Wizardoms- Eye of Obscurance

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  “Of course, my dear.” Montague gestured past her. “The washroom is through those doors.”

  Jerrell walked toward the room, trying not to rush. What remained of the hair on his arms stood on end as the candles in the room ahead of him lit up. Once in the washroom, he closed the door and moved to the counter, where a bowl waited beside a pitcher of clean water and a towel. From between the two grapefruit on his chest, he pulled out a vial and slid it into his left glove, uncapping it, the vial facing upward. The mirror in front of him reflected a woman who was far more nervous than she appeared. Montague’s ease with magic had reminded Jerrell of the risk involved. Any wizard was dangerous, but the man outside the door was a high wizard – one who had defeated and killed his predecessor.

  He took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and shifted to the door. When he opened it, he was caught unprepared for what waited for him.

  Montague had shed his robes and now stood completely naked, save for a gold bracelet secured around one ankle. The man was even thinner than Jerrell had suspected. Judging by the sight before him, Jerrell wondered what exactly had created the man’s ego, because he was not impressed.

  “My, you are quick,” Jerrell said.

  “Come, join me.” Montague gestured toward the bed. “I will prove I am far from quick.”

  Jerrell noticed a decanter filled with brandy and a pair of glasses on a table beside the wall. “Yes, of course.” He walked to the table. “But first, a drink.”

  Jerrell pulled the stopper from the decanter and poured two glasses. He dropped the stopper on the table and fumbled to pick it up with one gloved hand while the other hovered over one of the glasses and tipped up, allowing the liquid in the vial to pour into the brandy. Montague’s hands gripped Jerrell’s hips, and the man began kissing his neck. Jerrell capped the decanter and turned, handing him the tainted glass of brandy.

  “A toast,” Jerrell said in his sultry voice. “To High Wizard Montague. May you someday take over for Lord Malvorian.”

  Montague smiled. “I can drink to that.” He then slammed back the half-filled glass as if it were water.

  Jerrell took a sip and tried to back away, but the man was too aggressive. He pulled Jerrell close with one hand pressed against his lower back, the other groping Jerrell’s chest as his mouth went to his neck.

  The man stopped and pulled back, his face twisted in a frown. With both hands, he squeezed the fake breasts, and Jerrell knew it was trouble. Before he could react, weaves of magic wrapped about his wrists and ankles, lifting him off the floor. His dress suddenly tore open down the front, followed by his corset. The grapefruit fell to the floor, along with the clothing, leaving Jerrell in only his smallclothes, slippers, and white gloves.

  “I don’t suppose you find this funny?” Jerrell asked in his normal voice.

  “You!” Montague roared. “How dare you!”

  The man flung his hand open, and Jerrell slammed against the ten-foot-tall ceiling, smacking the back of his head and back. The wig fell to the floor. He blinked at the pain in his head and stars in his eyes, wheezing for air. Suspended, his vision cleared, and he noticed the wizard holding his own head.

  “What…” He wobbled and fell to one knee. “What did you do to me?”

  When the wizard fell face-first onto the floor, his magic faltered. Jerrell fell, unable to right himself. He landed on the man’s back, the impact driving the wind from Jerrell’s lungs. Gasping for air, he rolled off the naked man and held his stomach. As his breath returned, he crawled forward and lifted the man’s foot. He blinked at the bracelet, recalling it from memory.

  After stealing the bracelet from an ancient castle a year prior, Jerrell had sold it to Montague’s captain of the guard for ten gold coins. Within a few weeks, Montague had used the power of the bracelet to defeat his predecessor and claim rule of Lionne. By then, Jerrell had left the city, not returning until now, thanks to his latest contract. He was about to yield a second solid profit from the same bracelet in a short span of time.

  The irony drew a smile while Jerrell searched for the trigger. It took him a moment to locate it, and when the bracelet unclasped, he slid if off Montague’s ankle. On the inside, he spotted the scrawling silver of the enchantment.

  Bracelet in hand, Jerrell ran to Montague’s closet and found an unassuming dark blue robe. It was too long, so he hiked it up the best he could and used a yellow sash to tie it at the waist. He then went to the washroom and washed the makeup from his face, rubbing the remainder away with a towel.

  Once back in the bedroom, he stopped and considered what to do with the man lying face down on the rug. Inspired, he lifted Montague onto the bed and propped him up against the headboard. He then used strips of the ruined dress to tie the man’s wrists to the posters and another to gag him. The entire time, Montague remained unconscious from the sleeping drug Jerrell had slipped him.

  Once finished, Jerrell collected the two grapefruit and walked to the doors, peering out before walking into the hallway, pulling the doors closed. The third floor was empty, but he could hear the party continuing downstairs. He descended past the second story until he stood a few steps above the crowd.

  “The high wizard!” Jerrell shouted. “He has fallen ill. You must hurry!”

  Servants and a number of guests rushed up the stairs, pushing past him.

  Whistling, Jerrell walked through the crowd and out the door, juggling the two grapefruit, the enchanted bracelet hidden in his robes. From inside came cries of surprise followed by laughter. They have found the high wizard. A big grin split his face as he nodded to the confused carriage driver and climbed inside, knocking four times to signal their departure.

  With a snap of the reins, the carriage began the trek back to the city. Jerrell would be gone before morning, returning to Eleighton with his prize. Wizard Gurgan would reward him as agreed, and the legend of Jerrell Landish would grow even more impressive.

  “What a wonderful evening,” Jerrell said while staring out the window at the moonlit harbor.

  14

  Outriders

  The menagerie troupe set up camp in a mountain pass along the Ghealdan border. Although the camp was in a shallow valley between two saddles, the elevation and mountain breeze chilled the evening air.

  After dinner, Rhoa spotted Sareen exiting the wagon she shared with Juliam. The woman had a fistful of knives and headed away from the fire in the center of camp and toward the road. Rhoa followed. Night was upon them, but the sky was clear, the pale light from the round moon making it easy to navigate.

  Sareen stopped and turned toward Rhoa. “So, you are no longer avoiding me?”

  “Was it so obvious?”

  “After your reaction to my question on the first night of our journey? Yes.”

  “I do not wish to avoid you.” A pang of regret struck. She valued her relationship with Sareen and did not want to poison it. “I only wish to avoid the subject. Can we not just spend time together without the questions?”

  Sareen took a deep breath and nodded. “You are a woman now. I often forget and still see the precious nine-year-old who came to us all those years ago.”

  “I haven’t been that girl for a long time.”

  Sareen put her arm around Rhoa’s shoulders and held her close. “I know. You have grown into a fine young woman. Your parents would be proud.”

  Rhoa did not respond. She feared tears would follow if she delved any deeper.

  Sareen stepped away and held up her blades. “It has been a while since you last practiced with me. Would you care to throw?”

  A grin split Rhoa’s face. “Very much so.”

  When she smiled in return, the white of Sareen’s teeth was a beacon in the night. “Wonderful.” The woman led Rhoa toward a massive tree beside the road. “Stand with your back to the tree, and I will trace your outline.”

  The tree was wide enough for Rhoa to extend her arms out to each side without them extending past the trunk. Sareen produ
ced a chunk of chalk and began tracing around her, leaving a jagged trail of white on the thick bark. When finished, Sareen backed up a dozen paces as Rhoa followed.

  Sareen cocked a knife beside her ear, focused on the target, and threw. The first blade struck just outside the line marking Rhoa’s right armpit. The woman readied another knife and threw, the second blade mirroring the first, impaling the gap on the left. Her third blade struck the tree just below the outline’s crotch. The fourth buried itself beside one ear, the fifth beside the other. With only a second between each throw, the woman’s precision was impressive.

  Sareen relaxed and turned toward Rhoa. “Go fetch the knives, then you can take a turn.”

  Rhoa walked to the tree, gripped a bare-metal hilt, and wiggled it until the blade pulled free. She did the same for the others, collecting all five knives before returning to Sareen, who had moved closer, four paces now separating her from the tree.

  While Rhoa stared at the tree, Sareen whispered into her ear. “Relax your body with your right foot forward. Focus on the target until you only see the exact spot you wish the blade to strike. Once you are focused, release in one fluid motion. Do not hold back, and do not think.”

  Rhoa held the first knife by the hilt as she had been taught, gripping it as if it were a hammer, her arm cocked back, the blade over her right shoulder. She chose the triangle formed by the left armpit first, staring at it until she saw nothing else, and released. The blade struck the tree a few inches inside the chalk.

  “Good,” Sareen crooned. “Focus on the next target, but refine it further, tighter.”

  The other armpit became Rhoa’s focus. She released the blade, which lodged in the bark just outside the chalk.

  “Very nice,” Sareen said with pride. “Do it again on the next target.”

  Rhoa threw and the knife buried deep, right where the chalk person’s crotch would have been.

  “Hmm,” Sareen hummed. “If that were a man, he would have just lost a bit more than he might wish.”

  Rhoa laughed. “Sorry.”

  “Oh, don’t tell me. Tell him.” Sareen pointed at the tree. “He’s the one with the missing appendage.”

  Rhoa laughed harder, her amusement cutting off suddenly when shadows appeared on the road.

  Men emerged from around the bend, forming a wall across the road. More followed, the total count exceeding twenty. Among them was a short, stocky silhouette who appeared bound by rope. The distinctive ring of swords being drawn followed, some blades glinting as they reflected moonlight.

  “My, my,” a tall, broad-shouldered man said from the middle of the group. “What have we here? Two pretty lasses throwing knives?”

  Sareen pulled Rhoa beside her and faced the men. “You had better move along before things get out of hand.” Rather than showing fear, her tone was threatening. “I would hate for a misunderstanding to leave you and your men dead.”

  The man who had spoken laughed, the others chuckling. “As travelers, you must be unaware. This pass belongs to the Outriders.”

  “Who are the Outriders?”

  He took a step closer. “We are the Outriders.”

  Rhoa snorted. “If you are riders, where are your horses?”

  The comment caused a stir among the group.

  “Never mind our horses,” the leader growled. “You should fear us. We have killed others who have shown us disrespect.”

  “She meant no disrespect,” said Sareen. “We only wish to be left alone, whoever you are.”

  “They call me Harden. I lead the Outriders. We will leave you alone only after you pay your tithe.”

  Sareen glared at the man. “This is a public road, and you hold no claim over it.”

  Harden laughed again. “Oh, but you know little of the world. It is a difficult place, and one must find creative means to survive. In this case, we police this pass to ensure it remains safe for travelers. All we require is half your coin.”

  Sareen backed away, pulling Rhoa with her. Two men raised bows, arrows nocked.

  “Stop!” Harden demanded. “Take another step and my men will loose.”

  The two women stopped. Sareen glared at the leader, while Rhoa’s mind raced. She clenched her hands around the cool metal of the throwing knives. Shifting, she gently bumped her shoulder into Sareen’s, then pressed the hilts against the woman’s rear. Sareen, sensing what she intended, reached behind her to take the knives.

  “Come closer,” Harden said. “We won’t hurt you, as long as the others in your camp give us their gold and silver. Once paid, we will return half the coin and you will be released, unharmed.”

  Rhoa whispered, “I’ll distract them while you take out the two with bows, then we will run.”

  Before Sareen could respond, Rhoa burst into action.

  She darted away from the tree and leapt. Arrows flew at her as she twisted in the air, one flying beneath her, the next narrowly missing her torso as she completed her flip. Sareen threw her knives, the first blade striking one archer in the eye, the second burying deep in the other archer’s chest.

  Both women turned and ran.

  Harden’s shout arose from the road. “Get them!”

  “Alarm!” Sareen cried. “To arms!”

  “It’s an attack!” Rhoa shouted as she raced past the taller woman.

  Rhoa passed the outer wagons and reached the firelight as Stanlin emerged from the shadows, a loaded crossbow in each hand. The Bandego Brothers ran to the fire and began to light torches. Juliam burst from his wagon carrying a massive metal-banded cudgel. Sareen ran past Juliam and dove inside, while Rhoa rushed to her own wagon.

  Willem and Rhett jumped out, each holding a short bow and a handful of arrows. Rhoa climbed in and found Pippa inside, her eyes wide with fear.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Bandits,” Rhoa said, scooping her fulgur blades off a shelf. “Stay in here where it’s safe.” She then jumped out and slammed the door behind her.

  The first bandits ran into the firelight. Stanlin fired, his crossbow bolts striking one man in the shoulder, another in the stomach. Flaming torches flew through the air, striking the attackers and causing them to flinch away. Some caught fire, as did the dead grass on the ground. Willem and Rhett stood on top of their wagon and fired arrows at the enemy, while Rhoa crawled beneath it.

  More bandits emerged from another gap in the wagons. Juliam met them, swinging his cudgel, knocking the first man aside with a sickening crack of broken bones. His following swing clipped another man, breaking his arm and knocking his sword away. Four bandits backed away from the big man, but another had circled the wagon and thrust with his sword, slicing through Juliam’s side as Sareen reappeared from her wagon.

  “No!” she screamed, loosing a flurry of knives. Two blades struck the man who had blindsided Juliam, while two others sliced into the attackers in front of the man.

  By then, Stanlin had reloaded and fired two more bolts. Rhoa scanned the area from beneath the wagon and noticed two pairs of boots sneaking around it. She scrambled over and slashed out with her fulgur blades. In a spray of sparks, the tips tore through the boots, then the flesh and bone beneath. The men screamed and fell to the ground. A moment later, Rhett’s and Willem’s arrows struck the men, each causing a jerking reaction.

  Shouts and cries echoed through the camp as the remaining bandits ran off, disappearing into the night.

  The flames from the torches had spread from the grass to one of the supply wagons. Crew members hurried for shovels and began digging and tossing loads of earth onto the fire, dousing it in moments. Black smoke still swirled in the air as Rhoa climbed from beneath her wagon and surveyed her surroundings.

  Eleven bandits lay dead, and three more moaned from their wounds. Of the performers, only Juliam appeared injured. The gash in his side had soaked his shirt in blood. With Sareen’s help, he pulled it off and she began to clean his wound.

  Unfortunately, Greggor and Karl lay dead. The first was a
crew member, the latter the band’s drummer. Both men had been with the menagerie even longer than Rhoa.

  Someone stepped from between two wagons, startling her. She held her blades ready, then noticed the rope tied around the man’s torso, his hands secured behind his back.

  The man appeared young, not much older than Rhoa. More surprisingly, he stood no taller than she did, around five feet. Unlike Rhoa’s lean build, his shoulders were broad, his chest thick, and his physique stout. His left arm was bandaged, the cloth tied around it bloodstained. He wore an odd cap on a head that appeared bald. In fact, he didn’t even have eyebrows. Beyond all of this, his eyes were the most remarkable feature – the pupils oversized and irises purple. Rhoa was enthralled, having never seen anything like him before.

  “Who are you? Are you one of them?” she asked, transfixed on his eyes.

  “I… I am Rawkobon Kragmor, son of Bawkobon.” His purple eyes squinted, and he flinched away from the light of the fire. “Those men… They captured me one day past. I swear by Vandasal, I mean you no harm.”

  Rhoa gasped upon hearing the name. Vandasal. Unbidden, it sparked a memory she had buried for years.

  15

  Storyteller

  Twelve Years Ago

  Rhoa dodged the hollow wooden ball and laughed. It hit the ground, bounced, and rolled to Thom, who scooped it up and threw, hitting Honey in the back as she tried to turn away. Rickard, Honey’s teammate, grabbed the ball and threw at Rhoa, who made a successful dodge once again. Dodging was among the things she did best and was one of the reasons the older kids let her play.

  The ball rolled across the square until it hit the fountain. An old man dressed in brown robes with patches of various colors bent down from his sitting position on the fountain wall, picking up the ball. Rhoa froze and glanced at her friends. They gaped at the old man, as if he were a monster.

  She gathered her courage and walked toward the man. “That’s our ball. Can we have it back?”