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

by James Eggebeen

  He brushed out the horses and saddled them up as he had been instructed. Just as he finished, the master of the livery arrived. Kalsh was no ordinary man. He stood more than a head taller than Zhimosom. He was powerful, yet he had a gentle way with the horses that Zhimosom wished the man had with his workers.

  He limped over to Zhimosom and sniffed the air. “When is the last time you had a bath?” He grasped Zhimosom by the arm and turned him around, inspecting his clothing.

  “Last week, sir. I try to bathe at least every week.”

  “Hmph ... seems like you won’t offend the high and mighty. Stay right here. They’ll be down shortly.” He headed toward the stables but stopped and turned back to Zhimosom. “I don’t need to tell you to mind your manners, do I?”

  “No, sir,” Zhimosom replied.

  “Look sharp, then.”

  “Sire, if I may ask, who are the horses for?”

  “Not that you need to know, but the baron’s sister is taking one of her young charges out for an afternoon ride. They don’t get on, so mind you, stay out of their way. She’s more temperamental than a mare in heat.”

  “I’ll remember,” Zhimosom said. “Mind my manners.”

  It wasn’t long before two guards wearing the baron’s colors arrived. They searched the livery and stable area for threats and, finding none, took up station next to the entryway doors. One of the guards waved to someone outside and two high-born women strode in. They were dressed in riding gear and had a regal air to them.

  The older woman walked several paces ahead. She was middle-aged, tall, and thin. She looked somehow familiar, but Zhimosom didn’t know why.

  A servant ran ahead and grabbed a set of wooden stairs, setting them next to the larger horse, then he stepped to the side and bowed deeply.

  Zhimosom steadied the animal until the woman was seated. He held the reins and handed them to her while avoiding eye contact.

  He turned to the other horse as the servant rushed around with the step to aid the younger woman.

  He caught his gaze flickering to her face, even though he had been warned not to look directly at the nobles. He gasped when he saw who it was. It was Rotiaqua. He had secretly hoped she would one day come and visit him, even though he feared any contact with royalty. They had become close through their magical connection, so meeting in the flesh seemed like the next step for them, even though it made him uncomfortable.

  In his wool gathering, Zhimosom absentmindedly stepped back when he should have been steadying the horse. The horse obligingly followed his lead and stepped away from the stairs just as Rotiaqua was starting to mount. She stopped and looked over at him with a flash of anger.

  Zhimosom lowered his eyes. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  He quickly led the horse back into position and handed her the reins.

  She slid into the saddle and looked down at him.

  “Boy!” she said firmly.

  Zhimosom looked up, almost stepping away again, worried about making eye contact with the baron’s daughter. Panic rose in him, but he was able to keep his composure so as not to spook the horse again.

  “I know you,” she said quietly. She backed the horse up a pace and leaned down until her head was near his and whispered, “You’re more handsome in person than in my visions.”

  She reached out and touched his cheek with her gloved hand.

  A shock ran through him.

  Rotiaqua glanced ahead. “I must go, but it was so nice to see you in person.” With that, she gently shook the reins and trotted out of the stable.

  Shaken by the encounter as he was, Zhimosom still reached out to Rotiaqua that evening, as he was becoming accustomed to. He no longer needed the fire to see her image; she was just there. It was almost as if they were somehow joined together through their magic.

  He wanted to apologize for his embarrassing conduct, for failing to treat her with the respect she deserved, for avoiding eye contact with someone he had come to think of a friend, but when he saw her, all he could think to say was, “How was your ride today?”

  “It was pleasant,” she said. “It was so good to see you.”

  Zhimosom felt his face grow warm recalling her words. He was not used to women talking that way to him. He wasn’t used to women talking to him at all. He’d had little opportunity for that back on the farm.

  She reached out of the fire and touched his cheek.

  It was insubstantial, but he felt it, feather light and airy. He drew back from her touch.

  “Are you shy?” she asked with a smile. “No need to be shy with me. We’re becoming close friends, you and I. You have nothing to fear from me. Someday soon, we will meet for more than a brief exchange at the stables.”

  “Please, Your Ladyship.”

  Rotiaqua’s face grew stern. “Don’t call me that. I’m not Your Ladyship. I’m your friend.” Her face softened. She lowered her eyes as if she was blinking back tears.

  Maybe being Your Ladyship was less fun than Zhimosom imagined. “I’m sorry.”

  “I want you to treat me like a friend. I don’t have any friends.” Rotiaqua looked up and forced a smile. “Now, about our wizard. Shall we have a look and see what he’s up to?”

  She drew his thoughts along with her own to spy on Sulrad. He had taken on the lumber factor’s lot. Work had begun. The sawmill had been demolished and the new temple was taking shape. The foundations and exterior framing were already in place, but it was the interior where Sulrad could be found. The temple workmen had long since completed a study and lavish private quarters for Sulrad, along with a dormitory, a communal eating area, and a kitchen.

  Often when they peered in on him, he was accompanied by the diminutive woman who appeared to be the impetus behind the temple. Often they found it difficult to see what he was up to. Zhimosom perceived a shield surrounding the temple as if it were dampening his magic. It was not like the shielding that once surrounded the castle. This was entirely of magic. Fortunately, when Sulrad performed magic, the spell seemed to dim and they were able to see him more clearly. On this night, Sulrad sat before the candle in his study, reading from a scroll, and making notes on sheets of parchment. He bent over his task, diligently scrawling away, his image murky and indistinct. He paused as if in thought then sat back and made motions in the air before him. A small cloud of silver dust formed and coalesced into the form of a building. As the spell formed, the image of the room and the wizard came into sharp focus almost as if Zhimosom and Rotiaqua were standing in the study with him.

  “What was that?” Rotiaqua asked.

  “I think he’s casting a spell. Do you think that he’s more visible because he’s performing magic?” Zhimosom panicked at the thought. “Are we?”

  “I don’t know that much about magic. Maybe it works that way.”

  “We’d better be careful. If we can see him when he does magic, he can probably see us too.” Zhimosom was worried now. If the wizard could sense them, Rotiaqua would be in danger. Sulrad was a frequent visitor to the castle and came in contact with her quite often.

  “What can we do?”

  “We need to find a way to hide ourselves so he can’t see us.” Zhimosom thought about the idea of creating a shield. Sulrad himself seemed to have shields that prevented them from spying on him at times, but they must have taken effort, for he did not always carry them. Zhimosom felt that he and Rotiaqua should likewise be able to find a way to hide their magic. If only he had someone to ask. Other, more experienced wizards must have figured this out already, but the only wizard he knew was Sulrad.

  “Wouldn’t he have seen us already?” Rotiaqua interrupted his thoughts.

  “Maybe he’s not looking.” Zhimosom tried to reassure her. “Let’s not do anything to attract his attention.”

  “Good idea.” Zhimosom pulled back his vision and explored the temple. The stones for the ground-floor walls were rising from foundations in place not long before. In some sections, the floors had already been laid. Polis
hed marble adorned the places that were obviously for the public while carved stone graced the hallways in the deeper chambers of the temple. Sulrad was spending golds with wild abandon where it would show but scrimping where it did not. The meant he was either short of funds or was knowingly creating a facade for those who were not full initiates. Either way, it did little to salve Zhimosom’s distrust of the wizard.

  They examined the building for several more moments then released the connection as Rotiaqua grew bored watching Sulrad.

  Zhimosom spent the next several days working with Rotiaqua to develop a way to shield their magic. He figured that if they could hide their magic from each other, they should be safe from Sulrad. At first, his attempts didn’t work, but eventually, he was able to do simple conjurations without her being able to sense him. When he was not trying to hide himself, she was able to feel it when he employed his magic. Soon they had spells that protected them both from discovery while performing their magic. It gave him a sense of security that he had not had before as they continued to spy on Sulrad. Their quarry spent most of his time in his study filling page after page of parchment until he had several large books bound. He was clearly getting ready for something; they just couldn’t figure out what.

  Zhimosom was sleeping peacefully after a long day’s work at the stables, when he was jarred awake by Rotiaqua’s magic. “Sulrad has a mini-dragon,” she said without introduction. “He demanded it as payment from my father for his continuing support. I don’t know where my father located a mini-dragon, but Sulrad said he needs it to power the spells he is using to overcome our enemies.”

  “What’s so special about a mini-dragon?” Zhimosom asked.

  “They’re magic. When I was a little girl, I bought one in an exotic market. My father killed it, but not before its blood mixed with mine. I can still feel that magic. It’s in me. That’s how I became a sorceress.”

  Zhimosom wasn’t sure about the mini-dragon. He had never heard of such creatures. “What do you think he means to do with it?”

  “He’s going to sacrifice it and take its magic. That’s what I sense in him. It is the magic of others. That’s why his magic is contaminated. He’s taken the magic of others, and not just animals. He’s killed wizards. I’m certain of it. I can feel it.”

  “We had better see what he’s up to, then.” Zhimosom had his reservations about dropping in on the wizard. One day, their shields would be insufficient to hide them from him, and then they would both be in danger. Of that he was certain, but he didn’t want to push Rotiaqua. He starting to think she had a fascination with Sulrad that bordered on unhealthy.

  “Let’s see what he’s up to, then,” he said.

  Rotiaqua waved her hand in the air. A shimmering portal appeared. It showed the interior of the temple, a room Sulrad had ordered built early on in the construction. It contained an altar where he often performed animal sacrifices. Rotiaqua said that the place had an unholy air about it that made her skin crawl. At the moment, the room was empty, but as they watched, Sulrad entered. Following close behind was the diminutive woman who had attached herself to him. Behind her was a servant carrying a cage, and in the cage, a mini-dragon.

  Sulrad sat quietly with the knife pressed between his palms, hands expressing his prayer, eyes closed, until the moment the moonbeam struck the animal. Then he slashed the creature’s throat and stood by as power floated from the mini-dragon and settled on him. After the flash that signaled the completion of the transfer, Sulrad looked up.

  Rotiaqua drew back, her quick withdrawal unbalancing Zhimosom’s shields. In that moment, Zhimosom knew they had exposed their observation to Sulrad.

  The wizard turned and looked straight at him.

  “Ah, an intruder,” he said. “Welcome, welcome. No need to rush away; come talk with me.” He motioned to the table where the animal had been sacrificed.

  A magical pull drew Zhimosom into the room in the temple. He fought back, but Sulrad was strong, too strong. His will to resist weakened as Sulrad tugged at him. The wizard’s magic was strong. The mini-dragon’s magic must have supplemented Sulrad’s own power.

  Zhimosom fought the pull. He could resist. He had to. He was certain if he relaxed, Sulrad would somehow pull him through the portal and into the temple.

  He fought back, but it was too late.

  The room flickered around Zhimosom as he was physically drawn to the temple.

  The walls of his room faded, to be replaced by Sulrad’s sacrifice chamber.

  He had lost.

  “Hold on,” Rotiaqua said.

  Zhimosom felt the inrush of her magic. It was as if he had joined with her. He resisted at first, but then relaxed to her touch. She wouldn’t hurt him. He could trust her. As their magic overlapped, Rotiaqua pulled at him.

  The temple vanished, and Rotiaqua’s room appeared around him.

  “He saw me!” Zhimosom tried to calm his breathing, but the fear threatened to overwhelm him.

  “He doesn’t know who you are,” Rotiaqua said. “I don’t think he saw me. He would have recognized me. I think we’re safe for now.”

  “That was too close. Maybe we’d better stay away from him for a while.” Zhimosom glanced around. “Where am I?”

  Rotiaqua gestured to the room.

  He recognized it. It was her bedchamber. He’d seen it in the fire often enough to recognize it.

  Panic gripped him. What if they caught him here? They would surely execute him. He reached out with his magic, grasping for his own room.

  A shimmering portal opened, and he dove through it.

  Over the next half moon, the temple neared completion. Zhimosom and Rotiaqua had been more careful as they watched Sulrad. They were growing close and spoke daily. Zhimosom was still uneasy with her but was growing more comfortable being in touch with her as time went on, even though the worry about consorting with nobles still nagged at the back of his thoughts. On one morning, Zhimosom was told to prepare the horses for Rotiaqua and her aunt once again.

  He was excited to see Rotiaqua in person and busied himself by brushing and saddling the horses and preparing for their arrival.

  As before, two guards entered the stable first, checking for hidden threats to the nobles. When they were satisfied, one of them stepped back and called out, “The Madam Lerkela and the Mistress Rotiaqua.”

  He glanced over at Zhimosom and nodded.

  Lerkela strode in confidently ahead of her niece. She was arguing with Rotiaqua. Something about her dress. Apparently, Lerkela though Rotiaqua was improperly dressed for the current outing or was going to be improperly dressed for some future outing. It was hard to follow.

  Zhimosom watched, eyes down, as Rotiaqua climbed up on her horse without a break in her bickering. She was distracted, and not paying attention.

  The horse startled as she mounted and moved away from the step.

  Rotiaqua lost her balance and swung her arms to steady herself.

  Zhimosom panicked. He had no time to think. He let go of the horse and ran to catch her, heedless of anything he’d been told about the nobility.

  She tumbled off the step and landed squarely in his arms.

  He almost buckled under her sudden weight but managed to keep his balance, slowly lowering her to the ground to stand before her. She was short and had to look up at him.

  “My, you’re strong,” she said. “Thanks for saving me.”

  Zhimosom blushed and backed away. “Sorry, Your Ladyship.”

  He lowered his gaze.

  Rotiaqua reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. “You’re getting tall.”

  He flinched but kept his eyes averted.

  “Guard,” shouted Lerkela. “Take that man to the stocks. No commoner looks at my niece, much less touches her.”

  The guards grabbed Zhimosom and knocked him to his knees.

  Zhimosom knelt, avoiding eye contact with Lerkela as she raged on, hoping she would exhaust her anger or Rotiaqua would intervene, but n
either happened.

  “How dare you look at my niece?” she continued. “You filthy swine. You will sorely regret taking such a liberty. A day in the stocks should give you time to think.”

  “Lerkela!” Rotiaqua stomped over to the woman. “He only saved me from getting hurt. He did nothing wrong.”

  “I’m not arguing with you.” Lerkela turned to the guard. “I said take him to the stocks and lock him there until dusk. That should give him time to think about touching his betters.”

  She turned back to Rotiaqua. “Get on your horse. I’ve planned a pleasant ride and you’re not spoiling it, not over a dress, and not over a stable hand who doesn’t know his place.”

  “Lerkela, please,” Rotiaqua begged. “He did nothing wrong.”

  “I said I was done arguing.” Lerkela reined her horse and headed out of the stables.

  “Please don’t do this,” Rotiaqua begged the guard.

  “Orders, Your Ladyship.” He jerked Zhimosom to his feet.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Rotiaqua said. “Please.”

  “Sorry, My Lady. Her Ladyship will certainly check to see that it was done. You know that.”

  Rotiaqua turned to Zhimosom. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am.”

  Zhimosom lowered his eyes to the ground without a word.

  The guard pulled at his arm, dragging him out of the stables.

  The trek to the market was punctuated with jeers and catcalls from the onlookers. Zhimosom tried to keep his head down and subservient, hoping to avoid a beating along the way.

  When they reached the market, the guard placed him in the stocks, slamming the heavy wooden clamps closed with a thud. He placed a peg in the stocks to lock it shut and laughed. “Have fun today, son. We’ll be back to get you at dusk. Unless we get distracted by some fair maiden.”