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

by James Eggebeen

  “We are connected. Dragon-fire links us.” She waved to the cloud of circling dragons. “Begin.”

  Zhimosom looked at the swarm of colored splotches circling overhead. There were a lot of dragons, but not as many as he would have expected if these were the sum total of all survivors. He called to the next dragon and dug deep in the earth to access the magic there.

  When the dragon he had called separated itself from the clan and landed, he went to work. The dragon lowered its head as Zhimosom searched for another concentration of magic far below his feet. He wrapped the transformation spell around the dragon and tied it to that, adjusting the lines of force much as he did when he bound the spell to Du’ala.

  The dragon shimmered and shrank until a short, squat man stood before Zhimosom.

  “More.” Du’ala pointed to the circling cloud.

  It was almost overwhelming and taxing, but it was working.

  He showed Rotiaqua how to transform the dragons, relaying the specifics of the spell to her and how he was directing the lines of force.

  She caught on quickly and worked by his side as they continued throughout the day and well into the night. They summoned the dragons one by one, calling each one forward and transforming it until a crowd of short, scaly folk stood before them.

  “We’re almost there,” Rotiaqua said as the sky turned from deep navy to a light blue with wispy clouds.

  Only a few dragons remained. They had landed at sunset and now lay curled up on the grass around the wizard and sorceress.

  Zhimosom let out a sigh of relief. It was working. The dragons would be safe until they could deal with Sulrad.

  When the last dragon came forward, Zhimosom transformed it and bound the spell.

  As he had worked, the magic beneath him had grown harder and harder to locate. He had been forced to search farther and farther to find untapped power, but the finally, the task was complete. The dragons had all been transformed, save Ril’vesi. That dragon had flown off with Sulrad and not returned.

  Du’ala surveyed the crowd of short, squat folk that the dragons had become and stepped up to Zhimosom. “Kill the wizard who has made this necessary.” She held her finger in front of his face. “After he is dead, then there will be no more killing. No taking of power.”

  “I will do my best,” Zhimosom said.

  Du’ala reached up, grabbed Zhimosom’s robe, and pulled his face close to hers. “Then you come back and free us from this form.”

  “I will. You have my word. I will stop Sulrad and restore your form.”

  She released his robe and gestured toward the rising sun. “Go now; Ril’vesi calls you.”

  Zhimosom felt the call of the last dragon tug at his mind. He opened himself to it.

  “Come, Wizard. I need you,” was all that the dragon said before the contact was severed.

  “I have to go,” Zhimosom told Rotiaqua. “I’ll be back and we will set this right." He reached out for Ril’vesi and created an image of the magnificent beast in his mind. He accessed the last of his personal store of magic and pulled himself through the void.

  44

  Stepping from the void, Zhimosom materialized beside Ril’vesi the dragon on the remote island of Quineshua. The dragon lay on the ground, moaning. Rich red blood stained the rocky soil.

  Zhimosom knelt down.

  Ril’vesi had been stabbed in the neck.

  Blood oozed from beneath his scales.

  Zhimosom tried to find a spell to heal the dragon, but none of his efforts could slow the flow of blood.

  “You can’t save him,” a voice came from behind him.

  Zhimosom spun around to see Sulrad standing there, sacrificial knife in hand.

  The charm of the joiner hung from his neck, glowing brightly as it absorbed the dragon’s magic.

  Zhimosom grabbed for the charm.

  Sulrad stepped back and twisted away from Zhimosom’s grasping fingers. He swung the knife and slashed Zhimosom across the arm.

  Zhimosom jerked back. Fire erupted where the knife sliced through robe and flesh. Blood gushed from the wound, dripping to the ground to mix with that of the dragon.

  “I’ll take your magic, too.” Sulrad advanced toward Zhimosom. I’ll keep it in the charm. That way, the sorceress will still be mine, but you will be gone.”

  Zhimosom felt the pull on his magic.

  Sulrad was drawing it out of him while he was still alive, just as he had in the glade where they had met so long ago.

  He fought back, but he was weakened from the toil of transforming dragons and had used almost all of his remaining reserve to travel to Quineshua.

  He reached for Rotiaqua’s magic and the magic of the pools.

  It wasn’t enough.

  His power separated from him as if his soul had been torn out of his body.

  “That’s it, just a little more.” Sulrad bent over him with the knife.

  Zhimosom saw the look of fear on Sulrad’s face.

  He was uncertain about his success, that much was plain.

  So there was still hope.

  Zhimosom reached out for the charm once again. He lashed out. This time, his fingers closed around the charm. As he closed his grip on it, it started vibrating, gaining intensity as Zhimosom struggled to tear it from Sulrad’s neck.

  Sulrad tried to twist to escape, but Zhimosom held on. Soon they were both on the ground, but Sulrad managed to get his legs around Zhimosom.

  Zhimosom rolled from side to side and arched his back until, finally, he dislodged Sulrad. He struggled to his knees, grasping about for any handy weapon, and felt a nudge at his leg.

  It was the dragon. Ril’vesi was still alive.

  “Take my magic. I give it to you,” came the low rumbling voice. The dragon offered up his power freely.

  Zhimosom reached for it and felt the strange and otherworldly magic surge in him.

  It was greater than anything he’d ever felt before.

  It was clear as a mountain spring and more refreshing than a plunge into its icy waters.

  It invigorated him, restored him, but he was not out of the woods yet.

  He raised his shield to protect himself.

  “Use my magic. Save my people from this madman.” Ril’vesi’s intense eyes fogged over as the scaly lids closed one final time.

  As Ril’vesi breathed his last, Zhimosom felt the final transfer of the magnificent beast’s magic into his chest. He not only inherited the magic of the dragon, but its memories. He knew what it felt like to fly, to breathe fire and sail through the clouds. He felt the magic of the clan and how Ril’vesi fit into it.

  Zhimosom turned to Sulrad and reached out his hand. “Veni ad me,” he shouted and cast a summoning spell at the amulet. It leaped from Sulrad’s chest, pulling at the chain that secured it in place. The amulet shuddered slightly, gave a wiggle, and settled back in place.

  “You didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?” Sulrad raised the knife.

  Zhimosom focused his magic on the knife. It was the similar to the one that had taken his power when he’d first crossed paths with Sulrad. He summoned it to him, pulling with all his might and that of the dragon. He reached for the power beneath the grasslands, drawing it to him, and even tapped in to Rotiaqua’s magic.

  The knife flew out of Sulrad’s hand and slapped into Zhimosom’s open palm.

  He grasped it, flinching with pain.

  His arm bled profusely, the wound raw and painful.

  Sulrad lunged at him, grabbing Zhimosom’s injured arm. The last time Zhimosom had taken Sulrad on, Zhimosom had been outmatched. Sulrad had been physically bigger and magically more powerful. Not anymore. Zhimosom had grown in stature and power since then. Now they were well matched, but it was still a struggle.

  Zhimosom groaned at the pain in his arm, twisting in an attempt to shake Sulrad off, but the wizard hung on and reached for Zhimosom’s free arm. As he touched Zhimosom, the magic of the amulet flared. Zhimosom’s own mag
ic started to separate from him once again.

  No. He would not give up.

  He twisted and managed to yank free. He grabbed at Sulrad’s robe. He yanked and tugged, trying to shake the wizard off.

  The two of them rolled across the ground.

  The momentum of the roll carried Zhimosom on top of Sulrad. He clung there, arm waving in the air, trying to find the best place to strike.

  Sulrad grabbed Zhimosom’s injured arm and tore at the deep gash, but the freely flowing blood interfered with his grip.

  Zhimosom seized the opportunity to strike.

  The knife flashed toward Sulrad’s throat.

  One move and the wizard would be cut, left to bleed out like a butchered pig. He would do it. No matter the cost. He gathered his power to him, letting the rage at Sulrad’s murder of so many dragons emerge from Ril’vesi’s memories. The anger fueled his strength. Just the smallest amount of pressure and it would be over. But there was more. Zhimosom drew Sulrad’s magic out of him in preparation for the final thrust. It was mottled and muddy, a mixture of Sulrad and all of his victims. Zhimosom felt the dragon’s magic in the priest, just a hint of it, for Sulrad kept most of it secreted away in the amulet.

  Soon it would be free once more.

  Zhimosom put pressure on the knife and paused. He would kill Sulrad. It would kill Rotiaqua and probably him as well, but they had agreed. It needed to be done. With Sulrad dead, the dragons would be safe. But who would transform them back? He hoped with his death, the spell would be broken, but he wasn’t sure.

  No time to argue with himself. He pressed the knife harder against Sulrad’s throat.

  Sulrad screamed. “Please. I’ll let you have it.”

  “Let me have what?” Zhimosom demanded.

  “The charm. You can command the dragons.”

  Zhimosom was enraged. He was not after the charm. He had no interest in commanding anyone. All he wanted was to be left alone to live his life, and Sulrad had shown time and time again that he would not let him be. He nudged the knife deeper. Blood welled up from the point to dribble to the ground. It mixed with the slick puddle of blood from the dragon and Zhimosom himself. Zhimosom felt the power in Sulrad’s blood. He plucked at it, examined it. Rotiaqua’s magic was still there, connected. More than connected. Intertwined.

  His heart sank. Was he ready to do this? He and Rotiaqua would die with Sulrad. Was he willing to sacrifice her? Himself?

  He was not.

  He withdrew the knife but put his hand around Sulrad’s throat, squeezing it until the wizard gasped for breath. He squeezed tighter, anger rising up in him. He looked down at Sulrad’s face. The man was bloody and bruised. His face turned red from lack of air.

  Zhimosom wanted nothing more than to hold on as he was and wait until the wizard breathed his last, but he could not.

  He released his grasp, resigned to let Sulrad live. Still, there was one thing he could do. He grasped the charm, determined to take advantage of the opportunity to rob Sulrad of his power.

  As his hand came in contact with the jewel, a searing pain shot up his arm.

  He flinched and released the heavy golden amulet. Zhimosom looked at his palm. A burn the shape of the amulet was marked out in angry red.

  Sulrad laughed. “You can’t take what’s mine.”

  Zhimosom tried to grab the charm once more. This time, the pain flared in his hand even before he touched the thing. How was he going to defeat Sulrad’s power?

  “You will always lose when you come against me,” Sulrad said.

  Zhimosom pulled his hand back, ready to strike Sulrad, sacrifice be damned. But he hesitated. He could not kill Sulrad if it meant killing Rotiaqua. He had to find a way to destroy Sulrad’s advantage while letting him live. If he could only think. He dug deep, recalling the spell he had prepared to wrap Sulrad in his own magic. Maybe he could use it on the charm.

  Zhimosom reached for the charm and layered the surrounding spell. “In tua magicae erites involvint,” he called out.

  The charm resisted.

  Had he gotten the spell wrong?

  The charm was powerful.

  It was filled with dragon magic.

  Maybe he needed more power.

  He pressed Ril’vesi’s magic on the spell.

  He drew from the plains and joined that magic to the effort.

  The amulet grew hot. It shook violently and vibrated with a piercing noise.

  Sulrad pulled it from his neck and cast it aside as if it were a deadly snake about to strike.

  Zhimosom pressed harder. For a moment, he thought the charm was going to explode. He pressed harder, joining the magic of the pools to that of the plains and the dragons. Ever so slowly, the spell took hold, and the charm settled down. Finally, it grew cold, dark, and quiet, and Zhimosom knew that it was done. The charm could be employed for one thing only, and that was what it had been used for last.

  But what was that?

  Zhimosom had a sinking feeling.

  Sulrad had used the amulet to command the dragons!

  As long as the charm remained in Sulrad’s hands, he could not release the dragons from their new form. If he did, they would be subject to Sulrad’s command once more. They were trapped.

  Zhimosom was disheartened.

  He had failed to free the dragons.

  He could not kill Sulrad.

  The only good that had come of it was to bar Sulrad from using the charm to power any new spells, but the dragons were still in danger. If Zhimosom restored them to their original form, Sulrad would be able to command them once more. They were stuck in their new form until Zhimosom found a way to kill Sulrad without risking Rotiaqua.

  Best to get it over with. He felt for Du’ala. He could see her in his mind’s eye, and that meant he could travel to where she was. He reached out for her, but halted.

  What would stop Sulrad from following him or returning home? He needed to be put in his place, if only long enough for Zhimosom do decide what to do about him.

  He recalled the spell Garlath had taught him.

  He examined Sulrad.

  There.

  A single thread of Sulrad’s magic protruded as if inviting his attention.

  Zhimosom drew that thread out of the wizard.

  It glowed a brilliant red, thin as a thread.

  He wrapped it around the wizard. “Quod sit continere in,” he shouted.

  The thread wrapped tight around Sulrad. Not physically, but magically.

  Zhimosom felt Sulrad’s power fade.

  “That should hold you.”

  With that, Zhimosom reached out to Du’ala and pulled himself through the void to her, leaving a bleeding Sulrad stranded on the empty island of Quineshua.

  45

  Zhimosom reeled from the travel spell. One moment he was standing on the bluff in Quineshua, the next he was standing in the grass surrounded by a group of short, squat, scaly folk. When Rotiaqua saw him, she rushed over and hugged him so hard, he was afraid she would break his ribs. He was glad to see her. But he wished she showed more restraint. He ached. The pain in his arm was almost intolerable, and he was dizzy. He had just been in the fight of his life and he felt it.

  “Are you all right?” Rotiaqua asked.

  “I’ll live. Sulrad tried to take my magic, but I defeated him.”

  “He is dead?” Du’ala asked.

  Zhimosom shook his head. “He’s not dead. I’ve frozen the amulet so that he can’t use it for anything but to command the dragons. I’m sorry. I can’t free you yet. I need to destroy the amulet before I can do that or you will be under his command once again.”

  Du’ala gave him a look that would curdle milk.

  That was it. He could bear no more. He let go and let fatigue overcome him. He would have toppled over had not Rotiaqua helped him to the ground.

  “When will this happen?” Du’ala demanded.

  “I don’t know. Sulrad nearly beat me. He’s a very powerful wizard. If it were
not for Ril’vesi, I could not have defeated him.”

  “Where is Ril’vesi?” Du’ala demanded.

  “He’s dead. Sulrad had already started to take his magic when I arrived. He was bleeding. He gave me his magic so I could defeat Sulrad.”

  “Yet you did not.” Du’ala grabbed Zhimosom’s robe and pulled his face to hers. She leaned in close. “You said you would kill the wizard. You said you would stop him. You said that there would be no more taking of the magic.”

  The heat on Zhimosom’s face reminded him of the dragon’s fire.

  Du’ala released Zhimosom’s robe and pushed him away. “You failed!” She turned her back.

  “Please. I tried. He was just too powerful for me.”

  Du’ala spun around to face him once more. “And what about this?” She waved her hand in front of her new squat body. “What of this?”

  “I’m sorry. You’re going to have to remain that way for a while. Just until I can destroy the charm. Then I’ll come back and free you.”

  “Why shouldn’t I just kill you? That would release the spell you hold us under.”

  “If you change back to your dragon form, Sulrad will regain his control over you and you will be pressed to do his bidding. You need me to maintain the spell that protects you.”

  Du’ala snorted. “Swear to me that you will not rest until you have defeated this wizard.” She shook her finger at him and then looked around. “How will we survive here? How will we be safe from you?”

  “I won’t harm you.” Zhimosom wondered why she thought she wasn’t safe from him.

  “Not you, your kind. Mankind. How will we be safe from them? We have no wings, no claws, and no fire.”

  “You still have your magic.”

  “Not enough. What will you do to make this a safe place for us?”

  Zhimosom pondered their predicament. He had made them small yet powerful. They had magic, but once word got out, there would be a constant flood of people seeking them out, hoping to use their magic or hunting them for sport. She was right. He had to do something.

  “I know,” Rotiaqua said. “You can change the grass. Make it impenetrable to humans, but not to the dragons.”