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

by James Eggebeen

  After a while, Sulrad stopped his chanting and sat back. He looked drained and thinner; it must have been exhausting for him. She almost felt sorry for him. Yet the vague uneasiness she had felt around him before was still there. Now that his magic had ebbed, it was even more apparent.

  “How many fingers am I holding up?” Sulrad asked the girl.

  Her face broke out in a smile. “I see three.”

  The girl turned to her father. “Father. I can see again.” She sprang from the couch and ran to her father. “I can see again.”

  The merchant removed the gold chain from around his neck and made a big show of extending it to Sulrad. It was heavy and inlaid with precious stones.

  “No, I do not need any adornment beyond these simple robes.” Sulrad took the necklace and placed it in his pocket. Rotiaqua noticed that while he might not wear it, he certainly had no qualms about accepting it.

  The family was overjoyed at the healing and insisted on treating Rotiaqua and the wizard to a formal dinner, but thankfully, Sulrad declined. Rotiaqua herself refused further hospitality from the family, who seemed to want to take the opportunity of a royal visitor to improve their standing in the neighborhood. Now Rotiaqua was slightly embarrassed that she had rushed out without proper dress.

  “It’s time we were heading back,” she said.

  She avoided Sulrad on their return to the castle and rushed up to her room, dressing properly before seeking out the baron. No need to give him the pleasure of learning that he had made the trip in bare feet and borrowed clothes.

  She found her father in his study, sitting beside a fire with a chalice full of wine and a book.

  “Well?” he said as she entered the room.

  She took a seat next to him and motioned the servant for a glass of wine. “He healed the girl. He also took a very expensive necklace as payment.”

  “Must look silly with those black robes.”

  “He didn’t wear it; he just took it and pocketed it.”

  “Hmmm ... we may have to start a tax on this religion. Sounds like he’s profiting nicely by it already.”

  “I don’t like it.” Rotiaqua took the proffered wine and drank heavily. It had been a long day and she was eager to get some rest.

  “I don’t much care for him myself, but if he can keep the king’s men at bay, I’m inclined to put up with him. If he can convince some of these rich merchants to hand over a little more of their precious coin, I can learn to like him.”

  “I thought you were strictly against magic in any form.”

  “We all have to make compromises. Don’t I keep telling you that?”

  19

  The memory of the healing magic had almost faded when next the baron invited Sulrad to dine with him. Once again, Rotiaqua attempted to avoid the meal, and once again, the baron demanded her attendance. On this night, the dining chamber was cool.

  “The campaign goes well,” the baron said. “The priest is back and wishes to see me today. I would like you to witness what he can do for the barony. I think it will be educational.” He paused as if in thought. “And, you will need to learn how to deal with him.”

  “Really, Father. What has he done beside throw a few fireballs at the king’s troops?”

  “He’s saved me a fortune in men and golds. He’s stopped the king’s attacks on my small folk and has helped me avoid fielding an army during harvest season. That’s what he’s done.”

  “What’s he asking for this time?” Rotiaqua cared little for Sulrad. She and Zhimosom had been watching him when the occasion presented itself. More and more frequently, he vanished from their sight, almost as if he was shielded from their magic. They were less often able to tell what he was doing.

  “I don’t know, but he wants something. Doesn’t everyone?” The baron rose from his seat and extended his arm to escort her to the audience chamber.

  Sulrad was the first petitioner to be admitted to the audience chamber that morning. Rotiaqua still had difficulty thinking of him as a priest. He had been a shy boy when she first met him, then just a wizard when he arrived in Frostan, but with her father’s blessing, the man had taken the affectations of the High Priest of Ran. The long black robes he now wore constantly must have been uncomfortable on warm days. When summer came, he would roast inside them. Rotiaqua chuckled to herself at the thought.

  Sulrad raised his head and looked at her. “My Lady?”

  Rotiaqua froze. He could expose her if he wished. She had best be on her best behavior. She didn’t need raise any suspicions in him. “Nothing.” She quickly set her face into a more serious cast.

  “Your Lordship knows I have fulfilled my task of keeping the king’s army at bay. I have stopped the destruction of his towns and small folk.” Sulrad bowed his head and paused.

  When no response came, he continued. “I believe I have demonstrated to your satisfaction that I can continue to support the barony in this manner. Have I not?”

  “You have,” the baron said. “I presume you are here seeking a reward for your service?”

  “Just a small token of your gratitude, My Lord.”

  “I see. You’re to be at my treasury every time you complete a task. Is that the way of it?”

  “No, My Lord. I seek only just recompense for my labors on your behalf. Nothing more.” Sulrad bowed his head deeper as he spoke.

  “Out with it! What is it you wish this time?”

  “I would pray your indulgence in granting me the land to build a temple to the glory of Ran. To honor his deeds. It is he that has saved you, not I.” Sulrad paused again. “If you would be so gracious as to honor Ran by providing financial aid in the construction of his temple, I am certain that he will continue to look upon your lands and people with favor.”

  “You believe that, do you?” the baron asked.

  Rotiaqua heard the skepticism in her father’s voice. Maybe he wasn’t fully in agreement with the wizard after all. She smiled to herself, hoping Sulrad said something that would end the audience.

  “I assure you, My Lord. Ran is powerful ... and generous.” He kept his head bowed as he spoke. He had started carrying a staff along with the robes. It was crafted from polished hardwood with a large jewel embedded in the head. The jewel radiated magic like nothing Rotiaqua had ever seen before. She had heard rumors of wizards and their staff. Was this how he planned to gather more magic to himself?

  She reached out with the tiniest thread of her magic.

  As it touched the jewel in the head of Sulrad’s staff, her insides roiled as if she had taken a deep whiff of rotten meat. She gagged but quickly recovered. She glanced at her father. The baron was listening as Sulrad explained how his god was generous, but required a return of his beneficence from those upon whom he had bestowed a blessing.

  “How generous?” the Baron asked.

  “Such matters are best not spoken of in public,” Sulrad replied. “Perhaps we could retire to a more private setting?”

  The baron laughed. “You do have courage, I’ll grant you that. Come back this evening. You will dine with us, and I will hear what you have to say then.”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  Rotiaqua’s heart sank as Sulrad backed out of the audience chamber, bowing deeply as he went.

  That evening, Sulrad joined Rotiaqua and her father at the table. Rotiaqua had tried to get out of the meal, but the baron insisted that she be in attendance. It would be a small affair with just the baron, Rotiaqua, and the wizard in attendance.

  Sulrad arrived early and was waiting when they entered the dining room. He stood beside the table in his black robe with his shaved head. Rotiaqua wondered if he ever ate. He was so thin and gaunt.

  She felt his magic as she entered the room. It made her shudder. She fought back the urge to run from the room as the feeling of dread washed over her. Surely her father sensed something wrong. She glanced over at him, but the baron was ignorant of the snake he now entertained. He calmly took his seat and motioned to the wi
zard to do likewise.

  As they made small talk, the servants quickly loaded the table with roast pork and vegetables. They brought wine and fruit from the gardens and enough bread to feed an army.

  Rotiaqua watched as Sulrad picked at the food, taking only a few root vegetables for himself and completely avoiding anything that even smacked of meat. It was no wonder he was so thin and gaunt-looking. She had not noticed this behavior before, but then she hadn’t been paying attention.

  Sulrad took a small bite and began. “With a proper temple to glorify him, Ran will attract followers from the top tier of society. Nobles and merchants will flock to the temple to pay him honor and worship him. When this happens, a part of the temple receipts will be placed under your care. We have only limited needs beyond the glorification of Ran,” Sulrad explained. “Ran bestows his blessings on the faithful. The more faithful ... the greater his blessings.”

  “Just how much blessing do you think your god will bestow on us?” the baron asked.

  “I would think that Ran could see his way to pay a tribute of ... say ... one-tenth of all offerings,” Sulrad explained. “That is, once the temple is completed.”

  The baron raised his cup to the serving girl, who rushed over to fill it with wine. He took a drink and held the cup out before him, examining it as if in thought, then looked back up at Sulrad. “How about one half of all receipts until you have paid for the land I will grant you. After that debt has been settled, then one part in fifteen. Would your god be that generous?”

  Sulrad looked down at the table.

  Rotiaqua thought she caught a flash of anger in his eyes that he quickly suppressed.

  “That may depend on the quality of the land that is granted,” Sulrad said. “A sufficiently large parcel of land near the castle will draw the wealthy merchants and the nobles. Land farther away from the castle or, too small, will draw a less affluent following.”

  The baron laughed. “I may already have found a suitable plot of land for you. It just so happens that I have a merchant who has been causing me problems. I have had my eye on him and his house for some time, but just never had enough reason to do anything about him.

  “His factorage is near the castle, right off the main road. He trades in lumber. I could make his holdings available to you, should anything happen to him. That would provide you with both the land and the lumber necessary to build your temple.”

  Rotiaqua gasped. She knew her father had a running feud with some of the wealthier nobles, but was she hearing correctly? Was the baron planning an attack on his own subjects? Poisoners and assassins were a part of being the nobility, but she had never witnessed such an overt display of treachery. A knot formed in her stomach at the thought. Her father was no better than the king he despised. Scheming and undermining even his own subjects to get ahead, and Sulrad was no better.

  “That would be most acceptable, sire.” Sulrad bore a smile that appeared smug and self-satisfied.

  “Maybe you can arrange for this merchant to have an unfortunate accident,” the baron continued. “He and his son. With no male heir, the land and factorage would come under my care.”

  “It would indeed be most unfortunate if something happened to them,” Sulrad said. “Are there any other family members?”

  “He has a wife and a young daughter.” The baron waved it off as if it were nothing of consequence.

  “The temple would be in need of servants, cooks, washing women, and the like. Perhaps we could find a place for them, so that they would have a protector. It would be such a shame to see a good woman and her daughter put out on the street as a result of a tragic accident. I’m certain the new temple will be able to find a suitable place for them.”

  Rotiaqua glared at her father. How could he deal so casually with his own subjects?

  The baron ignored her look and stood, signaling the end of the meal.

  Rotiaqua prepared herself for a curt discussion with her father, but before she could begin, Sulrad stood and bowed deeply.

  “Please, Sire, one more thing if I may?”

  “Yes, what is it?” the baron asked.

  “The temple will need acolytes. More priests to help carry out its benevolent mission to heal the sick and care for the people. I would ask that, if there are any wizards found in your realm, you would send them to the temple for training.”

  “For training?”

  “Yes, for training ... and for service. We can’t have wizards running around the countryside performing magic on their own. The temple will see to it that they are properly trained and that their labors benefit the temple and the barony.”

  “Fine. If I hear of any, I’ll send them to you.” The baron turned to leave, but Sulrad cleared his throat.

  “Is there more?”

  “Only one small favor ...” Sulrad paused.

  “What is this small favor?”

  “That the temple be allowed to seek out the young wizards and gather them in. I would ask for a letter from you stating that the temple is allowed to examine young boys who show promise and enroll those who do into the temple for training.”

  “Hunt down young wizards?” The baron laughed and turned his back. “Go ahead. You have my permission.”

  Rotiaqua sat there looking at her father as he walked from the room. She could not believe how easily he had granted Sulrad permission to seek out and capture young boys, nor how callous he was about the merchant and his family.

  She was certain that Sulrad was up to something, asking to hunt down wizards. She had to warn Zhimosom. It could be dangerous with Sulrad searching for people like him.

  That evening, Rotiaqua lit the candle that would help her connect with Zhimosom. She opened her mind to him. It was becoming routine. She felt his presence as a light touch that stayed with her even when they were not in direct contact. She knew that soon they would no longer need the fire to transport their images to one another.

  Zhimosom was asleep, and the image was fuzzy, but it became clear as he slowly woke and focused his thoughts.

  “Sulrad has been granted the rights to seek out and capture any wizards he finds,” she blurted.

  “What? Who? Wizards?”

  “Sulrad was here today. He asked Father for permission to seek out wizards around the realm and bring them to the temple for training. You have to be careful.”

  “Temple?”

  “He is building a temple to this Ran. This god of his. He wants to gather wizards from around the land and bring them to the temple for training, but something sounds off about the way he said it. I think has other plans for them. You must be careful. He is dangerous and powerful.”

  “I am careful,” Zhimosom said. “I don’t do magic unless we’re working together.”

  Rotiaqua was worried about Zhimosom,. If Sulrad had a way to detect wizards, he was in danger. “We should keep a closer eye on him,” she said.

  “Closer than we have been? Won’t that just expose us to him?”

  “I don’t think so. I used to watch people all the time in the fire. They never noticed anything.” Rotiaqua recalled how she used to cast about in search of companionship. Before she met Zhimosom.

  “What about me? I sensed you.”

  “You’re special. You were searching too, weren’t you?” Rotiaqua smiled at Zhimosom. He was still so shy around her, but he had been searching. That was why he was open to her connection.

  “I was,” he admitted.

  “There you go. Unless he’s searching for us, we should be safe.”

  Rotiaqua reached out and joined her magic to Zhimosom’s.

  She felt power in their connection. It was clear and pure, not like Sulrad’s. It made her feel alive, as if she could do anything she set her mind to. She let Zhimosom guide their search. He seemed to have a facility with magic that she lacked. How was that? He was barely more than a boy.

  After casting about, they found Sulrad fast asleep in the home where he was staying.

  “
He looks innocent at the moment. Perhaps we can keep a closer eye on him,” Zhimosom said.

  “He’s up to something. But not yet. Not tonight. We can rest. I’m tired.” Rotiaqua bid Zhimosom a good evening and tried to get some sleep, but the way her father had just handed the factor and his family to Sulrad nagged at her. She hated that side of the baron. The uncaring side that took pleasure in torturing anyone he thought had wronged him. She tried to think of a way to save that family or warn them, but nothing came to mind.

  Several days later, when Rotiaqua heard that a rich businessman and his son had died mysteriously, she was overcome with guilt. She had not been able to save that family, but she would find a way to stop Sulrad.

  20

  Zhimosom had been working in the stable for moons and was growing accustomed to his responsibilities. He had settled into his new life and had come to accept that this was his future. Occasionally, he heard rumors of the goings-on in town, but he tried to keep out of any discussions. Rotiaqua always had suspicions. She was worried about Sulrad and what he was doing. She accused him of poisoning some factor and taking his lands, and indeed, when Zhimosom investigated the rumors, they appeared to be true. Still, he had no quarrel with anyone and simply wanted to do his job, collect the meager coin it provided him, and spend his days in quiet contemplation. Mostly, he contemplated magic. He longed to be able to read, for reading was the way the educated learned things. He imagined himself acquiring scrolls filled with magic formulae and spells and poring over them, although as his power grew, he was learning that a formal education was not necessarily the way to learn magic. Sometimes spells just came to him in dreams. It was as if someone was trying to teach him without being noticed. He had grown accustomed to the dreams and even learned how to direct them so that he might learn specific spells that piqued his interest. On this particular morning, Zhimosom was a bit sleepy, distracted. He’d been up late imagining himself creating spells of containment and binding, and woke no more rested than he had been. When he was asked to prepare the horses for some of the nobles, he balked. It was not his usual job, but several of the stable hands were out with stomach sickness. Zhimosom was one of the few healthy enough to work and was currently handling the work of two. He was directed to a storage area where the best tack was kept. The saddles were exquisitely made, trimmed in the finest of leather and gold fittings, not the type he usually worked with.