Foundling Wizard (Book 1)

by James Eggebeen

  Lorit just sat there for a while. The mist cleared, and the haymow returned. He felt whatever had gripped him was gone and he was able to move. It was the middle of the night, from all he could tell, so he lay down and tried to get some sleep.

  Somewhere, a cock crowed insistently, heralding the dawn of the new day. Lorit woke feeling tired, sore, and disoriented. It took him a moment to remember where he was and why he wasn’t waking up in his own bed. He recalled the strangest dream, wondering what had caused it, until he rolled over something hard. It was the apple from his vision. Maybe it hadn’t been a dream after all.

  Lorit rummaged through his pack and pulled out a piece of the hard white cheese. He cut several slices. He tore off a chunk of bread his mother had packed for him. He ate them quickly. He was strangely hungry. He took a swig of water from his pouch to wash it all down and stretched.

  He moved quietly toward the opening that led below, and stopped.

  Someone was down below talking to the stable boy. Lorit froze in place listening carefully until he could hear the conversation. He quietly crawled closer so that he could make out what was being said.

  “Have you seen any strangers here this past evening?” the first voice asked.

  “No one, sir,” replied the second voice. It was Nenddar answering. “No one has come here since early last evening. I stabled the horses for two gentlemen who arrived just before dusk.”

  “No one was with you in the stable last night?” the first voice demanded. “Are you certain about that?”

  “Quite certain, sir,” Nenddar replied. “I was here all alone, just like most nights.”

  “I sensed something from this location last night just after dusk. It wasn’t you, was it?”

  “Me? I am the farthest thing there is from a wizard, kind sir,” Nenddar blurted. “I’m just a stable hand.”

  “If you see anyone who doesn’t belong around here you will come tell me, won’t you?” the voice insisted.

  “Of course, honored sir, as fast as my poor legs can run," he answered.

  “You know the penalty for hiding a wizard, don’t you, boy?

  “Of course, sir, I would never do anything like that. I’m a law abiding citizen, I am.”

  “I see that you are,” the priest said. “See that you stay that way.”

  Lorit lay quietly, listening for anything further, but heard nothing more. The only sound he could make out was the beating of his own heart.

  He waited patiently for what felt like ages, until finally, there came a hoarse whisper. “They’re gone. You can come down now.”

  “Are you sure?” Lorit asked. He wanted to be sure the boy hadn’t tipped off the priest.

  “Of course I’m sure. If I wanted to give you away, I would simply have told him where you were,” the boy replied.

  “Sounds reasonable.” Lorit descended the rough ladder to the ground floor.

  “Why didn’t you tell him that I was upstairs?” Lorit asked.

  “Don’t like priests,” Nenddar stated emphatically. “They’re not honest.”

  “It’s as simple as that?”

  “Yep. You better get out of town as quick as you can. They won’t stop looking until they find you.”

  “Nenddar, do you sleep in the stables?” Lorit asked.

  “Yes, I do,” Nenddar answered. He pointed to a small cot along the wall, not far from the loft opening. “Right over there.”

  “Did you hear anything last night? Any voices coming from upstairs?” Lorit studied the boy’s face intently, looking for any sign of deception.

  “Nothing, sir. What did you hear?”

  “Maybe it was nothing, then,” Lorit said. He waved his hand in the air to dismiss it. “How do I find my way out of town?”

  “That all depends on where you’re heading,” Nenddar replied. He shrugged his shoulders.

  Just then, a fat middle aged man appeared in the doorway. “Nenddar!” he shouted. “Get these horses watered and ready, the guests are going to want to leave soon.”

  When Nenddar didn’t answer immediately, he called out again. “Nenddar! Where are you, you lazy sod?”

  “Here, sir,” Nenddar called out. He looked back towards Lorit and whispered, “Go ask Shandyl, she knows everything.”

  “Thanks. I won’t forget your kindness.” Lorit reached into his purse, pulled out a few coppers, and tossed them on the cot where Nenddar indicated he slept. He couldn’t fully repay the boy for his hospitality, but this would help a little.

  Lorit made his way back to the market square where he’d met Shandyl the night before. The old woman was setting up her cart when he arrived.

  “Well, good morning to you, young man,” she said as she noticed Lorit approaching. “I trust you found my recommendation to your liking?”

  “Yes, I did,” Lorit replied. “It was quite suitable.”

  “Good. And my nephew? Did he treat you well?” she smiled a sly smile as she asked.

  “Yes, he treated me extremely well,” Lorit answered. “He was very helpful. He also told me that I should get out of town as quickly as I can.”

  “So it’s you that the priest is looking for, then. I thought it might be something like that.” She examined Lorit closely. “Farm boys like you don’t just up and decide to go a roaming,” she added. “It’s usually something that drives them from their homes and families. Where you headed then?”

  “I think I need to get to Amedon,” he answered.

  “You know where that is, farm boy?”

  “All the way across Southorn and half way across Gritton?” he offered hesitantly.

  “Good!” the old woman exclaimed. “It looks like your Ma didn’t leave you completely ignorant.”

  “The priest!” the man in the stall next to Shandyl called.

  “You better high tail it out of here, farm boy. The priest is headed this way. He’s probably after YOU!”

  “Thanks,” Lorit called as he headed down the street in the opposite direction than the man had pointed.

  He ducked into a narrow alleyway between two of the buildings that lined the market street. It was a tight fit. Lorit had to climb over a refuse pile as he fled. He scrambled over a stack of splintered wood that used to be a produce crate. The wood was weathered and gray and cracked beneath his feet as he climbed.

  “I thought I saw him run in there,” someone shouted.

  A patroller stood at the entryway to the alley where Lorit was hiding. “I don’t see anything down here,” he called.

  “I am certain that’s where he went,” came the reply.

  The patroller started down the alley where he lay hidden; Lorit could hear the wood cracking beneath the feet of the man as the approached.

  Just as the man got near, Lorit jumped up and ran off down the alley. Before the startled patroller could catch up to him, Lorit was out of the other end and headed down the next street over. It was similar to the market street, but this one had no carts, just storefronts and pedestrian traffic.

  Lorit dodged a few pedestrians as he ran, almost knocking over an old woman with a cane as she struggled with a canvas bag overflowing with bread.

  “Watch where you’re going, young man,” the old woman scolded.

  “Sorry,” Lorit called behind him, but he didn’t slow down until he was able to jump back into another alley. This one would take him back to the market street. Part ways down the alley Lorit stopped to listen. He could hear the patroller questioning the pedestrians he’d just scrambled through.

  He continued on to the market street, peering around the corner, keeping in the shadows, to see what was happening.

  There was an old man with a shaved head, wearing long black robes. They were trimmed in light blue. That marked him as a mid level priest in the temple of Ran.

  The priest was questioning Shandyl.

  “Did you see a young man run through here just a while ago?” he demanded.

  “I saw lots of young men run through here a wh
ile ago. This is a market, it’s full of all types,” she replied. “What type did you have in mind, specifically?”

  “I’m not sure,” answered the priest. “I didn’t get a good look at him. Did you see anyone run through here?” he asked again.

  “Nothing special. What did the miscreant do, that you’re hunting him so?”

  “He is an unregistered wizard. I sensed him last night. You know the penalty for harboring an unregistered wizard. You must cooperate.”

  “Nope, no wizard, registered or unregistered, except you,” Shandyl replied. “You’re the only wizard I ever see around here, you know that. If I do see this other wizard, I’ll be sure to tell you.”

  The priest turned back towards the alley where Lorit hid. “I can sense you,” he called out. “No use in hiding. I will find you. You know it will happen. You might just as well come along now.”

  Lorit pressed himself deeper into the shadows as the priest limped along. He favored his right leg as if something were wrong with it. Lorit kept to the shadows until he was sure the priest was gone, then he stepped quietly back into the market street.

  A whistle blared and the priest turned and looked directly at Lorit. “There he is,” he called out.

  Lorit started down the market street at a run. At the sound of the whistle, several young men scattered in different directions. Lorit hoped that they would provide enough distraction to let him escape.

  He careened off carts and overturned displays as he fled. He hoped that the priest was unable to follow him and that there weren’t enough patrollers to catch him as he ran.

  Suddenly, a dozen patrollers appeared, one in every alleyway, and three abreast in the middle of the street. It looked hopeless for Lorit and the rest of the young men fleeing from the priest.

  Zhimosom

  The wizard sat in the ancient oak chair festooned with carvings of cryptic symbols and leaned over to touch a flame to the candle embedded in the skull sitting atop the stack of books piled nearby. He flicked the flame from his finger to the candle, sat back, and folded his hands over his chest. He closed his eyes and relaxed, waiting for the quorum to appear.

  Slowly, five pillars of mist formed in the room, arranged in a circle, with the wizard completing the circle. They grew darker and denser, settling into the appearance of heavily decorated thrones similar to Zhimosom’s own. Each was occupied by the form of an ancient wizard. Although each wizard bore a resemblance to Zhimosom, with their white hair and flowing beards, each wore their own distinctly adorned robe. Each chair was carved with different symbols and patterns.

  The single female of the group, of course, wore no beard. Otherwise, she conformed to the appearance of the men in the circle.

  “Thank you all for making time in your busy schedules for this meeting, especially at such a late hour,” Zhimosom addressed the group as the mist solidified and each wizard became sharp and distinct.

  “You have already been briefed on the situation that has arisen in Nyhagid,” he continued, waving his hand toward the pile of maps on the shelf behind him. “The priests have captured a young man. They are holding him for indoctrination. Since it is already late in the day, they will not start the interrogation and training until tomorrow morning. This provides us with an opportunity to intervene.”

  “How are we to intervene?” Rotiaqua asked. “We have no one close enough to make it to the temple in time.” She shifted in her amber-colored robes and lifted her staff, gesturing towards Zhimosom’s maps as if for emphasis.

  “We were fortunate to have located a second young man in the very same city. He was able to escape when the priests closed in on the pair of them in the market square,” Zhimosom explained. “This other young man has just discovered his abilities, but I was able to teach him to shield his magic with only one lesson.

  “He is very promising. We can coach him in how to affect the release of the other and win us two new apprentices in one stroke.” Zhimosom held his hands palms up before him in supplication.

  “If he has potential, as you say, why are you willing to sacrifice him in the attempt?” Rotiaqua demanded. “Wouldn’t it be better to secure one apprentice rather than risk turning two over to the Temple?”

  Zhimosom leaned over, picking at the skull that held the candle. He used one long fingernail to scratch at the wax and guide the liquid flow, which obligingly dripped down and across the vacant eye socket.

  “There are risks, I agree,” he said, straightening to address the Sorceress. “I believe we can teach the young man how to mask himself and extract the prisoner. He learned quickly. I believe the best opportunity is to strike during the Morning Prayer.”

  Zhimosom looked briefly at each of the wizards in turn. Most of them seemed content to wait for his debate with Rotiaqua to conclude, before commenting on the proceedings. When no one commented, he continued.

  “I can teach him to shield himself and the other boy. They can simply walk out during the Morning Prayer. There will be no priest on watch then. They should be able to get away with it.” He absently picked at the wax once again, waiting for a reaction.

  “How can you be so sure?” Rotiaqua asked again.

  “I cannot be certain of anything, but I am convinced that this plan will work. We can use the young man I discovered to assist the other,” he replied confidently. “I am convinced it is worth the risk.”

  “Are you personally going to train this young man?” she asked.

  “I will,” he replied. “I will take full responsibility for both the execution of the plan and the training of the young Wizard. I have already had contact with him. He should be comfortable with my image.”

  Rotiaqua looked at each of the wizards in turn. “Are we all of one mind in this, then?” she asked.

  “Maomran?” she prompted.

  “I am in favor. We could use some new talent,” he answered.

  “Awbelser?” she continued.

  “I agree with the group, I think there are equal merits and demerits,” he replied, “but if Master Zhimosom is willing to take this on, then who am I to disagree?”

  “Neussul?” she inquired.

  The wizard in question simply nodded his head in assent.

  “Koaleing?” she pointed her staff as she addressed the youngest wizard of the group.

  “Of course. I would not think of dissenting,” he replied.

  “We are of one mind then,” she summarized. “Master Zhimosom, you may proceed with your plan as you have outlined it. Please let us know as soon as you have an outcome, be it positive or negative.”

  “Thank you all for your time and attention,” Zhimosom responded to the group. Almost before he had finished speaking, four of the five visitors turned to mist and dissipated out of existence. The lone figure remaining was that of the Sorceress.

  “That went better than I thought,” she remarked, slumping in her chair. She threw her staff into the air and caught it again. “I thought they might give you some kind of a fight on this one.”

  “Not with you making all the counter arguments. They hardly had anything to say,” he replied. “Thanks for taking on the part of the foil.”

  “You know how much I love giving you grief,” she smirked, tossing her staff in the air and deftly snatching it again. “I really enjoy it.”

  She sat forward in her chair with an eager look on her face. “Is he really strong enough to pull this off?” she asked.

  “I think he is. He started yesterday, conjuring an apple, out in the fields. Last evening, he did it again and also made himself a nice loaf of bread. All three were near perfect specimens.”

  “Did you tell him what happens when you conjure food?” she laughed. “Or are you going to let him figure it out on his own?”

  “Some lessons are best learned on one’s own. He has enough to worry about. Besides, he has a full pack with him. It’s not like he’s going to starve to death any time soon.”

  “Not unless he tries to feed himself the easy
way,” she chided him. “Tell him before he gets on the road, at least; we want to give him a fighting chance of getting here alive.”

  “Sometimes you take all the fun out of things,” Zhimosom said. “I do love training a new wizard, though. They can’t even imagine just how much they don’t know.”

  “Not that you weren’t just as bad when you were first training,” she remarked.

  “So do you have a map of the temple there in… What was the name of that place?” Rotiaqua got out of her chair and walked over to Zhimosom’s bookcase, looking for the tome that contained the maps of the temples. She found it underneath several other books, coated with dust.

  She blew on the book and was immediately engulfed in a cloud of fine, dry dust. It was so thick, it choked her, and she sneezed. “You have to get a maid,” she remarked. “What happened to the last one you used to have? Is she still around?”

  “I scared her off a while back. She still comes to clean and cook; she just won’t come in here any longer,” Zhimosom explained.

  “What happened? She catch you performing a ritual in your all-together?”

  “Don’t even ask,” Zhimosom said with a laugh. “You don’t want to know.”

  He grabbed a small stack of books from the middle of the table and stood looking around for a moment before placing the stack on top of an already tottering pile. He steadied it with his hand until it stopped swaying.

  Rotiaqua plopped the weighty tome onto the newly cleared spot and started thumbing through it. “Nyhagid, Javier, Mistbury.” She opened it, cracking the spine and pointing to the crude drawing of the temple.

  “Here it is,” she said.

  Zhimosom bent over the map, peering intently at the drawing. “Here is where they’re holding the boy,” he pointed to one of the inner rooms. “It’s a dorm room with a simple lock; no dungeon there. They’re a small temple, and there is only one priest there. The rest are laymen and servants.”

  “A one-priest town. That should make things a lot simpler,” Rotiaqua remarked.

  “Where is your new boy?” she asked.