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Juno Books
www.juno-books.com
Copyright ©2007 by Saskia Walker
First published in 2007, 2007
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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UNVEILING
THE
SORCERESS
Saskia Walker
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Unveiling the Sorceress
Copyright © 2007 by Saskia Walker
Cover art copyright © 2007 by Tim Lantz
www.stygiandarkness.com
Cover design copyright © 2007 by Stephen H. Segal
ISBN-10: 0-8095-5781-9
ISBN-13: 978-0-8095-5781-3
Library of Congress Control Number: 2007925917
Publisher's Note:
No portion of this book may be reproduced by any means, mechanical, electronic, or otherwise, without first obtaining the permission of the copyright holder except for brief passages quoted by reviewers or in connection with critical analysis.
Juno Books
Rockville, MD
www.juno-books.com [email protected]
For Paula Guran, who made this possible, and taught me so much along the way.
Prologue
The night Amshazar was requested to appear before the council of the gods, rumors were rife concerning the troubled times in the exotic lands. Whispers passed among those studying the sorcerous arts, suggesting one of them would soon be called upon to initiate the gods’ intervention.
The rumors proved to be correct. Amshazar, who had long since reached the first order of magi skills and knowledge, was demonstrating the art of controlling a shared power force to a novice when the messenger arrived.
"Power can be made stronger when nurtured between two,” he said, as he harnessed the glowing ball of light he had summoned, moving it slowly between the open palms of his raised hands.
The young students who had gathered around him in the Hall of Knowledge that evening jostled closer, filled with anticipation, eager to take their knowledge of sorcery to the next level. Amshazar scanned their faces and, seeing one who was more reticent than the others, made a mental note to draw him in. A more enthusiastic student stepped closer to Amshazar, pushing back the sleeves of his robes and raising eager hands as he moved into place.
"Open yourself to the power, but be prepared for the rush of heat when it moves between us."
The keen expression on the student's face altered to one of concentration, and the ball of heat shifted a little, moving infinitesimally in his direction. Amshazar felt the tug within as the young student connected, and then grounded himself to level off. Rays of light traversed the space between them, locking them into each other, connecting them at the very core of their being. The other students clustered around them, impressed murmurs passing between them as they observed the shared power, how it pulsed and grew, thriving on the two souls who had tapped into it.
In the background, Amshazar noticed the presence of the gods’ own messenger standing at the arched doorway into the hall. The messenger nodded himself into the chamber and shared his purpose with those near the door. Faces turned in Amshazar's direction.
Sensing he was needed elsewhere, Amshazar nodded at the more reticent magi student, indicating he should share in the exchange. “Join us, we'll harness it between three of us,” he encouraged.
Shortly after the nervous student keyed into the exchange, Amshazar shifted the balance between the two novices. They exchanged excited glances when they realized what they were achieving. The master stepped away and allowed them to manage between them. Their hands moved around the energy force. It hummed with vitality, thriving on their eager spirits.
"In practice, you would sense the highest reach of power and then direct it to your subject. There you might use it for healing, to turn back wrongdoing or to guard those in danger."
After another few moments, he clapped his hands gently, dispersing the ball of energy, smiling. “For now, we will put it to rest, we've had enough for one evening."
Chuckles passed amongst his students as they discussed this latest lesson with the two participants. Amshazar acknowledged the messenger and took the chance to slip away, joining him, and leaving the chamber by his side.
The messenger said little. There was no need to say much; his presence alone spoke for him. He accompanied Amshazar through the corridors of the Magi school toward the spire that reached skyward. Nodding at him, the messenger opened the door at the bottom of the staircase, and gestured him on.
Amshazar mounted the worn stone steps that led upwards from the secluded magi school embedded in the mountainside, up and into the presences of the deities. The steps were worn by those who had gone before—centuries of magi who had trained there, who had acted upon the words of the gods when called and instigated their wishes amongst their chosen people. He passed through the upper portal and emerged from the tower into the swirling mists of the deity plateau, a place where the gods met men and dispensed judgment.
Amshazar paused. The air here was colder, but invigorating, and he took a moment to become accustomed to it. Preparing himself, he peered through the mists toward the massive white stone gathering table, expecting to see a full quorum assembled. Instead, he saw only two figures seated there. The first was the goddess Sevita—she who inspired the higher emotions. The other was the thoughtful god, Credan, an eminent deity who exerted a fatherly presence upon the gods of the council.
"Amshazar, thank you for your swift response,” Sevita said as he approached, her voice reverberating softly in his every fiber. She presented in human form as a simply dressed woman in her middle years, her hair loosely plaited over one shoulder. Her immense, serene feminine power and beauty was nevertheless visible in her aura. She shimmered with it, the plain garments she chose to wear made almost translucent by her inner radiance.
"You are aware we have asked you here because of the recent unrest in the exotic lands?"
Amshazar nodded.
"Alas,” she said, and sighed, “Hurda is to blame. He became bored with the council. I'm afraid we lost him for a while.” She looked deeply regretful. Hurda was an unpredictable god, a god who often inspired warlike tendencies.
Credan gestured with his hands, shifting uneasily in his chair. He took the form of an aged and wise man, with long silvering hair and a furrowed brow. The breadth of his wisdom made itself felt in every way, far beyond his current form. “Hurda took it upon himself to inspire the need for ownership, instilling greed in many of the souls of the exotic lands, undermining the notion of fair trade and harmony that had begun to take root there."
Credan's eyebrows lowered as he contemplated the situation. “The trouble that has already begun can—and will—grow, powered by its own ire and the subsequent need for revenge. We have been contemplating how best we might intervene."
Sevita smiled gently at Amshazar.
That was why he had been called. They wanted to him to intervene on their behalf. It was a worthy challenge, something he had been preparing for these past years. He lowered his head, indicating his acknowledgement; prepared for whatever they asked him to do. He had been ready for some time, having devoted his life to this. Fully trained and adept in the sorcerous arts, his time as a tutor to the newer magi was but a passing phase. The gods had previously indicated he was meant for a hi
gher purpose, and his time had come at last.
"I am aware of the situation, and the potential for large scale war within a few years if it were to continue to develop. Whatever I can do in the matter, please say. I am your servant, and I am ready to act."
Sevita nodded, exchanging glances with Credan. “We are still debating the best way forward, but we wished to speak with you first.” Her eyes shimmered with admiration. “We appreciate your willingness in this matter, Amshazar. We consider you our finest magus. The tasks ahead demand someone with the skills and subtlety you possess."
Amshazar was somewhat embarrassed by her praise. “There are many magi eager to act upon your instruction, I am but one of many."
Credan gave a rare laugh. “Sevita has selected you, Amshazar, and I trust her judgment in this matter."
A curious smile graced Sevita's lips. “You are the right magus for this task. I'm very fond of you, and I am aware you seek a challenge."
"You are very fond of everyone,” Credan retorted at her side, somewhat sarcastically. “If I had my way Hurda would have been banished from the council for this latest selfish action."
Amshazar restrained a smile. Credan seemed rather jealous of Sevita's tolerance with her favorites. She who inspired the higher emotions—and who reminded all souls that life springs from love—magnetized both people and gods.
"Hurda has shown some remorse,” Sevita responded, unfazed by Credan's remark. “Our responsibility to men and to each other is to guide and illuminate, not dictate. Besides, part of my purpose here is to bring the kinder emotions into play where there might be none."
She gave a gentle tut, then returned her attention to Amshazar. Her eyes burned with the strength of her inner knowledge. “The council feels your skills as a tutor might be called upon. Your insight and your way with people engender trust. These qualities will take you where you need to be, to the very heart of the matter. The conflict must be unraveled subtly, from within."
Amshazar felt a strong but implicit undertow in her message, something deeper that she perhaps wasn't sharing with Credan. There was a glint in her eyes, indicating a seed of thought she was keeping to herself for the time being. Amshazar allowed her to see he sensed it, wondering at the same time what other motives she might have. In recent times she had been more assertive in the council. As one of the few female gods, she argued for a greater voice for womankind, and for female entry to the magi school. She had not yet achieved the latter, but was that the ongoing purpose behind the glint in her eyes? Amshazar didn't question it, knowing that all would be revealed soon enough.
Credan folded his hands in front of him. “Return to the council tomorrow at dawn, if you will, Amshazar. We will come to agreement on how best to proceed by then, and you will need to be ready to leave. We envisage this being a long challenge, though, and we will assign you a spirit guide to act as mentor. He will hasten your communication with us, as and when you see fit."
This last statement alone would have indicated to Amshazar the weight of the matter, if the rumors preceding the evening's events had not already done so. Spirit guides were only brought into action in matters of great magnitude, where haste and reinforcement might be needed.
He dropped to one knee before them, passing his fingers over mind, lips and heart, offering his thoughts, words and deeds to them through the age-old, time-honored gesture. “I take the task willingly, whatever it might demand of me."
He sensed Sevita's pleasure. This was important to her, above and beyond the obvious reasons, but as he stood and took his leave, Amshazar still didn't have the first clue why.
Chapter One
The foreboding cry of a lone desert hawk echoed through the foothills. Elishiba, daughter of the Emperor of Aleem, sensed danger in the air and watched the hawk's flight across the tawny sky. Her senses were on high alert. A storm approached. In the distance, the sky had begun to splinter with shards of vermilion and amethyst light. She unlatched her flowing headdress where it was drawn across her face to conceal her identity, and lifted her chin, knowing instinctively the incoming storm was but a precursor of things to come.
Her mount reared up and whinnied, losing its footing amongst the loose rocks and boulders. She clutched at him and soothed the large beast with a hand on its silver-streaked mane, murmuring words of comfort as she looked over her shoulder, protectively, toward the precious land behind her. Suzin, the city that was her home, was just visible in the wide valley set below the Zaneesie Mountains. Beyond the massive walls of the city itself, she could see dust clouds scurrying low on the horizon, rolling in across the desert sands. If the dust storm gathered strength, it would sweep into every household, insidiously creeping beneath the wooden doors and across the stone floors, ruining the crops in the stores.
Worse still, if it had grown strong enough in its birth in the far deserts, the dust storm would have awakened the dust devils, the demon shayatin who slumbered in the dirt of the barren lands. Under the power of unrest, be it a storm, a war, or spiritual fears, they could travel through the sands as far as the outer city walls, taking form through the sand to rise and claim a few souls at will, before returning to their lair deep in the sands.
Elishiba sighed heavily. In the scheme of things, this was far from her biggest problem, but she prayed to the gods it would not happen, not with so much else at stake. Troubled times were upon them. War was on the horizon, and she and her ailing father were doing all they could to avert it. She had braced herself, for she had to be a strong and fearless leader, if her people were to survive.
Cursing the storm rolling in across the skies, she urged her mount onward, throwing the loose material of her headdress over her shoulder and across her face. The horse, encouraged by its mistress, picked its footing carefully over the rocks. The route was familiar, and the small shepherd's hut that was her destination was soon within view. A steady glow of light seeped beneath the heavy, wooden door from within, warding off the dark skies and demons. It pleased her to see it, although she would not be able to visit for long.
"Hush, Fidda,” she murmured to the horse as she quickly dismounted and tethered him under the shelter at the rear of the cottage, out of the path of the storm, stroking his white and gray mottled coat affectionately. She rearranged the saddle cloth as she pulled a bundle from its binding across Fidda's hindquarters, adjusted its weight, and took it with her.
She knocked at the heavy wooden door, and then pushed it open. A clattering sound emerged from within the one-roomed shelter. Basim, the elderly shepherd who lived there with his wife, stood up from his place by the fire, his stool falling over as he did so. He stared at the robed figure in the doorway with wide, frightened eyes, his hands straightening his belted tunic and loose trousers as he did so.
Elishiba stepped inside and pushed back her headdress, revealing her identity, smiling broadly. Her long hair tumbled free of the headdress as it came to rest around her shoulders, and she shook it down her back as she moved.
The old man's lined face lit with untempered joy as she walked across the small space and embraced him with her free arm. “My Empress...” He held her for a moment, then called, “Fahima, it is Elishiba."
His wife emerged from the darkness of the store cupboard, a young goat kid clutched in one arm, her pale blue eyes straining to see.
"Is it really you?” She looked at her tall empress with curious eyes as she set the goat down.
Elishiba lifted the bundle of goods she had brought from Suzin down from her shoulder, offering it to them. “Yes, it is only me, come to see how you fare."
Basim shook his head, smiling warmly at her. “You should not be coming up here worrying about us, when the gods of the elements are as restless as this.” He gestured outside, but took the bundle into his arms gratefully. Fahima embraced her in greeting and guided her visitor toward a stool by the fireplace.
Elishiba shrugged off their concern. “The storms are the least of my worries, as I am sure you have heard."<
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The provinces surrounding Aleem, their precious homeland, were jockeying for alliances. It was time for commitment if they were to strengthen against outside enemies. She had taken action, made a tentative pact. The neighboring province of Karseedia—although a previous enemy on the battlefield—was the most obvious ally, and the coupling of Aleem to Karseedia had been agreed. If the plans for the alliance were realized, centuries of tradition would be sacrificed: Aleem, the smaller of the two countries—but the wealthier—had always been vulnerable to invasion from its formidable neighbor. And although an uneasy truce had lasted more than two decades, to “trust in Karseedia” still meant, colloquially, to expect betrayal and deceit.
Elishiba had agreed to marry Hanrah, the Emperor of Karseedia, to seal the pact, but in truth it was an opening for Elishiba, a chance to get close to Hanrah and negotiate. She didn't plan to allow her country to be swallowed by his or anyone else's.
It was a dangerous situation to walk into, but there was no other, easier solution, so she had pursued it, but with caution.
The couple exchanged worried, knowing glances. They knew of Elishiba's dilemma. News from the city of Suzin passed from person to person, and eventually reached even the most outlying inhabitants in the province of Aleem.
"I cannot visit with you for long today, for there is much to be arranged. But we have a while.” Elishiba smiled at them reassuringly.
"You will surely drink tea with us and wait for the storm to pass,” Fahima asked, “before you return to the city?"
"I will, gladly.” Elishiba took her seat by the fire, setting her sandaled feet on the small woven rug she had brought them several visits before, the one item of luxury they owned—and treasured. She had tried to give them more, but they were proud people. Everything else in the small home was simple, from the cooking implements to the mattress they slept upon.
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