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

by James Eggebeen

  “Don’t forget me!” Zhimosom shouted.

  The guard laughed. “Don’t worry, boy. Someone will take pity on you and let you out. They always do.”

  Zhimosom pulled at the rough wood. He was held fast. His back was bent and his legs cramped as he was forced to stoop. It was going to be a long day, but he could survive it. He had suffered worse than this in his toils on the farm.

  A young boy and girl were the first ones to pass his way. The boy looked up at him and nudged his sister. She giggled and turned her head away as they hurried by.

  Not long after, a boy of about eight summers came along next. He stopped before the stocks and put his hands on his hips. “You, there!” He picked up a rotten tomato from a nearby stall and threw it at Zhimosom. It struck the stocks and splattered red juice across Zhimosom’s face.

  A woman in a simple dress appeared from behind the stall. “Don’t waste food on the likes of him.” She grabbed the boy by the ear and pulled him along.

  Zhimosom was thankful for that woman but knew he was in for a rough day. People took pleasure in someone else’s misfortune, and today, that misfortune was his.

  As the day wore on, the ache in Zhimosom’s legs become intolerable. A few youngsters had come by to kick at him or spit in his face, but most were quickly hauled off by their parents, or lost interest when he didn’t react.

  Zhimosom used the time to practice his shields until he was able to protect himself adequately. Early in the afternoon, a crowd of youngsters arrived, milling around a boy of about ten summers in age. The youth separated himself from the crowd and approached the stocks.

  “What’d you do?” he demanded. “Did you get caught having relations with a swine?”

  Zhimosom remained silent and raised his shields in preparation for whatever the youth had in mind.

  The youth stepped back and looked around. He found a stone about the size of his closed fist. He hauled it back and screamed at Zhimosom. “Didn’t you hear me? I asked you what you did. Do you want me to throw this?”

  Zhimosom remained silent.

  The other boys taunted the youth with the rock. “Throw it. He’s just a stable boy. Throw it. That’s why he’s here, so we can have a little fun.”

  Zhimosom glared at the boy. He hardened his shields and focused his attention on the rock. He envisioned the rock getting hotter and hotter. Saw it as red-hot and hissing.

  The youth suddenly dropped the rock and shook his hand as if it had been burned. He stuck it in his armpit and looked back at Zhimosom with fear in his eye.

  He glanced back down at the rock.

  He reached to touch it, only to have it sizzle and hiss as his finger came in contact.

  He pulled his hand away quickly, sticking the finger in his mouth.

  “Come on, throw it,” taunted the other boys.

  The youth looked at his friends and shook his head, then turned and walked slowly away.

  Zhimosom breathed a sigh of relief. He was able to tolerate the occasional clod of dirt or spoiled fruit, but rocks were another matter. He raised his eyes to watch the boys run off, pushing and shoving as they taunted the youth who had dropped the rock. He had managed a bit of a reprieve, if only for a moment. He wished the day would end soon. He was growing hungry and his legs were cramping.

  An uneasiness tugged at him.

  Someone with magic.

  Zhimosom scanned the crows.

  There. Off in the crowd. Black robes. It was him. Sulrad.

  That was the last thing he needed.

  He was trapped. Maybe the wizard wouldn’t notice him.

  Luck was not in his favor.

  Sulrad turned to look straight at him. He must have sensed the magic when Zhimosom protected himself from the boy. He turned and strode toward Zhimosom.

  Zhimosom struggled in the stocks. He could not let the wizard catch him out in the open and vulnerable as he was. He reached out with his magic to pull the pin that secured the stocks shut. He wanted to run, to get away. He felt the pin wriggle loose and fall to the ground just as a young girl dressed in ragged clothes with a yoke around her neck carrying two pails of water crashed into Sulrad.

  It was Brill!

  She turned her head to Zhimosom and motioned him to run while she apologized profusely, but kept Sulrad focused on her and the water that was turning the ground beneath him to mud.

  Zhimosom pulled free of the stocks and rushed off into the crowd, silently thanking the girl for interfering on his behalf.

  21

  Life went on as normal for Rotiaqua. Even so, she felt a lingering guilt over what had happened to Zhimosom because she had touched him. She worried that it would affect their relationship, and indeed it had. He seemed more distant, more cautious, more worried. It was not like him. For a lowborn, he had always impressed her with his confidence in his own abilities. She thought that it stemmed from the immense power he was accumulating as a wizard, but even that, he seemed to take in stride. He was level-headed and calm even under the worst circumstances, and that helped her remain centered and focused when she herself grew worried. And she was worried. She had watched as the factor’s lot was cleared and the new temple rose. It was a massive structure with room for hundreds of followers. The wizard had grand plans, even though there were as yet only a few in attendance at his regular gatherings, but word was getting around that those who embraced the new god Ran had found fortune in their business and were plagued by fewer illnesses, and the crowds were growing.

  “I want you to go see what Sulrad is up to,” the baron told Rotiaqua when he heard the news. “I understand that he holds audience mid-morning on alternate days. It is said that he grants favors in health and good fortune for the faithful.”

  Rotiaqua wanted nothing less than to witness what Sulrad was doing. She knew very well what he was up to. “I don’t like him,” she said.

  “One does not need to like every business partner one has,” the baron said. “However, this one has proven to be valuable. I would like your opinion on these supplicants.”

  “Father, you know all he is doing is robbing these folk. Why do you support him so?”

  “He has saved me dearly by his actions against King Omrik, and he serves a purpose in transferring gold from the wealthy and the merchants into our treasury. You know how they scream and threaten revolt if we even hint at increasing the duty they pay, but they are flocking to this new temple. They seem happy to hand over their gold.”

  “He’s no better than a charlatan.”

  “Be that as it may, he serves my purposes. Go and see what he’s up to and bring me back the news.” The baron dismissed her, and Rotiaqua knew there was no arguing with him.

  Rotiaqua arrived at the temple just before the audiences were scheduled to start. The new building was framed up with sturdy wooden beams and covered with drapes in areas where the walls had not yet been completed. Rotiaqua wondered at the size of the structure. There was nothing to compare to it except the castle itself.

  The temple was huge, and from what she could see of the completed areas, it was going to be opulent. The windows were large and richly decorated and those rooms that were finished showed furnishings of the highest quality and candlesticks decorated with gold. Surely Sulrad was doing well with the nobles and merchants.

  She was ushered into the chamber by a diminutive woman who asked her to wait while Sulrad prepared himself. The woman had a look about her that made Rotiaqua nervous. Not because of her size, but her eyes. When she looked at Rotiaqua, it was as if her gaze were focused not on Rotiaqua’s eyes, but her soul.

  It was quite unsettling.

  When Sulrad entered, Rotiaqua was surprised to see that he maintained the black robes he had donned at their earlier meeting. He was playing the part of the priest even when he didn’t expect her. Was this something that he was doing all the time or had he been told that she would be arriving? It seemed that his transition from wizard to priest was well underway.

  �
�Welcome, My Lady,” Sulrad said when he arrived. “I am honored to have you here today. Is there something you need?”

  “No, nothing. I came here to witness your audience this morning. I hope it’s not an inconvenience for you.” Secretly, she hoped he would throw her out and she would have a complaint to carry back to her father.

  “No inconvenience.” Sulrad raised his arm and a young woman came scurrying. “Please bring my guest suitable seating.”

  “Right away, Father.” She bowed her head and departed to return with a chair. She placed the chair off to the side, where Rotiaqua could witness the proceedings.

  Rotiaqua took her seat. The wizard did have a way about him that seemed to soothe people. His voice was deep and resonant and almost pleasant to listen to.

  She shook her head. Don’t fall for his charms. He’s a charlatan and a thief.

  After the invocation of blessings from his god, Sulrad allowed the supplicants to approach. When the first one stepped up, the attendant leaned over to Rotiaqua and whispered, “That’s Anelm. He’s a cloth merchant. He supplies the best tailors in the region. He’s very wealthy.”

  Anelm approached the priest. “Father, I beseech your blessing. I have a daughter who has fallen ill. She has the flux and has grown weak. I fear for her life.”

  “How old is your daughter?” Sulrad asked.

  “She is seven summers.”

  “How long has she been ill?”

  “Half a moon.”

  “She is too far gone. You should have come to me sooner.”

  Anelm dropped to his knees and wrung his hands. “Please, I beg of you, Father. I can pay you double. Please try to help her.”

  “I have no need of your cloth. What would I do with more cloth?”

  “I ... I have something else. I have a servant girl I just purchased. She is yours if you help my daughter.”

  “A servant girl?” Sulrad asked. “Can she cook? Clean?”

  “I have had her training in my kitchen since I purchased her. She mostly fetches water and cleans up after the cooks.”

  Sulrad paused as if in thought.

  Was he going to take a servant in trade?

  Rotiaqua thought all he wanted was gold.

  “I will see your daughter,” Sulrad said. “Bring her to the temple after the noon meal, and bring this servant girl too.”

  Rotiaqua shook her head. She had hoped to make her visit short, but she wanted to be here to witness that exchange. She needed something to carry back to her father that would expose Sulrad and stop this nonsense. Sulrad was growing way too influential for her tastes. She resigned herself to a long day and settled in to watch.

  The parade of supplicants was ushered in one by one to present their petitions. They ranged from requests for minor success in business to serious family illnesses and even one death. After more than a glass, a family arrived with a young boy in tow. He was around fourteen summers in age. His unevenly cut hair and freckled face matched his mother’s. She wore a patched and ill-fitting homemade dress.

  “Father. Our son has had the dreams we were instructed to watch for,” she said, bowing.

  “What dreams are those?” Sulrad asked. He looked indifferent, as if the family was beneath his notice.

  “Fire, Father. He dreams of fire and it comes true. He almost burned down the homestead with his dreams.” She swatted the boy across the head.

  “Fire?” Sulrad sat up. He directed his gaze to the boy.

  “You dream of fire and it comes to pass?” he asked.

  “Yes, Father.”

  Sulrad motioned the boy forward.

  The boy hesitantly took a few steps toward Sulrad and stopped.

  He turned to look at his mother, who made a shooing motion.

  “Come, boy. There is no reason to be afraid. Come here so I can get a look at you.” Sulrad put his hand on the boy’s head and held the other, palm up, before the boy’s face, as if cupping something invisible.

  “Please imagine fire. Right here in my hand. Imagine the flame centered on my palm, a few digits tall and blue.”

  The boy closed his eyes and concentrated.

  Rotiaqua felt the spark of magic in him, but it was weak and undefined.

  He might be a wizard, but not much of one.

  Suddenly, a flame burst forth from Sulrad’s hand and vanished quickly.

  This was not the work of a boy whose powers had just awakened. She reached out with her own magic to see what had transpired. Sulrad had added his own magic to the boy’s in order to make the flame appear. Why had he done this? Would that not make the boy more valuable in the eyes of his family, or make them eager to be shut of him?

  “Very good. You have the gift.” Sulrad patted the boy on the head.

  He turned to the young girl who had brought Rotiaqua her chair and motioned her to take the boy.

  “Go with her.” Sulrad pushed the boy toward her.

  The boy hesitated and turned back to his mother.

  The woman made the same shooing motion, urging him to comply.

  When the boy disappeared from view, Sulrad looked back at the woman. “Is there anything else?”

  The woman coughed into her hand and hid behind it as she timidly said, “The reward?”

  “Reward? I’m relieving you of a mouth to feed. I’m removing a potential danger to you and your family. How well would things go if the boy dreamed of fire when you were all sleeping?”

  “We are poor, Father.” The woman bowed her head but held her ground.

  Sulrad reached into his robe and fished out a battered silver. He tossed it to the woman. “Here. This is for the boy, less what I deserve for saving your family a lot of trouble.”

  “Thank you.” The woman caught the coin, pocketed it, and turned to leave, without her son.

  It was truly sad that neither father nor mother had looked back to see what had become of the boy. How little did these people care for their own son? But Rotiaqua had her suspicions that the baron would care no more than these if he ever found out she possessed magic.

  That afternoon, Rotiaqua went back to the temple to witness the healing of Anelm’s daughter. She arrived to find Anelm and the girl in a small room adjacent to the audience chamber.

  The girl was small for her age, with long, sandy hair that mirrored her father’s. She stood beside him, holding his hand.

  “This is your daughter?” Sulrad asked.

  “Yes, Father. She has the flux. You can see for yourself. She has a fever and coughs. We have tried the healing herbs, but they have done no good.”

  “Bring her to me.” Sulrad motioned the girl over.

  Anelm encouraged the girl forward. He led her to the wizard and helped her kneel before him.

  Sulrad placed his hand on the girl’s head. He looked at Anelm. “You have brought payment as we agreed?”

  Anelm nodded to a young girl with shoulder-length dirty brown hair. She looked to be about ten summers in age. Anelm pushed her toward the wizard. “Her name is Brill.”

  Rotiaqua perked up at the girl’s name. Was this the girl Zhimosom was looking for? She looked to be the same age and hair color. Perhaps this was where she had ended up after Zhimosom lost track of her.

  Rotiaqua calmed herself. There was nothing she could do at the moment. She would tell Zhimosom about the girl the next time they spoke.

  Brill stood silently as Sulrad looked her over. “Well, isn’t it the clumsy one? Have you learned to carry water without spilling it yet?”

  She hung her head. “Yes, sire.”

  Sulrad pointed to a door leading to the private part of the temple. “Stand over there.”

  He turned back to Anelm’s daughter. “Let me see what the Lord Ran can do for your daughter.” Sulrad placed his hand on the girl’s head. He tilted her face and looked her in her eyes.

  “Do you believe that Ran can heal you?” he asked.

  The girl tried to twist her head to look to her father, but Sulrad held her firm.
“Not what your father believes, but what you believe?”

  “I ... I do, Father,” she stammered.

  Sulrad closed his eyes.

  Rotiaqua felt him drawing power into himself. It was as she had witnessed it before, but this time, there was a difference. There was a tingling at her own magic as if Sulrad were trying to access it. What a cad. He hadn’t even asked her. She raised the shields like Zhimosom had taught her. Sulrad wasn’t going to use her magic. Not if she could help it.

  It frightened her to think that a wizard could draw on her magic against her will. She thought only Zhimosom could share her power, and then only when she wished it. This was new. It boded ill for her and Zhimosom. What else could Sulrad do that she hadn’t thought of? She was anxious to discuss this new worry.

  Sulrad continued droning on for a while, calling on his god Ran. His tone had changed slightly when she raised her shields, but he seemed more focused on the healing than her. She was thankful for that. He may have called on his god, but there was nothing to indicate any god played a part in the healing.

  It was just a wizard performing healing magic.

  When he was finished, Anelm’s servant brought the serving girl forward. “All yours, he said. May you have better luck with her than we have.”

  Sulrad stepped up to the girl, who stood quietly with a look of defiance on her face.

  He grabbed her by the arm. “You belong to me now. You do as I say and serve the temple well and you will live a happy life. Cause me trouble and Ran will have his sacrifice.”

  22

  After a long, hard day in the stables, Zhimosom relaxed and opened himself up to Rotiaqua as he had grown accustomed to. The contact formed easily. It was becoming almost a part of his life now. Rotiaqua’s presence stayed with him throughout the day, even when they were not in direct communication. Most days, he barely noticed it, but today, it was different. He’d sensed an uncomfortable feeling from her earlier in the day and was eager to find out what had happened.