Wizardoms- Eye of Obscurance

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Finally, Cordelia said, “I will support you, but not publicly.”

  “What?” Rindle blurted.

  “Quiet, Rindle!” Cordelia said, causing him to flinch at her heated tone. She leaned back, her voice quieting, the anger remaining. “Taladain made some changes last year, declaring war on the Thieves Guild. Anyone caught stealing, even a cutpurse, loses a hand. Brothels must register with the city and pay taxes for services rendered. Street performers are now required to register and purchase a license. Two of our three smuggling tunnels have been walled off. We’ve even run into Hounds roaming the sewers and lurking on rooftops.”

  By the end of her statement, Cordelia bit out each word as if it soured her tongue. Jace knew guild operations better than most, having worked as a thief for Cordelia. In fact, he had been drawn into the organization a year after Cordelia took the helm from her predecessor, The Uncommon Man.

  The new restrictions and fees Taladain had implemented were a direct attack on the Thieves Guild and represented a drastic shift from prior policies. In fact, Lord Taladain had previously allowed the guild to run itself as long as lines weren’t crossed.

  “Why did he enact these new restrictions?” Jace asked.

  A long sigh came from Cordelia before she replied. “We had an issue last year. One man went rogue on us and upset the balance.”

  “And?”

  “He murdered a wizard and his family. It was a sloppy job, intended to appear as an accident. Not only was the man seen starting the fire, but he had used naphtha as an accelerant, which made it obvious. Worse, the inferno burned down a neighboring mansion and killed two other wizards from a wealthy family with influential friends and relatives.”

  “I assume you had not approved this job?”

  “The man was only to kill the oldest son, who had assaulted another wizard’s daughter. It was meant to be a message without implicating anyone. Instead, it was a catastrophe. The result forced Taladain to take direct action. I handed over the man at fault, but burning him at the stake in public was only the beginning. Soon after, the tunnels were closed off, new laws were in effect, and we suddenly struggled to make ends meet.”

  Setting fire to a building to kill one person disgusted Jace. Completely unprofessional. A simple event, the act of one man, had brought a thriving enterprise to its knees. The guild had existed for hundreds of years, dating back to before Taladain claimed the throne. Even so, Jace knew Cordelia’s network ran throughout the city, her contacts existing in places one might not suspect. With her help, he might circumvent the obstacles that had him concerned.

  “You know I prefer to operate alone, but in this case, there are two areas you might be able to help,” Jace said. “First, I need a talented jeweler, one who can work fast and will remain discreet.”

  “Done.”

  Jace grinned. “Good. Do you also have a contact inside the citadel?”

  28

  Face Your Fears

  Rhoa sat back, her stomach full. Salvon sat across from her, using a cloth to wipe bits of egg from his beard. Breakfast had been quiet and peaceful with Rawk and Jace still sleeping, the latter having slipped into their room at The Thirsty Goat late the previous evening, according to Salvon. One other table in the dining room was occupied, the four men seated there sharing quiet conversation.

  Salvon gazed out the window, the upper floors of the building across the street bright with the light of the rising sun. “I have missed Fastella. Each of the great cities has its own personality, and this is among my favorites.”

  “I think I know what you mean.” Rhoa had visited a few other great cities in her travels, including Illustan and Marquithe. Her gaze followed his to the window as the cobbler across the street opened his front door and began to sweep the stoop. “I did love Fastella when I was younger. Now…”

  Salvon leaned across the table and took her hand, his eyes reflecting concern. “Why are you here, Rhoa? If it hurts you so, why come back?”

  “I told you before–”

  “You told me a lie.”

  She pressed her lips together in frustration. Lying to Salvon was something she abhorred. He deserved better, but she feared he might try to stop her. “I miss my parents, Salvon. They were taken from me for no good reason.”

  “They say it is an honor to be sacrificed. They say your parents are now with Gheald.”

  Rhoa jerked her hand from his. “They were Hassakani. Gheald was never their god!” she snapped, the words coming out with more heat than intended. With a sigh, she relinquished her anger. “Life in the troupe was pleasant, but the shadow of my past never left me. That shadow originated in Fastella, so I came back with the hope that if I face it, I might find peace.”

  “I see.” She saw pain in his eyes. “I thought saving you from joining your parents’ fate was a good thing, a heroic thing. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps this is why the sacrifice calls for the entire family, so nobody is left behind to suffer the loss.”

  A lump of shame caught in her throat. “No.” She leaned forward and retook the man’s wrinkled hand. “You mustn’t think that, Salvon. In saving my life, you risked your own. It was a gift, and I will never forget it.”

  The old man nodded and gave her a small smile.

  Footsteps on the stairs drew her attention to Jace and Rawk descending. Jace walked to the bar and spoke with Breida, while Rawk crossed the room and sat beside Rhoa, averting his face from the sunlight.

  “The light truly hurts your eyes?” Salvon asked.

  “Yes,” Rawk said.

  “I will speak with someone I know today. His shop is right down the street. He may have something that will help you.”

  “Very well,” Rawk said. “You two have already eaten, I see.”

  “Don’t worry,” Salvon said. “Breida will feed you, as well.”

  Jace walked over, a chunk of bread in his hand. He tore off a piece and popped it into his mouth.

  “Did you enjoy yourself last night?” Rhoa asked with a challenging tone.

  The thief grinned. “Not as you’d suspect, but it was rewarding.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I have a lead on a job for you, Rhoa,” said Jace.

  Her brow furrowed. “I’m not interested in a job.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I have a lead for a job at the palace.”

  His intention struck her. “Oh. That is interesting.”

  Jace turned to Salvon. “Sorry, but I need Rhoa to accompany me. We both have an interview, and we are tight on time.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course,” Salvon said before looking at Rhoa. “A position at the palace sounds like a wonderful opportunity. I hope they see in you what I do. If so, you will find yourself hired.”

  “Thank you, Salvon.”

  To Rhoa, Jace said, “I had Breida draw us each a bath…in separate rooms, of course. Washing in rivers helps, but it’s been weeks since I had a good soak. I suspected you would wish the same. We had best hurry. Our appointment is mid-morning today.”

  Mid-morning, Rhoa thought. She then recalled the sun’s location. It was the second day of the full eclipse. The sacrifice would occur soon. Her stomach began to churn.

  Jace pointed toward the blades strapped to her thighs. “You’ll need to leave those behind. They won’t allow you to enter if they see weapons.”

  Rawk hid in his room at the inn, watching the street below the window. He did not look through the window directly, for the light was too bright. Rather, he peered through the thin curtains.

  After Rhoa and Jace had departed, Salvon also left the inn, leaving Rawk alone. He had remained in the dining hall for a few minutes, then headed back to his room. People made him feel uncomfortable, different. One would think he would be used to it. His entire life, he had been treated as an outcast because of his defect. Beards were a source of pride for male dwarves. The thicker and longer the beard, the more proudly you displayed it. Not having a lick of hair on his body, Rawk was often shunned and ridi
culed. Still, it wasn’t his lack of hair that had led to his exile.

  And they wonder why I might covet gems. A stone has yet to mistreat me.

  When the street outside began to darken, he leaned forward and peered toward the sky. The sun was partially blocked by the moon. Time passed until the eclipse grew complete.

  A rush of energy from the heart of the city struck, like a giant gem singing to him. The sensation lasted for a number of minutes before receding. Rawk shook his head, clearing away the spell. Whatever had occurred was significant. The sky began to grow lighter as the sun continued toward its apex.

  The door opened and Salvon walked in.

  “There you are,” the old man said in his friendly tone. “I feared you might have found a cellar to hide in.”

  “A cellar?”

  “Yes. Underground storage. It works wonders for keeping produce so it doesn’t wilt or spoil.”

  Rawk found the idea appealing. “Where can I find one?”

  Salvon laughed. “Good joke.”

  Rawk nodded but had no idea what joke he had told.

  Digging into his pack, Salvon drew something from it and held it out. “Here. Try these on.”

  Accepting the item, Rawk stared at it with a furrowed brow. Metal rims held darkened, glass disks.

  “What is this?”

  “Those are spectacles.” Salvon gave him a wink. “Special ones, made just for you.”

  “Made…for me?” Rawk repeated the words, the first time he had ever said such a thing.

  “Yes. I am friends with a glassblower down the street. He owed me a favor and retrofitted a pair of spectacles with special lenses. He bent the frames, as well, which should help keep them tighter to your face.”

  Rawk opened the spectacles and slid them on, hooking them behind his ears. The bright room darkened. Curious, he pulled the curtain back and peered outside. The light no longer hurt his eyes.

  “These are wonderful,” he said in awe.

  Salvon clapped in glee. “Wonderful indeed! I am so glad they fit you.”

  “Thank you. Do you want gold now?”

  He frowned. “Gold?”

  “Isn’t that what men do? Pay gold for things?”

  The old man chuckled. “Yes, but there is no need to pay me. I was happy to help.” Salvon sat on the bed and gestured toward the window. “I see you are curious about the city.”

  Rawk shrugged, his voice quiet. “Afraid seems more appropriate.”

  “Ah yes,” Salvon said knowingly. “There are many thousands living in each of the great cities. So many people can be overwhelming when you aren’t used to them.”

  “I’m not used to people at all.”

  Salvon stared at Rawk, the look in his eyes one of deep understanding and lacking his normal mirth. “You fear people.” It wasn’t a question.

  Rawk shrugged again.

  “Fear is a funny thing. Most are illogical. Even so, those fears can govern you, beat you down, and force you to bend to their will.”

  Rawk remained silent, flinching when Salvon suddenly sprang to his feet and clapped his hands.

  “Come along.”

  “What?” Rawk asked. “Where?”

  “To face your fears.” Salvon took a few items from his bag and stepped to the door. “The only way to defeat fear is to fight back. You and I, my friend, are going for a walk.”

  29

  Power

  Narine stood in the antechamber, waiting. From beyond the closed doors, she heard people crowding into the temple. Twice a year, the building would fill until it was ready to burst. Today was one of those days. Today was the second day of a full Darkening.

  Her father was embroiled in a quiet conversation with Burrock and Eldalain. Klondon, Eldalian’s bodyguard, hovered behind him. With a heavy brow, a permanent grimace, and a nasty scar across his forehead, Klondon was frightening even before you noticed his impossibly thick build and the armor he wore.

  In another cluster, High Priest Faldom gave instructions to three clerics, including Delaunt, the high priest’s assistant. Faldom wore his gold ceremonial robes and the purple stole of his station. The clerics were dressed in white, Delaunt also wearing a purple sash.

  “I have always despised this ceremony,” Adyn whispered.

  Narine agreed but kept those thoughts to herself. “Hush. You don’t want Faldom hearing you say such things.”

  “I know. The man is uptight.”

  “Yes,” Narine agreed. “In his defense, he is a man of religion. His entire life centers on Gheald, and this ritual is the ultimate expression of his devotion.”

  Burrock left the room, taking his guards with him. Narine recalled rituals from the past – moments from long ago, yet affixed in her mind as if they had occurred yesterday. A household from somewhere in Ghealdor had been selected via the lottery. Everyone who lived there would have been arrested and thrown into the citadel dungeon to await the Darkening. Oftentimes, that included children.

  “Why, Father?” a much younger version of her had once asked. “Why must you sacrifice children, as well?”

  “It is simple, my dear,” he had replied. “Who would care for those children once their parents were gone? Why break a family apart when all might join Gheald in the Rapture? It is a gift, you see, both to Gheald and to those who are rewarded with the Immolation.”

  There was a certain logic to his explanation, but the cries for mercy and screams that followed haunted her…and had for years.

  The room darkened. She glanced up at the circular window in the ceiling of the antechamber. Half the sun was covered by the moon, nearing the full eclipse. Delaunt and Faldom parted, the old man shifting to stand before the massive double doors, while his assistant approached the gong beside them

  “It is time, my lord,” Faldom said to Narine’s father.

  Taladain began drawing upon his magic, his hands spinning about until a purple ball of fire appeared between them. Two clerics bowed to the man before they each held a torch against the magical fireball. The torches sparked to life, purple-tinted flames burning brightly. With the torches in hand, the clerics returned to stand with Faldom.

  Lifting the striker, a wooden shaft three feet long with a cork knob at one end, Delaunt stared at the man. With a nod from Faldom, Delaunt struck the gong, the thunderous peal ringing with fury. Two clerics pulled the temple doors open, while the two holding torches took a stance behind Faldom. Beyond the doorway was the long runway and a circular dais at the far end where eight empty stone altars waited. Surrounding those raised stone formations, a sea of people occupied the temple floor, well below the dais.

  The sight had Narine recalling her vision during the Trial at the University. Eldalain had tried to kill her. It wasn’t real, Narine. She knew it to be true, but it still felt unconvincing.

  The high priest waited for a beat, then began his procession out to greet the audience. The gong rang again, and the two torch-holding clerics followed the high priest out into the temple.

  While Faldom addressed the crowd, Burrock and his guards returned to the antechamber. Two of the guards carried a woman dressed only in her smallclothes. She was unconscious, bound, and gagged. Her skin was dirty and bruised, dried blood in more than one area. The woman was only a few years older than Narine.

  Another pair of guards entered, hauling a man who was also dressed only in his smallclothes. He appeared to have been beaten even more severely than the woman.

  A high-pitched cry drew Narine’s attention from the man. The next pair of guards entered the room, dragging a boy between them, his arms shackled behind his back, his eyes bulging with fright. He wore a torn, oversized tunic that reached his knees. His legs were bare, his knees skinned and bruised.

  Burrock and the guards paused as the clerics with torches returned. He then led the guards and the three prisoners toward the dais. The boy cried and squirmed, to no avail. The sight was heartbreaking.

  A hand touched Narine’s shoulder, causing
her to jump. She spun to meet her father’s gaze.

  “You must remain here during the ritual,” he said.

  “Yes. I recall that much.”

  “Are you well?” he asked. “You seem upset.”

  Narine did her best to mask her feelings. “It’s nothing,” she said as the guards finished binding the prisoners to the altars on the dais.

  “Good.” He gazed up at the window. “It is time.”

  From the temple, Narine heard Faldom’s announcement. “I now present to you the ruler of Ghealdor, Lord Taladain Killarius.”

  Faldom settled just beyond the open doorway. Burrock and the guards walked toward the dais and settled across from Faldom. The wizard lord entered next, greeted with applause from the eager crowd.

  Today was a rare day, occurring twice a year. Today, the people of Ghealdor would see their god.

  The guards, Burrock, Faldom, and his clerics remained just outside the doors, watching Taladain as he reached the far end of the dais. Both the antechamber and the temple darkened. Taladain raised his hands and called upon his magic.

  When Narine last attended a sacrifice ritual, she had been fifteen, and her ability with magic had just begun to manifest. Even then, she recalled the raw power emanating from the dais. Now, a trained master wizardess, the immensity of the power she sensed was overwhelming, the buzz from it filling her head and making her dizzy.

  Purple-hued fire began to swirl around her father and the surrounding altars while the crowd chanted. The power roared in Narine’s ears and made her heart race as the swirling fire became a tornado of flames, obscuring all else. Screams from the prisoners strapped to the altars arose above the roar. As the Devotion of those in attendance took place, the power increased, building to a crescendo.

  The tower of swirling flames receded to reveal Taladain no longer standing alone. The altars were bare, the bodies now gone. Behind Taladain was the towering presence of Gheald. Although Narine had witnessed the god’s appearance in the past, she had always wondered if it were a mere illusion. With her talent now much more developed, she realized her father no longer held his magic, yet an even larger magical presence loomed. The being standing on the dais was real. The realization left her in stunned disbelief.