Foundling Wizard (Book 1)

by James Eggebeen

  “Please help,” she repeated, tugging at his arm.

  She led them into the alley next to the tavern, where the evening sun cast shadows. The buildings were tall, and the shadows were so deep that it was hard to make out what was before them. The girl suddenly stopped and released his arm. Lorit blinked, trying to adjust to the dark.

  “Let’s have your packs,” demanded a young man standing in front of Lorit.

  “Are you bothering this girl?” Lorit asked. The young man was about his height. He looked a few years older than Lorit, and was dressed in dirty tattered leather.

  “Bothering her? Of course not. She brings me chickens for plucking.” He pulled a club from behind his back and slowly slapped the knobby head in his free hand. He looked straight at Lorit and repeated his demand pointing to the ground before him. “Your pack! Just drop it there and you don’t have to get hurt.”

  Lorit stepped slightly to the side and turned to look behind him for Chedel and an escape route. There were three more toughs blocking the alleyway behind them, cutting off their retreat.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” Lorit said, turning to face the tough again. “We’re just passing through, and we need our packs.”

  “I don’t care about you. You’re going to give up your packs and any money you have on you. It’s your choice to do it now, before I beat you, or afterward.” He tapped the club in his empty hand again as he spoke.

  “Me?” he asked. “I could use a good beating. It’s been a while since anyone was foolish enough to resist.”

  Lorit relaxed and focused, he imagined a fence strong and tall made of solid oak surrounding himself and Chedel. He closed his eyes and imagined the strength of it, admiring the thickness of the oak planks that made up the fencing and the sturdy poles that supported the planks. He slowly opened his eyes to see the tough lunge at him with the club raised.

  The boy slammed into something invisible. He came up short, as if he’d hit a wall. As the tough impacted the imaginary boundary, Lorit felt a sharp tug all over his body. The wizard had warned him about the energy he used to conjure things. This could only be more of the same.

  The tough raised his club and swung it hard, impacting Lorit’s shield again. The tug at his body was more distinct this time, almost painful in its intensity.

  “What the hell? What are you doing?”

  “I’m not doing anything,” Lorit replied. “It’s you who’s acting foolish.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on here, but it won’t stop you from the beating of your life!” the tough declared. “Come on boys, he can’t hold out against all of us at once.”

  The rest of the crew proceeded forward, swinging their clubs. Each blow contacted Lorit’s shields with a jarring impact, but stopped short of any physical harm to the boys. Lorit could feel himself weakening. Soon enough, his shields would collapse, and he would be at the mercy of the toughs and their clubs. He sunk to his knees and pulled the shield in as close to the two of them as he could. He prepared for the worst.

  “Hold on there, boys,” came the voice of an older woman. “What do you think you are doing?”

  An old woman appeared out of nowhere. She stood straight and tall, holding a staff in one hand. Her other hand rested on one hip. Her long white hair cascaded down over her amber robes. She favored the tough with the same look that Lorit’s mother reserved for him when he’d been especially foolish.

  “Do you want some of this?” the tough called to her. “Unless you do, just back off, Grandma.” He turned back to Lorit and resumed his attack.

  “Grandma? You wish I were your Grandma, because then I might have mercy on your stinking hide.”

  She raised her hands and made a flicking motion. The toughs were thrown against the wall as if they were rag dolls tossed out in a fit of rage by a small child. They were dazed, but soon recovered and ran from the alley, almost tripping over Lorit and Chedel as they fled.

  “Come on, boys. You’re obviously my new charges,” she said as the toughs ran off.

  She extended her hand to Lorit. “You must be Lorit.” It was a statement of fact, not an implied question. Whoever this was, she obviously knew more about them than she could have learned in the few seconds she'd been observing them.

  Lorit took the proffered hand. It was old and wrinkled, yet strong and firm. He looked into the face of his rescuer. Her hair was gray and long, she wore the robes of a wizard, and she had a knowing smile on her face.

  “Thanks for the help,” Lorit said. “I could feel my shields weakening and didn’t know what to try next.”

  “Not bad for your first battle,” she said. She paused a moment, then corrected herself. “Sorry, this may be your second. Third, if you count the temple in Mistbury Tye.

  “Rotiaqua,” the woman said, as if that explained everything. When Lorit remained staring at her in silence, she continued. “Zhimosom sent me to meet you.”

  “You’re a wizard?” Lorit asked.

  “Not a wizard,” she said, “a Sorceress.”

  She looked him over, slowly working her eyes from head to foot and back up again. “I assume you know the difference?”

  “Yes ma’am, I do,” Lorit replied sheepishly.

  “Good. Let’s get you into the tavern. We can continue this over dinner.”

  They found a table out of the way, toward the rear of the inn. It was dark in the dining room, with only the light of the fire in the stone fireplace that backed up to the kitchen. The rear of the fireplace was open to the kitchen. Several pots hung from the irons over the flames.

  A serving girl came by after a bit to take their order. She was young and attractive and smiled at Lorit. “What can I get you, gentlemen, and lady?” she asked.

  “Ale,” Rotiaqua replied, “and two watered ales for my young friends.”

  Before Lorit could protest, the girl was gone. “You need a clear head,” she told him.

  “What’s in store for us now?” Lorit asked. He rummaged through his pack and pulled out one of the silvers his mother had handed him the day he left home.

  “We're going to enjoy our dinner, and then I'll explain everything,” she said.

  “What did you do to those toughs back there?”

  “Nothing that you won’t be able to do with a little practice,” she replied. The mischievous smile Lorit had noticed earlier was back.

  “Will you teach me?”

  “Maybe later, if we have time,” she replied.

  The serving girl came back with three mugs and set them in front of Lorit. “Care for something to eat?” she asked. She winked at Lorit and swayed slightly as she waited for his order.

  “What do you recommend?” Lorit asked.

  “The lamb stew is particularly fresh and delicious today. I’d have that, and the brown bread. It just came out of the oven,” she answered.

  “I’ll have that,” Lorit replied.

  “And you?” the girl turned to look at Chedel.

  “Just bread,” he answered dejectedly, “I have no silvers.”

  “He will have the stew, too,” Lorit interjected. “I’m paying for this one.”

  “I’ll have the lamb stew also,” Rotiaqua told the girl. “Neither of you will be paying tonight. This is on me. You both still have a long way to travel. Conserve your funds.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a gold piece, and laid it on the table.

  “I’m sorry ma’am, but we can’t change that,” the girl said looking longingly at the coin.

  Rotiaqua held her hand over the gold coin and paused. When she removed it, there was a small pile of silvers there. She picked up several of them, leaving three behind. “Is that better?” she asked the girl.

  “Yes ma’am,” the girl said. She swept the coins from the table and into her pouch and hurried off towards the kitchen.

  “I thought metals were near impossible,” Lorit remarked.

  “They are if you have to draw on your own energy, dearie. That pot of water boiling
away on the fire there is going to take a little longer to heat than they expected.

  “Chedel,” she said, looking at the younger boy. “You are coming with me. I have to travel to Amedon, so I’ll escort you. You need my protection until you have enough training to protect yourself.

  “Lorit, you are headed North, I believe?” she continued.

  “Yes I am. Zhimosom needs me to make a ‘slight detour’” he said, emphasizing the non-standard use of the words.

  “Lorit, I want you to reach out with your senses and get a feel for your surroundings,” she said. “Do it now, your food will take a while, and this will go quickly.”

  Lorit relaxed and let his senses quiet down. He could feel the cold wood of the bench he sat on. The hard stone flooring was uneven beneath his feet. He could feel the warmth of the fire on his face and the cold of the shadows on his back.

  He calmed himself even more and extended his perception to take in the fireplace. He could feel the logs burning and the flames licking at the pots hanging from the irons.

  He felt the cold of the stones that formed the chimney and the warmth of the smoke, rising through it. He felt the air outside the inn cooling rapidly in the night air. He could almost make out what was in each of the pots hanging from the irons in the fire.

  “Very good,” came the voice of Rotiaqua. “You really have a feel for this.” She placed her hand over his as he sat motionless, concentrating on the individual pots in the fire.

  “Feel the energy in the fire and the pots. Feel the heat created by the flames. Feel the boiling of the stew and the hot water the cooks will use to wash up.”

  Lorit could feel the energy in the fire, and in the pots of hot liquid engulfed in the flames. He felt it as a light radiating from these objects in his imagination, a purple haze that surrounded them.

  “Now channel just a little of that into yourself as you conjure up a copper,” she instructed. “And don’t forget to shield yourself before you do.”

  Lorit imagined the purple haze flowing into his body as he constructed the imagined shield surrounding them all. He visualized the copper sitting on the table before him. Suddenly, there was a whooshing sound, like a great rush of air, and the temperature in the inn dropped markedly. Lorit opened his eyes to a darkened inn. The fire in the fireplace had gone out completely while his eyes were shut.

  The fire suddenly burst back to life, but the room remained chilled until the flames had a chance to do their work.

  “That was a little too much,” Rotiaqua said patting the back of Lorit’s hand. “A little over the top, I think.”

  “Was that me?” Lorit asked.

  “It sure wasn’t me, sweetie. You need to work on control.” She held up her hand with her fingers about a digit apart. “Just a little bit.”

  Their food arrived, and the three of them settled in for the repast. The lamb stew was delicious, as promised, and with the brown bread to soak up the gravy, Lorit was pleasantly filled in no time.

  The door to the inn opened, and a figure stepped inside. He pulled the black hood of his cloak from his shaved head and motioned for the serving girl. “Did you see two strange boys come in here tonight?” he asked her. “Strangers. Someone you’ve never seen before.”

  “Sorry kind sir,” she answered. “Could you tell me more, I have seen no strange boys tonight, just a few families and the widow with her sons,” she nodded towards Lorit and Rotiaqua.

  Lorit’s heart raced. He looked around for an escape route, when he felt the soft touch of Rotiaqua on the back of his hand. “I have this covered,” she said softly. “Don’t rush into anything you can’t get yourself out of just yet.”

  The priest stepped over to their table. As he cleared the doorway, two patrollers stepped inside the inn and closed the door. One of them stood in front of it, blocking anyone from leaving the inn.

  “Good evening, ma’am,” the priest addressed Rotiaqua. “Have you seen any strangers in town tonight?” He gestured towards the front door. “We're looking for two troubled young men who have made quite a stir in Mistbury Tye. We believe they were headed this way.”

  “Sorry, sir,” Rotiaqua answered. “I have seen no one that I do not recognize tonight.”

  The priest stood there, looking her over carefully. Rotiaqua stared boldly back into his face without moving a muscle until finally the priest dropped his eyes and backed away from the table. “Sorry to have bothered you, ma’am,” he said as he turned to leave.

  He took a seat near the front door and motioned to the patroller, who moved away from the door, to allow the patrons to enter and depart. “Let’s wait here,” he said. “They have to come this way eventually.”

  “What are we going to do now?” Chedel asked.

  “Just wait,” Rotiaqua responded. “I’m just an old widow with her two sons, as far as he can tell. He’s trying to penetrate the illusion even now.” She smirked again and continued. “It won’t work. He can’t tell who we are, and it’s bothering him no end.”

  “What do you mean?” Lorit asked. “Can he sense something?”

  “He can,” Rotiaqua explained. “He knows someone is carrying shields here, but he can’t tell who it is or what types of shields are being employed.”

  “Isn’t that just as dangerous?”

  “Not as dangerous, but we have to take care. Once we leave, he will know it was us,” she explained. “He may still come after us.”

  Rotiaqua stood and brushed her robe carefully. She motioned to the boys to follow her. Lorit stood and glanced back at Chedel. He pulled the boy into line behind Rotiaqua and quietly followed him towards the door.

  As Rotiaqua drew near the priest, she turned to face him. “Blessings to you, kind sir,” she said. “May you find the peace and enlightenment for which you search.” She made a gesture in front of her face before turning for the door.

  “On your way, woman,” the priest called to her back. “Keep your blessings, I don’t need them.”

  Rotiaqua pulled the door open and stepped into the chill night air. Chedel and then Lorit followed her lead. As Lorit pulled the door shut behind him, Rotiaqua whispered to him. “Quickly, follow me, he will know it was us.”

  She ducked down the alley where they’d encountered the toughs earlier that day. She darted around piles of broken crates and debris with a nimbleness that did not match her advanced age.

  Soon they came to the edge of the village. The road led back into the forest to the north and forked to the east. “Here’s where we part company,” she said to Lorit. “You take the north fork, we take the east.”

  “Will I see you again?” he asked.

  “That, you may, young man,” she replied. She tossed her staff in the air and deftly caught it. She held it out to him. “This is for you,” she said, shaking it slightly. “Please take good care of it.”

  “What is it?”

  “You walking stick. Of course. It will help you navigate around obstacles and cross rough ground.”

  He examined the staff. It looked as if a gnarled piece of wood had grown over a large oddly cut gem and rejoined itself on the other side. It was polished more from wear than any treatment it might have been given. It was heavy and solid in his hands and slightly warm to the touch.

  “I thought this was a wizard’s staff?” he asked.

  “That it is,” she replied with a smile. “Zhimosom wanted me to convey it to you with his compliments. He will be contacting you off and on. He will show you how to use it.

  “You have already mastered some fine skills,” she continued. “Practice what I showed you and you will soon be able to work some very impressive magic, young man.”

  Lorit took the staff and tucked it under his arm. He extended his hand in farewell. “Thank you,” he said. He looked at Chedel then back to Rotiaqua. “Take good care of him.”

  “I will.” She waved in farewell before turning down the path.

  Javier Chase

  Zhimosom sat back in his
chair and reached out to touch the flame to the candle embedded in the skull sitting atop the stack of books piled nearby. He waited impatiently as the five pillars of mist solidified to reveal the likeness of the high council.

  He folded his hands in front of him on the table as he spoke. “The task is done. Lorit was able to retrieve young Chedel from the temple. He has delivered the boy to Rotiaqua who will accompany him here.”

  Zhimosom opened a large ledger in front of him before he continued. “Their way was not without incident; however, he was able to overcome the challenges. The Sorceress and her charge are now on their way here.”

  He fingered the thin, spindly script in the ledger. “He learned how to shield his conjuration in one brief sitting the first night I was in contact.” His finger moved down the page. “He was able to shield his visage on the second night.”

  Maomran raised his hand holding up his staff. “He learned these techniques in only two nights? I understand he’s slightly older than most young men, but not so much older as to be at that level yet.”

  “Quite correct,” Zhimosom commented. “Let me continue, if I might.”

  Maomran lowered his staff and nodded.

  “He created a physical diversion when the boys encountered a priest and several patrollers lying in wait for them at the ford,” Zhimosom continued.

  “When the priest attacked them by boiling the water in their path, he created a shield of ice and snow to cool the waters and thereby escaped with minimal harm,” Zhimosom explained.

  “He countered a priest in only three days since his awakening?” Awbelser blurted, without waiting to be acknowledged.

  “True. He did it quite neatly, under immense pressure, without faltering.

  “Lastly,” Zhimosom continued. “Well, let me hand this over to Rotiaqua. She witnessed the incident directly.”

  The Sorceress sat with her back against an old oak tree in the forest. It was evident that she was not in her customary abode, but on the road with the boy, as Zhimosom had indicated.