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

by James Eggebeen

  “That looks like the one you described.” Rotiaqua pointed to a drawing. “The charm of confusion.”

  “No ... It had a darker jewel in the middle. Like so.” Sulrad pointed to another drawing.

  Rotiaqua flipped more pages “Hmmm ... Is this it? The charm of the joiner? It is used to join another’s magic to your own, sort of like the pairing, only through the amulet. It says it can store magic up so that the wearer can perform spells not normally accessible to him alone. The wizards of old used to lend their power to one wizard who wore the amulet so he could perform extremely powerful spells, like raising the keep in Amedon.”

  Zhimosom carefully lay down the book that he’d been perusing. He leaned over to get a look at what she was reading. The charm of the joiner looked a lot like the amulet Sulrad had worn when he’d taken Helmyer’s magic.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Does it say anything about a counter spell?”

  “No. It just describes what it’s made from and how it’s used. There’s nothing about a way to defeat it. It is said to have been lost over four hundred summers ago.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Sulrad found it, and that’s how he’s commanding the dragons.” Zhimosom took the book and examined the drawing. “There must be something around here we can use to defeat it.”

  They searched for the rest of the day but found nothing. Zhimosom was restless and kept searching, but Rotiaqua fell asleep at the table. Without the sun to mark the time deep in the library, Zhimosom lost track of it. He was surprised when, from behind the pile of books, he heard a voice.

  “Zhimosom? Are you there?”

  It was Rotiaqua.

  “Down here. Is it morning already?” he asked.

  “It’s almost sunrise. The sky is lightening, but it looks cold. Did you find anything?”

  “Just that the charm of the joiner was powered by a stone from the mines beneath the Friegan mountains.”

  “How does that help?” Rotiaqua passed him a cup of tea and took a sip out of her own, never taking her eyes from Zhimosom.

  “I found reference to a spell that can freeze one of those stones.”

  “Freeze, not defeat it?”

  “It’s too powerful to defeat. You can’t destroy one with magic. I found a spell that would freeze the stone so that it is limited in what it can be used to do. With this spell, the only thing the stone can power is the last spell it was used for.”

  “How can that help?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s the only thing I can find that’s even remotely helpful.”

  Rotiaqua pointed to the spell. “This looks simple. How can it do so much?”

  “It’s powered by the stone, so it doesn’t take a lot of magic to drive the spell. Once it has been invoked, the jewel itself maintains the spell. That’s why it can’t be undone. It will fuse itself to the stone and freeze it into the form it last took. After that, the stone is useless for anything else.”

  Rotiaqua found a quill and parchment and set them on the table before Zhimosom. He picked up the quill and carefully transcribed the spell from the book onto the parchment.

  “Did you sleep at all?” Rotiaqua asked.

  “No. I’m convinced that our leaving won’t prevent another attack. We just have to make the council see that.”

  “We tried,” Rotiaqua said. “We’d better get out of the keep before they find someone to escort ...”

  Rotiaqua halted. “Do you hear that?”

  Far off, a horn sounded. Three blasts.

  Amedon was under attack by air once again.

  42

  Hearing the horn sound set Zhimosom’s heart racing. He rushed down the deserted hallways, ignoring the paintings of distinguished wizards spaced so meticulously along the grand hall. His feet clicked loudly on the polished marble that was carefully buffed to a mirror shine.

  He paused to let Rotiaqua catch up when he realized he’d outpaced her.

  He didn’t want to face alone whatever was waiting for him.

  Not that he was afraid, but he had come to depend on her magic and being without it felt wrong.

  He stepped into the grand square and peered south. A dark cloud approached off in the distance, roiling as if it were a thing alive. He reached out to it, sensing the magic of the dragons.

  “Come on.” He urged Rotiaqua forward.

  With most of the senior wizards killed in the earlier battle, the square was filled with students, many of whom appeared to be no more than boys. Most of them looked lost and confused. They had overturned carts and wagons to act as barriers and were busy dousing everything with water. The more senior boys cast spells of suppression on anything flammable.

  Zhimosom heaved a sigh of relief.

  At least they were taking action and not standing there waiting to be consumed.

  He scanned the crowd for the source of order and soon found Garlath in the thick of things. He was shouting orders to the young wizards even as he paused to cast spells of protection over those who were not experienced enough to fend for themselves. He pointed to a wagon where two young wizards cowered in fear, shouting encouragement.

  Zhimosom wished he’d taken the time to learn the names of some students, but he had little time for that now.

  The attack came as a tidal wave of fire.

  Dragons flew side by side in rank upon rank.

  There were enough of the mighty beasts to blanket the entire wizards’ keep with fire in a single instant.

  As the fires erupted, pandemonium broke out in the yard.

  Carts and wagons burst into fire, even though moments before they’d been drenched in water. The fire raged quickly through the grounds, consuming one shelter after another.

  Without pause, the dragons reeled in unison, turning to make another pass. What little shelter remained was of no use. Zhimosom felt the magic around him surge as Garlath stood his ground, arms held high. Violet lightning crackled from his fingertips and stretched out to three of the dragons as they neared. Garlath’s power was impressive. Zhimosom had not known one individual could store so much magic, but impressive as that display was, it was insufficient to deter the attack.

  The dragons came on, unaffected by Garlath’s lightning bolt.

  A blast of fire burst from the nearest dragon, following the crackling violet light of Garlath’s spell back to him.

  The wizard glowed brightly for an instant and then vanished.

  “No,” Zhimosom shouted. Who would lead the students now?

  Two young wizards crouched on the ground before a blazing cart. The younger one stood up and raised his arms in the air. Zhimosom felt the feeble power of his spell, a poor imitation of Garlath’s.

  A violet lightning bolt extended from the young wizard, racing for the nearest dragon.

  The dragon inhaled in preparation for the blast that would surely incinerate the boy.

  Without thinking, Zhimosom moved, placing his body between the dragon and the boy. He raised a shield large enough to cover them both and noticed Rotiaqua doing the same for others.

  It worked. The dragon-fire split in two and splashed around Zhimosom and the boy.

  Zhimosom had expected scorching pain, but the dragon-fire was almost cool as it struck him.

  Startled, he reached out to Rotiaqua with his magic. “The fire doesn’t harm me.”

  Rotiaqua stepped between the advancing dragon, and a woman with child who crouched exposed on open ground. The fire shot at Rotiaqua like a thing alive, but split and passed harmlessly around her just as it had done with Zhimosom.

  A screech split the air, and the dragons turned again.

  This time, the wall of flames that came at Zhimosom and Rotiaqua was impenetrable, almost as large as the courtyard itself. All around them, wizards burst into flames and turned to ash, carts and wagons devoured in the blink of an eye, and the grass and trees vanished in a brilliant orange fireball.

  Despite the surrounding carnage, Zhimosom and Rotiaqua stood there un
harmed.

  “What’s happening?” Rotiaqua panted.

  “When Ril’vesi washed his fire over me, it restored my magic. Maybe it’s made me immune to their fire.” Zhimosom felt the magic in the dragon-fire. He could sense each individual dragon as they turned again, heading back for more.

  “Come on,” Zhimosom called. “Let’s get out of here; maybe we can lead them away.” He rushed for the gates, squeezing through the battered and broken doors and out onto the narrow road that wound its way down the mountain.

  Rotiaqua followed close on his heels.

  Zhimosom was right. The dragons were following them. He felt their magic in the flames. He recognized it. He could use that. He formulated a spell similar to the one he’d used to free Ril’vesi from Sulrad’s grasp. Carefully, he chose the words and gestures he would use. This time, when the dragons turned for another approach, he released his hastily prepared spell.

  The air before him shimmered as the spell took hold.

  He reinforced it with Rotiaqua’s magic, drew from the pools of Rohir, and bound the spell to Amedon itself.

  There was a rumble, then the ground beneath him shook.

  Part of the roadway broke free of the mountain and tumbled down, crashing into the switchbacks below.

  With an audible snap, Sulrad’s magic was broken.

  The dragons were free.

  They ceased their fire and turned away from the ledge, making wild circles in the air.

  “Are you all right?” Zhimosom called to Rotiaqua. He’d seen her stumble when the road gave way.

  “I’m fine. I think you did it.” She shook off the impact and joined him.

  The dragons would not remain free for long. Zhimosom had not been able to prevent Sulrad from reasserting his power over Ril’vesi. There was no guarantee this latest spell would work any better.

  He called out, “Ril’vesi, are you free?”

  “Yes,” came the thought.

  “What have you done with Sulrad?” Zhimosom wanted to confront his adversary so he could try to break the spell once and for all.

  “He is perched upon my back.” That amused the dragon, and it carried in his words.

  “Bring him to me!” Zhimosom shouted.

  “No,” Ril’vesi replied. “He’s too dangerous. I’ll take him where he cannot interfere. You must protect us from his magic. Your freedom spell will not hold when Sulrad has the opportunity to re-cast his own spell. I will keep him occupied for as long as I can. You do not have much time.”

  With that, Ril’vesi turned and headed east. Sulrad clung to his screaming commands uselessly as they disappeared from view.

  “To me,” Zhimosom called to the dragons.

  One of them fell from the sky to land at his feet. It was every bit as large and powerful as Ril’vesi. It bowed its head and looked into Zhimosom’s eyes. “I am Du’ala,” she said.

  “I’m going to change you, to protect you. Once I have dealt with Sulrad, I will return you to your normal form.”

  “As you say, so it will be,” Du’ala said.

  Zhimosom reached out to her and formed the transformation spell he had so carefully prepared.

  Changing her form would make her immune to Sulrad’s magic.

  He imagined a short, squat woman who came only to his chest. She had skin that shimmered, eyes with sharp vertical slits like a snake’s, and short-cropped white hair. He could feel the form in his mind’s eye, slowly compressing the massive dragon body into the squat woman he’d visualized.

  The dragon shimmered and changed.

  Before Zhimosom stood the woman he had carefully imagined.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Free,” she said. “More.” She pointed to the dragons circling nearby.

  “Call one.” Zhimosom peered into the sky and wondered if he would have enough magic to protect them all. As another dragon landed at his feet, he worked his transformation spell on it, just as he had on Du’ala. This time, the result was a short, squat man with the same closely cropped white hair and scaly skin.

  He breathed a sigh of relief.

  It was working.

  Dragon after dragon landed at Zhimosom’s feet. He transformed each one as it came to him. He had a dozen or so converted, but he was growing dizzy.

  Soon he would not be able to transform another dragon.

  He dropped to the ground, exhausted.

  Du’ala came over to him, hands on her hips. “Wizard. Get up.”

  Zhimosom struggled to stand as the last of his magic drained from his body. There was a loud crack, and the ledge was filled with dragons as his transformation spell broke. The dragon clan took their natural form once more, crowding the roadway. Several of them lost their footing and tumbled over the ledge, plummeting toward the switchbacks below. The rest launched themselves into the air with a roar.

  Zhimosom peered over the edge to see those that had fallen take wing. They regrouped and flew up into the sky. Rotiaqua took his hand and poured her power into him. He felt an echo of the pools and knew she was accessing magic beyond herself and channeling it toward him.

  He reached out once more for Du’ala. “Come back.”

  Du’ala dove for the roadway and flared to a landing before Zhimosom and Rotiaqua.

  “We need more power,” Zhimosom said. “Do you know where the magic is that the monks told me about while I was in Mistwind? The plains magic?”

  Du’ala lowered her head. “Get on.”

  Zhimosom scrambled to take a seat astride her thick neck. He felt the scales slide over each other silently as the dragon moved, making room for Rotiaqua.

  Once they were both seated, Du’ala lumbered for the edge and dropped off.

  Zhimosom’s stomach lurched as they fell from the ledge.

  Du’ala spread her wings and caught the air. Suddenly, Zhimosom was heavier than he’d ever been. It was almost impossible to keep his grasp on the dragon’s neck as she swooped skyward, but there was nothing he could do but hold on. He turned to see the rest of the dragons following behind.

  43

  Zhimosom clung to his insides almost as tightly as he clung to the dragon who carried him through the sky. The air was cold, the wind icy and wet. The only thing that gave him any scant comfort was Rotiaqua’s arms wrapped around him. Their warmth drove away the worst of the cold.

  His stomach lurched as Du’ala banked and turned to the east, the mountains below them dropping swiftly away. The air grew colder, and it was hard to breathe. “Where are we going?” Zhimosom gasped.

  “To the plains. You said there is magic there,” Du’ala replied.

  “I don’t know how to access it,” Zhimosom said.

  “Learn.” Du’ala turned her head back to look at Zhimosom and Rotiaqua. He felt her reach out for his magic and knew she was feeling his fear and uncertainty.

  “Fear not,” she said. “All will be well.”

  Zhimosom took little comfort in those words. As the clouds closed in below him, all he could see was a rough sea of white that stretched out to the horizon.

  “I hope she knows where she’s going,” Zhimosom said to Rotiaqua.

  “I’m sure she’s used to this.” Rotiaqua held on a little tighter.

  After an eternity, Du’ala stopped beating her wings. The air rushed past Zhimosom’s face, and now that the jerking had ceased, the journey was almost pleasant. The air was crisp and clear above the clouds. It whistled past him. His ears popped as they descended directly toward the vast expanse of blinding white.

  At first, the clouds appeared as spotty patches of fog. Du’ala flew through them and emerged almost immediately into the clear air once more. It was unsettling, especially as the foggy patches grew more frequent and more dense. Finally, the fog engulfed them completely. At one point, they entered a dark patch of clouds and were pelted by driving rain that stung Zhimosom’s skin like a thousand needles. Lightning flashed across the sky, blinding him. The air smelled strange, metallic an
d bitter. His eyes took a while to recover from the brightness of the lightning flash.

  And then it was over.

  The clouds broke out into gray skies once again, and Zhimosom saw the ground beneath them.

  It stretched out flat and empty for leagues. Nothing but plains grass grew there, short, stubby, brutish grass that only the hardiest of animals could survive on.

  Du’ala circled several times, each circuit taking them closer to the ground below. She flared her wings and Zhimosom felt that sinking feeling that was soon over as she touched down.

  “We are here,” Du’ala said.

  Zhimosom climbed down from Du’ala’s back. He was unsteady on his feet and exhausted, but he felt the power that Du’ala said would be there. It was clear and pure, but spread thinly beneath him, deep within the earth. It was like the magic of the healing pools, the raw magic of the earth. He drank it in, refreshing his own magic before he set to work.

  Zhimosom examined the network of power that lay below the plains. There were concentrations of magic, nuggets, and pockets of strong power that stood out in sharp relief from the rest. They formed random lines in the earth, almost like those of the characters that formed a spell. If he could adjust the lines, could he create the spell just as if he’d written in in a book?

  He rearranged a few lines and used the resulting spell to transform Du’ala. The mighty dragon shimmered and wavered as the spell came to life. She compressed in size until the short, squat woman once again stood before him. Her scales glimmered in the light, her eyes were those of the dragon. Zhimosom released the spell. The pattern he had created beneath the earth continued to hold, but there was a slight drain on his power. Was that what it took? Would he need to maintain the spell until Sulrad was finally defeated? He hoped not. It would be a drain on his magic when he needed it the most.

  “The pull is gone,” Du’ala said.

  “Will you be able to remain as you are?” Zhimosom asked.