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

by James Eggebeen

  “We’re going to need them once we get to town,” he said. “You can’t show up empty-handed.”

  “I have golds.” Rotiaqua tugged at her belt.

  “I told you they’re not worth anything here. No one has enough silver to make change. Not in the markets we are going to frequent. You can’t spend golds outside of the bigger cities.”

  He’d almost forgotten just how much she had given up for her safety. Her clothes were smudged and torn in places. Yet they were not the type of garb you’d normally see on the trail. They were way too fine for a commoner. It worried him. They may have escaped Sulrad, but what about the baron? It was hard to imagine he would allow his only daughter and heir to flee the city without some repercussions, and while Rotiaqua’s face might not be recognized, her clothing certainly would. “We’ll have to get you some more appropriate clothes before we reach the city,” he explained. “You can’t go around looking like that.”

  “I know. I look a mess.” Rotiaqua twirled around, letting her skirt flare out as she did. “My clothes are filthy and need to be mended. Do you think we can find someone to wash and mend them?”

  “I’m thinking that we need to get you something less regal.”

  “What?” Rotiaqua stopped spinning and placed her hands on her hips.

  “You look too good for a commoner. If someone sees you dressed like that, they’ll get suspicious. You don’t know if your father has put the word out to watch for you. Maybe he is even offering a reward.”

  “I don’t imagine my father is offering anything to get me back. He was very upset that I’m a sorceress and seemed happy to hand me over to Sulrad.” Rotiaqua shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  “I don’t think he’ll take it lightly when he learns that you’re no longer at the temple.”

  “You don’t know my father. He’s more worried about his honor than his family. We are in danger only because we dishonored him by escaping. I bear no illusions. He doesn’t want me back for any other reason.”

  “We still need to be careful. Sulrad may be looking for us. He seemed enamored with you.”

  Rotiaqua blushed. “Sulrad wanted me to rule by his side.” She made a face as if she’d eaten a rotten fruit. “If there is any justice, that’s over now.”

  Zhimosom wasn’t as certain about it as she was. Something told him they hadn’t seen the last of Sulrad yet. “Then we’d better blend in a little better than we do,” he said.

  At the next farm, Zhimosom bartered Rotiaqua’s fine clothes for two sets of homespun pants and a hand of shirts. The farmer’s wife insisted that was all she could offer and that even that was more of a gift, as she had little occasion to wear anything so fine as what she received in trade. Even so, she had taken Rotiaqua’s dress and carefully folded it into her cedar chest as if storing it for some future event.

  “These itch,” Rotiaqua complained as she donned her new attire.

  “You look much the part now,” Zhimosom said. “Those clothes make you look like a proper peasant.”

  And indeed they did. The walking and sparse meals along the way had made her a little leaner, but had not completely destroyed her well-fed look.

  Zhimosom was worried about that. She still stood out, but the clothes helped, even if her boots gave her away. He had tried to get her to part with them, but she had refused. They were well worn and dirty, but the craftsmanship spoke of wealth.

  28

  Zhimosom was glad when he saw the city of Tustow on the horizon. Rotiaqua had taught him how to read a map and together they checked their progress, noting the distance markers as they walked. It was just before the noon meal when they entered the city proper. It was strange, with different odors and scents than Frostan. Zhimosom wondered if each city had its own flavor, the way the same dish prepared by different folk always tasted just slightly different. Perhaps that was the way it was, and the reason so many folk grew homesick when away. He was happy to stay at an inn, but worried that their coin would not last long. He could get work in the fields, or perhaps in a stable or livery if he was fortunate. What would Rotiaqua be able to do? He wasn’t certain she would be able to earn coin, but from what he had learned, she would probably find work before he did.

  He found an inn not far from the market. It was better than most but not so good as to draw attention to them. The Barbarian Arms was two stories tall, freshly painted with new thatch. A ruddy middle-aged man stood behind the desk and favored them with a smile.

  “Newly bonded?” he asked. “I have the perfect room for a young couple such as yourselves. You’ll love it. It’s quiet and private and comes with warm water.”

  “We’ll take two of your standard rooms,” Zhimosom said.

  “One.” Rotiaqua pushed between him and the proprietor. “With warm water.”

  “The best room is on the second floor, overlooking the courtyard.”

  “And the second best room?” Rotiaqua asked. “How much are you willing to take for it?”

  “Two silvers and five coppers.”

  “I thought it was two silvers. That’s what I’ve heard.”

  “You must be mistaken, miss. It’s always been two silvers and five coppers. With warm water, it’s another two coppers.”

  “Two silvers, two coppers, warm water, and morning meal,” Rotiaqua said.

  “Miss. You expect me to take the food out of my children’s mouths to feed you?”

  “I expect that there are plenty of rooms that a lady could find where she didn’t feel like she was being robbed.”

  “Two silvers, three coppers, warm water, bread, and watered ale for the morning meal. No meat.”

  “Done.” Rotiaqua paid the man and followed him to a room on the ground floor. He unlocked it and handed her the key.

  When they had stowed their packs, Zhimosom sat timidly on the bed. He wasn’t certain where he should sleep. They had slept on the ground at night when on the road and in the mow when on a farm. This was the first time they had shared a room at an inn. The floor looked comfortable enough. It would do, he guessed.

  He tossed a pillow on the floor.

  “Still afraid they’re going to put you back in the stocks?” Rotiaqua stepped closer to him and put her arm around his shoulders.

  He’d grown enough that she had to reach up to do it.

  She hugged him tight. “Don’t worry. No one is going to lock you up.”

  “I know, but it just keeps coming back to me.” Zhimosom shivered. He felt her push a feeling of acceptance and affection through their magical connection. She was starting to sense what he was feeling and responding to him with her own feelings. It was something he had never even imagined was possible.

  After a few moments, she released him and twirled around. “See? I’m just a simple farm girl. Anyway, you sleep beside me in the field. Why should the inn be any different?”

  “It’s just not proper,” Zhimosom mumbled. She was doing it again. Maybe it was her age, or the fact that she was royalty. He enjoyed her company and appreciated her sense of humor, but she made him feel insecure with her casual familiarity. She was so confident. He was an ignorant serf.

  “Forget proper,” she said. “I’ll tell people that we’re brother and sister. Will that suffice?”

  “But ... we look nothing alike.”

  “I’ll tell them you’re a bastard. Will that help?” She laughed and punched him in the arm.

  “We need to find the wizard.” Zhimosom tried to change the subject. He was eager to find the wizard the dragon had spoken of.

  “How are we going to find a wizard? Do you think we could try to sense one?”

  “You mean like we could with Sulrad?” Rotiaqua asked.

  “Yes. We should be able to sense a wizard if there is one around.” Zhimosom raised his shield and joined his magic to hers. Together, they scanned the city, searching for magic, open and accepting contact. There were glimmers of magic here and there, but no concentration that would have marked
a wizard. After a while, Zhimosom gave up. “It’s no use. There’s no wizard around.”

  “But the dragon sent us to Tustow,” Rotiaqua said. “The wizard must be here.”

  “Maybe dragons can be wrong.” Zhimosom had no reason to trust the dragons. Up until they had seen one, he had no idea they even existed. Why would he take its word as truth? What if it was lying? What if it was just plain wrong? What if there was no wizard in Tustow, or what if he had died long ago? Perhaps there was one, but he was shielded. How would they find him then?

  “Let’s start with the market in the morning,” Rotiaqua said. “Maybe we can find something there that could lead us to the wizard.” She picked up her pack and stowed her belongings on the room’s tiny shelves.

  “Let’s. I’m tired,” Zhimosom said. “Maybe the morning will bring better luck.”

  The dragons had said there was a wizard here, and that had piqued his interest. He was eager to find someone who could teach him more about magic. Anything about magic. He felt so ignorant. Most of the thing she tried just didn’t work. There had to be a better way.

  The next morning, Zhimosom and Rotiaqua scoured the market square looking for signs of a wizard. Zhimosom soon learned that there was a second market, one where the high-end clients shopped. One where products were precious and of a more refined quality than the common market. Not that anyone would have told him. He overheard a pair of well-dressed dandies talking about the garb being so much better in the proper market. When they declared their intent to take their business elsewhere, he seized the opportunity and followed them. He grabbed Rotiaqua and set off after the dandies, soon arriving at a market that was much smaller and more refined than the first. The stalls were freshly painted. Each one had a banner with neat lettering on it. No illustrations or sample wares were in evidence.

  Zhimosom struggled to make out the words, finally settling on one that sold potions, poultices, and creams. While the banner above was meaningless to him, the shelf of bottles and pots was quite familiar, even if of a higher grade than he had ever seen before. The man behind the counter was middle-aged, with close-cropped gray hair and beard. He was thin but healthy-looking.

  Zhimosom headed for the stand when he felt a hand on his arm.

  “Be careful. We don’t know that he is a wizard.” Rotiaqua stepped behind a stall so that the man would not see her.

  Zhimosom followed her example.

  “Let’s see if he has powers.” Zhimosom reached out to the man as he had done with Rotiaqua or Sulrad. He felt shields, but not magic. He pushed harder, trying to pierce the shield and see if there was magic within.

  Nothing.

  “He’s shielded,” Zhimosom said. “I can’t get through. That means he is a wizard, doesn’t it?”

  “Or just that he has shields,” she said. “Maybe he hired a wizard to protect him, or he’s wearing some charm that hides him.”

  Zhimosom felt Rotiaqua reach out and examine the man’s shield on her own. “Yes, I can feel it, but not the magic within.”

  “What shall we do?” Zhimosom peered around the corner. The man was no longer there.

  “Looking for me?” a voice came from behind him.

  Zhimosom turned.

  It was the man.

  Strangely enough, Zhimosom still felt the shields right where they’d been.

  They hadn’t moved, yet the man stood there before him.

  “No … Yes … We didn’t mean any harm.” Zhimosom raised his own shield.

  “I haven’t been harmed, but my privacy has been breached. Who are you?” the man demanded.

  Zhimosom took a step back. Was the man challenging him? What could he do if a wizard attacked him? He had managed to stave off the attacks that Sulrad had leveled at him, but this was different. This wizard had a look to him as if he knew what he was about. Perhaps this was the wizard they had been instructed to seek.

  “I’m Zhimosom,” he finally said.

  The man turned to look at Rotiaqua.

  She pulled herself together and stood straight.

  “I am ...” She hesitated.

  “You are? Come on. Out with it. Who are you? I assume you have a name.”

  Zhimosom felt it now. There was power surrounding the man. More power than Sulrad had possessed. More than Zhimosom himself possessed. Was the man gathering power to himself? To what end? Was he preparing to attack?

  “It’s ... Veshtia,” Rotiaqua said.

  The man looked at her sternly. “I suppose you have a good reason to lie?”

  How had he caught her lie so easily? Was it some spell he’d used? Zhimosom probed for a spell, but there was nothing.

  “I do.” Rotiaqua blushed.

  The man peered at her intently for half a hand of heartbeats, then slowly looked her over from head to toe and back again. “I see that you do, Veshtia. Why are you two looking for me?”

  “We’re looking for a wizard,” Rotiaqua said.

  “What would you do with a wizard?”

  “We ... we want to learn.” Zhimosom didn’t think there was any profit in lying. Clearly one of the skills he had yet to learn was how to determine if someone was lying.

  “What do you want to learn?”

  “Everything,” Zhimosom blurted.

  The man laughed. “Everything? Is that so? That should not take more than a couple hundred summers. I hope you have patience.”

  Zhimosom was taken aback by the way the wizard — for he was a wizard, of that Zhimosom was certain — had gone from menacing to jovial. Was that the way real wizards were, or just this one? He knew so little of wizards and magic. If they had truly found one, then their lives were about to change in a way that made Zhimosom’s stomach knot just a little tighter than it already was.

  The wizard turned to leave, but stopped and glanced back at Zhimosom. “I’m Garlath, by the way. Are you coming?”

  Zhimosom and Rotiaqua followed Garlath through alleys and side streets until they came to a building in the trade district. It was a cobbler’s shop, filled with sheets of leather in various stages of transformation into boots.

  Garlath motioned them to the stairs beside the building. “Around here.” The stairs were old and creaked as the trio climbed. The railing was loose and rickety and made Zhimosom wary. Garlath paused at the door and made hand motions shielded from Zhimosom’s eyes. A spell to keep intruders out, no doubt.

  He pushed the door wide and entered.

  Zhimosom had to duck to enter the room. He had grown during their travels until he was taller than Rotiaqua, and even taller than Garlath.

  “Welcome to my home.” Garlath bowed ever so slightly.

  The room they had entered was large, with a work table and shelves overflowing with a wide array of boots in various states of disrepair. There were several rooms off to the side, as evidenced by doorways hung with heavy wooden beaded strands of cord.

  “It’s not much, but I call it home.” Garlath waved to a chair. “Please take a seat.”

  Zhimosom took a seat at the table. “Aren’t you worried we might try to rob you or kill you?”

  “Are you?” Garlath asked. “Going to try to rob me or kill me? You already know I have shields. I have nothing to fear from you. At least not yet.”

  “What do you mean, not yet?”

  “You’re powerful. Even with your shields, I felt you when you entered the marketplace. When you started poking at my shield like that, I was sure of it.”

  Zhimosom flushed. “I meant no harm.”

  “And you harmed no one.” The wizard pulled out the chair across from Zhimosom and sat. “So you want to be a wizard.”

  “Yes. I’ve had no training. There was a wizard in my home ... our ... hometown. He set himself up as a priest of some new god and is taking over.”

  Garlath nodded but remained silent, leaving Zhimosom with the impression the wizard knew much more than he was letting on.

  “That would explain why your lady friend is so leery of me
.” He looked down at Rotiaqua’s boots. “Don’t let the cobbler see those. He’ll recognize them as boots made for royalty. Frostan royalty,” he added. “Even muddied and scuffed like that, they’re worth a moon’s wages for him.”

  Rotiaqua pulled her feet beneath the table and flushed with embarrassment.

  “Also, by your accents, you are most definitely from Frostan. I hear the baron has lost his daughter. They say she’s run off. Bewitched by a young wizard.”

  He turned to Zhimosom. “That would be you. The wizard.”

  Zhimosom froze. How had the wizard so easily discovered his identity?

  Garlath turned back to Rotiaqua and examined her closely. “No, no compulsion on you. You’re here of your own free will. So now we know why you were so reluctant to give me your real name.” He shoved a chair out from beneath the table with his foot.

  Rotiaqua took a seat.

  “So you want to learn wizardry?” he asked. “Both of you?”

  Zhimosom had lost some of his reservation, but he was cautious this time. “I guess so.”

  “Good. I can arrange living quarters for you here. Where are you staying?”

  “The Barbarian Arms.” Zhimosom pointed in the general direction of the inn.

  “Go and get your things. I have a spare room in the back where the two of you can stay.”

  “But ... You don’t know anything about us. Why would you take us on as apprentices?” Zhimosom asked.

  “It’s clear that you have powers. Both of you. It’s also clear that you’re paired, and that you have no idea what any of that means. Had it never occurred to you that the free wizards might have taken an interest in you when you started using your magic? We did, and we have rules. We can’t let the two of you run around ignorant and uneducated. Untrained wizards can do a lot of damage. An untrained pair even more so.”

  “What do you mean, paired?” Zhimosom asked.

  “Paired. When a wizard and sorceress join their powers together, it forms a bond. We call it pairing. You two are joined. Your magic is shared, your life force is shared, even your thoughts are shared.”