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

by James Eggebeen

  When her image appeared in his room, he asked her about it.

  “Remember that girl you’ve been looking for?” she asked. “The one from the farm? The one who came here with you?”

  “Brill, yes. Have you heard something?”

  “A family brought a servant girl to the temple. She was part of the payment for a healing spell that Sulrad cast on their daughter. The servant girl looked much like the girl you described, and the man said her name was Brill.”

  Zhimosom felt his face flush. He had promised the girl that he would take care of her when he talked her into coming with him to the city, but he had lost touch with her the very first day. Now it looked like she’d fallen into the hands of the wrong people.

  “We have to help her,” he said. “I failed her the first day we were here. She should not have to work as Sulrad’s slave because I let her down.” Zhimosom said he would find a family to take her in. He owed her. She helped him bury his father. She had no one to look out for her. She was an orphan, just like him.

  “Sulrad told the girl that if she served well, she would have a nice life in the temple.” Rotiaqua interrupted his thoughts. “But if she caused problems, he would sacrifice her to his false god.”

  “We need to do something. We can’t just leave her there. What if he decides she’s not worth keeping alive?” Zhimosom wanted to start for the temple immediately. Wanted to confront Sulrad. To free Brill.

  “Hold on. There’s nothing we can do tonight. Sulrad is much too powerful. Let’s continue to keep an eye on him,” Rotiaqua said. “Maybe we can find something to help us get Brill out of there. Why would he take her?”

  “To get back at me. I saw her in the market. The day I was in the stocks. She tripped him. It was she who helped me escape.” He’d never admitted this to Rotiaqua before. He was ashamed that he had rushed off without even waiting to see what happened to her.

  Now he wanted nothing more than to make it up to Brill. To confront Sulrad and demand her release, yet Rotiaqua made sense. Sulrad was a powerful wizard. The last thing they needed to do was enter his demesne unprepared.

  Rotiaqua shifted nervously.

  “Something bothering you?” Zhimosom asked.

  “I’m concerned about what Sulrad might do to me. While he was healing that girl, I felt a pull on my magic. It was as if he was trying to use my power to help him. I raised a shield just as you showed me. It kept him from taking my magic, but it still worries me. Can he do that? Pull power from somewhere outside of himself? Could we do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Zhimosom said. “There’s so much about magic that I don’t understand yet. We could try.”

  He felt for her magic to see if he could draw on it. She resisted slightly at first, then yielded. When she did, he used their combined power to raise a fireball in his hand, watching it get brighter and hotter as he blended her magic with his own. He released the spell and his hold on her magic and the fireball died out.

  “I felt you draw on me,” she said. “It was just like Sulrad did.”

  “I can feel your power,” Zhimosom explained. “I was confident that I could draw on it if you allowed me to. I wonder what else we can draw power from.”

  He reached out to the fire that he no longer needed to connect with Rotiaqua. There was power in it, not magic, but a source of power nonetheless, clear and pure, available to him, should he choose to take it. He recalled the way he had used the fire to escape the burning fields. Could he do the same now? He drew on the flames as he focused on another fireball in his hand. This time, the fireball was more intense, spinning faster than his earlier attempt at using Rotiaqua’s magic.

  He played with the fireball, imagining it growing brighter, stronger. He was pleased with his efforts when, suddenly, the fire in his hearth went out. The fireball exploded in a shower of sparks and he was blinded by the light.

  What had happened? Had he drawn all the power from the hearth? That certainly implied a limit to the power available to him.

  Rotiaqua’s image faded when the fire went out, but had stayed with him. So maybe their connection was based on something deeper than magic. That was comforting, even though she was laughing at his discomfort.

  His face reddened. He was embarrassed by his ineptitude. “Maybe it takes practice,” was all he could think to say.

  “Let me try.” Rotiaqua raised her hand in the vision. He saw her form a fireball, just as he had. She drew power from him. It felt strange to release his magic to her. He wanted to resist at first, but he relented and let her take control.

  She had a subtlety to her. Almost a coaxing of the power from him into her fireball. It was different from the way he performed magic. His own technique was more as if his will were forcing the fire to come to life, whereas hers was a gentle suggestion.

  Rotiaqua reached out to his hearth and re-lit the fire. Its brilliance filled the room once more. She nodded to him and released her fireball.

  Zhimosom probed for other sources of power. He could feel it now, the raw energy of his own fire, and slightly subdued, the power in his neighbors’ fireplaces. He reached out farther, relaxing himself to the surrounding city. There was a faint undercurrent of energy, not magic, but power that could be channeled and manipulated by magic. He was shocked. He’d never imagined such a thing. There was power everywhere, both magic and life force as well as the power emanating from the uncounted fires burning in hearths all over the city.

  There were signs of life force in everything around him, stronger in some than others, but it was there. He felt around the room and quickly located a mouse hiding behind the bed. He felt its life force, even though he couldn’t see it.

  “We’ll have to practice,” Rotiaqua said. “I could feel the way you gathered power to yourself, but I’m not sure I could do it myself.”

  “It’s there,” he said. “In everything that’s alive or that burns. I can even feel the power in the kettle boiling over the fire down the street. It’s amazing.”

  “Keep practicing. You’ll figure something out,” Rotiaqua said.

  She was right. Practice. He needed to practice his magic. If only there were somewhere he could learn faster. A tutor. That was what he truly needed. How did other wizards learn magic? Did they simply try various approaches until they were successful? It seemed somehow wasteful. Still, it was all he had. It would have to do. He would try to come up with spells that would work for him. “I’ll do what I can,” he said. “I’ll let you know when we speak next.”

  He released the connection to Rotiaqua and pondered what he had just learned. If there was power in every living thing, he could manipulate that power. That must be how the healing spells worked.

  How did Sulrad draw power from other living things? Maybe he could emulate that. If Zhimosom could store up enough power, he could confront Sulrad directly and free Brill.

  Zhimosom reached out to the mouse he had noticed earlier. It came in response to his thoughts and climbed up on the table next to him. He stared at it for the longest time, getting a feel for its energy. The mouse’s life force was a light violet glow that emanated from the animal. Zhimosom knew he could reach out and take that energy for his own if he chose to.

  He reached out and touched it.

  The mouse dropped dead and Zhimosom drew its life energy into himself.

  As the life force settled inside him, something made him shudder. It felt as if a putrid stream had flowed from the mouse into his body to mix with his magical reserve. He felt the mouse’s power there, as if a foreign object were stuck beneath his skin. It was like a sliver of wood that he couldn’t get out.

  This might be what Sulrad did to increase his power, but it was wrong. He felt that in the irritating way the tiny sliver of power from the mouse gnawed at him. He shuddered to think what it would feel like to take the power of another person into himself. No. He’d need to find another way.

  Over the next few days, Brill’s situation weighed heavily on Zhimosom
’s mind. From what Rotiaqua had witnessed, Sulrad cared little for the common folk. What kind of life would Brill have as a servant in the temple? Guilt overcame him. Zhimosom had to free Brill, even if it meant risking a run-in with Sulrad. He couldn’t wait. He would not speak of his decision with Rotiaqua. She would just try to talk him out of it.

  That afternoon, Zhimosom came up with a plan to get into the temple by stealth. He would pretend to be a lost petitioner, or a worker returning for his tools. Maybe he could pose as a petitioner and follow the faithful inside. That was probably the simplest. He would pose as a petitioner. He would simply walk inside and see if he could find Brill. If he could rescue her, he would find her a safe place. Perhaps in the castle. They always needed help in the castle.

  As Zhimosom approached the temple, a tough stepped into his path. Zhimosom was not part of the family he was following, and the tough knew it.

  “I am only seeking employment with the temple,” Zhimosom said. He thought if Sulrad were employing guards, then seeking work would sound like a reasonable excuse.

  “We don’t need any help and we don’t want your type around here.” The tough was no different from Zhimosom, yet he spoke as if he were noble born. This was not the way, then.

  Zhimosom abandoned his attempt to circumvent the guard.

  He would wait until evening and return to a spot where the temple was still under construction. He chose an area where the structure had no doors or windows as yet.

  When he returned under the cover of darkness, there was another tough on guard. This one was less professional and was currently occupied talking to a woman who frequented the street.

  Glad of the opportunity, Zhimosom snuck inside, through walls that had yet to be completed. As he ventured deeper into the temple, it grew dark. He fumbled around a while before remembering that he had magic and need never be in the dark.

  He raised a small, gentle flame in the palm of his hand to light his way.

  That was better.

  He extended his magic to search for life signs around him.

  He was growing adept at it.

  In no time at all, he had located several rooms that appeared to be the servants’ quarters.

  One of the doors was locked from the outside.

  Zhimosom placed his hand on it and felt for the person within.

  He sensed someone, but not Brill. A boy. Older than Brill.

  He continued on.

  The next room was also locked. He felt for the presence within. This time, it was Brill.

  He knocked softly and waited for an answer.

  When none was forthcoming, he knocked again.

  “Brill. It’s me, Zhimosom.”

  There was a faint answer. “I’m here.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “They beat me if I’m too slow with my chores or if I spill something in the kitchen.”

  “What happened to your aunt? I thought she would take you in?”

  “She put me out on the street when she learned my folks were dead. She already has too many mouths to feed and she can’t feed another one. Someone grabbed me and sold me to a factor, and he traded me to the temple for a healing. Please get me out of here. We can run away together. My father’s sister lives on a farm. They can always use more kids on the farm.”

  Zhimosom reached for the lock with his magic.

  Could he unlock it?

  He felt the individual parts that made it work.

  Iron pins in a rotational cylinder. It required a complex key to line everything up. Could he use magic instead of a key? He grasped the pins in his imagination and set them just so. He twisted the lock.

  It popped open with a click.

  He swung the door wide to find Brill standing there.

  She rushed over and gave him a hug.

  It made his heart lighter to know he was finally fulfilling his promise to her, but where would he take her? To his room above the stalls? Why not? For now. He would find her a home. Just as he’d promised. Rotiaqua could help.

  “We have to get out of here before they come,” Brill said. “Someone checks the lock. I think they have a guard that makes rounds.”

  “I can fix that.” Zhimosom used his magic to relock the door. With any luck, that would keep the guard from looking inside.

  “Come on.” Zhimosom took Brill by the hand and headed back the way he had entered. When he reached the darkest part, he raised a flame in his hand again to light their way. He kept the fire small and muted, just enough to see by. No use in advertising their presence.

  Just when Zhimosom thought they were safely through, he heard a noise ahead. It sounded like someone clearing their throat.

  “Going somewhere?” a voice asked.

  Zhimosom peered into the darkness, holding his light aloft. He barely could make out the figure standing in their path.

  A flame burst into life in the outstretched hand of the man barring their way.

  It was Sulrad.

  Zhimosom raised a shield around Brill and himself.

  He reached out to Rotiaqua. “I’m in the temple. I came to free Brill. Sulrad found us.”

  “What were you thinking?” she demanded.

  “I wasn’t thinking!”

  “Let’s hope it’s not too late.” She opened her magic up to him.

  He didn’t wait. He took her magic and combined it with his own to strengthen the shield.

  Better to escape than fight.

  He raised a fireball and waited for Sulrad to take the first action.

  “Ah, I recognize your magic. I’ve been looking for you, but you’ve hidden well. Now you’ve walked right in here to confront me.” Sulrad laughed. “You can’t win against me. You’re hardly more than a boy.”

  Zhimosom kept silent. He might be young, but he had magic, and he knew how to use it. He energized the fireball and sent it speeding toward Sulrad. It exploded in a shower of sparks before it drew near.

  Sulrad laughed. “That was respectable.” He held out his own fireball. “I will take your magic. You are strong for one so young. Your power will make a great addition to my own. You can take pride in knowing that your death will power healing spells for a number of men and women more deserving than yourself.”

  Zhimosom held his peace.

  He wished he were anywhere other than here.

  As Sulrad prepared to hurl his fireball at him, Zhimosom drew more power from Rotiaqua.

  He felt her fear for him through the link.

  She, too, wished he were elsewhere.

  As Sulrad’s fireball struck his shields, Zhimosom imagined his room above the stables and pulled. He felt a falling sensation that stopped almost as soon as it started.

  It had turned pitch dark.

  He stretched out his hand and raised a small flame to light his surroundings.

  He was back in his room at the stables, his connection to Rotiaqua still intact.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I felt you draw power from me for the fireball. It increased when you raised your shields, but suddenly, I felt you wishing you were somewhere else, someplace safe. The power surged and, suddenly, you were no longer there. The connection was severed, only to be restored almost immediately. Where are you?”

  “I’m back in my room.”

  “What did you do?” Rotiaqua asked.

  “I was just thinking how much I wanted to be out of there and back in my room, and suddenly, I was.”

  Zhimosom looked for any sign of Brill. His guts knotted. She was nowhere to be found.

  “What are you looking for?” Rotiaqua asked.

  “Brill. I left her behind,” he said. “I have to go back and get her.”

  “You can’t go back. I don’t think you have to worry too much about Brill yet. Now that Sulrad knows you’re trying to rescue her, he’ll want to use her as bait to lure you back to the temple. He has no reason to kill her. We need to come up with a plan before you go back there. Sulrad will be
expecting you.”

  “But Brill...”

  “I know you feel responsible for the girl, but Sulrad is dangerous. I felt his magic when he attacked you. I’m afraid he may have felt mine too. I don’t think he knows who I am yet, but he might figure it out.”

  “Now what are we going to do?” Zhimosom asked.

  “For now, rest. Let your magic recover. We have to be more careful.”

  Rotiaqua dropped the connection and left Zhimosom alone with his thoughts.

  Zhimosom came awake with a start. He’d been having a nightmare. He saw Sulrad enter a room in the temple. It was the one where he had seen the wizard take the life of animals in the past. It had small slits of windows on either side and carvings in the stone that tracked the movement of the sun and moon. In the center of the room stood a stone altar that came up to Sulrad’s waist. It was constructed of marble with complex engraving on the sides. The surface had a sunken center with a depression that ran around the outer edge.

  It was stained with blood.

  Scratched in the blood were symbols that Zhimosom could not read, but looked like wizards’ marks. Standing on one end of the altar was a statue of a woman. She was dressed in loose-fitting robes and cradled a knife in her hands. The blade was positioned against her throat.

  Someone was tied on the altar.

  As the dream became more real, the figure came into focus.

  It was Brill.

  Her hands and feet were stretched out, cords holding her fast.

  Sulrad stood beside the altar, gazing down at her.

  He stroked her hair and spoke softly in her ear.

  Zhimosom watched as the beam of moonlight crept across the wall until it struck the statue.

  Sulrad grasped the knife from the statue and slit Brill’s throat without so much as a heartbeat’s hesitation. The life energy flowed out of her and into Sulrad, separating from Brill like a cloud of golden dust. It swirled around her, growing brighter and brighter until it was hard to look at. Then it suddenly funneled into Sulrad’s chest and disappeared, leaving him in near darkness.