deal with people like that. He made her feel dirty somehow. She was glad to see him go.

  The baron turned to his daughter. “Glad to see you could make it.”

  “You wanted me dressed, didn’t you? You’re always saying how important it is that I be properly attired. Well, this takes time.” She gestured to the grand gown she wore.

  “Next time, I want you here when court starts. You need to learn how it’s done.”

  “Like this one?” She gestured to the empty space where the lumber trader had recently stood.

  “Not like this one. I’ll have my tax from him, king’s word or not.”

  “Careful, Father. We don’t want to upset the king.”

  “Bah. Omrik’s nothing more than a spoiled brat.” He waved at the air as if dismissing the subject. “I have a plan. That priest of yours is going to help me handle more than one problem. I love it when I can dispatch several problems with one solution. You will learn to understand. I know you will.”

  18

  The next day, the baron invited Sulrad to dine with them. Rotiaqua tried to get out of the invitation, but her father was insistent.

  “We have sensitive matters to discuss,” was all he said.

  When Sulrad entered, he was dressed in his black robes, his head freshly shaven. He looked arrogant and stood as if he belonged there in court, even though Rotiaqua knew better. He was a farmhand who had been expelled from Amedon in disgrace, yet her father treated him as if he were one of the nobility.

  Sulrad entered and stood waiting. “Baron Reik,” he said. “Rotiaqua. Nice to see you both again.”

  “Please take a seat. This is not a social call. It’s business.” The baron waved to the empty chair across from him.

  “Does the baron require healing?” Sulrad glanced over at Rotiaqua.

  She turned her eyes away. The last thing she wanted was a renewed relationship with him.

  “It’s not your lovely daughter, I hope,” he added.

  “No. Nothing like that.” The baron glanced around the room. “I have a task for you. One which must remain out of the public eye.”

  Out of the public eye. What was her father thinking? Was he going to send Sulrad off on some errand that he wished to keep secret? That could only mean against the king, and that wasn’t something that boded well for anyone.

  “The king and I have been having a bit of a feud as of late,” the baron said. “He’s been burning fields and putting the small folk to the sword. I thought I had quelled it last summer, but it’s started up again. He’s attacking towns on the border.”

/>   “How do you wish me to help? Heal your troops? It’s not likely that I can do much more than your own healers.”

  “You possess magic,” the baron said.

  Sulrad remained silent.

  “I want you to use your magic to deal with the king’s men,” the baron continued. “Stop them before they burn and kill again.”

  “But, sire, I’m no war wizard.”

  “You’ve been trained in magic. I’ve learned that you spent several summers in Amedon under the tutelage of the wizards there.”

  “That’s true, but I am far from versed in warfare. Particularly warfare waged with magic.”

  The baron waved away his words. “No need for training. The king has no more use for wizards than I. He doesn’t use them. You will face troops, but not a wizard. I’m counting on you. You and your god Ran.”

  “Sire. Ran is a god of mercy and healing. He does not wage war.”

  “He will. If you wish to remain a free man.”

  “But, sire.”

  Rotiaqua smiled inwardly. So much for his arrogance. Her father was probably sending him to his death just so he wouldn’t have to deal with him.

  “You will do as I say,” the baron was saying. “And to make sure you do as I say, I will send Rotiaqua along as a witness. She will see that you carry out my orders and report to me.”

  Rotiaqua gasped. What? He was sending her in harm’s way as well? Was this a doubly vile plan? Was his hope to be rid of her as well?

  “Father. Don’t make me go with this fraud.”

  “Fraud? You saw what he did only a few days ago. He defeated arrows and chains. He’s no fraud, and you will do as I say. You will accompany him and bring back word of what he does.”

  “Do you not fear for my life?” she asked.

  “I’ll send guards. They are to protect you, but not to engage with the king’s men.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Understand? I don’t want word of my troops getting into a fight with the king’s men. A wizard is a different matter. I can always claim he is a rogue, and that you were trying to stop him.”