Foundling Wizard (Book 1)

by James Eggebeen

  “Where’s my son?” Ryvor asked.

  “Let’s get out of their sight,” Lorit said. He indicated the street that led to the Prancing Pony. “Not here,” he added, pushing the man aside and heading down the street.

  They found a quiet spot near the stables behind the inn. Lorit stopped and turned to Ryvor. He looked at the man that Ardser favored with his appearance. The overwhelming sense of failure and loss that he’d contained in the temple once again rose up and overcame him.

  He fell to his knees screaming in frustration. “He’s dead,” Lorit sobbed. “He was already dead when I got to him. They killed him. He didn’t do anything to them, and they killed him.”

  Ryvor crumpled to the ground, sobbing. “My son! Why did you kill my son?” He demanded shaking his fist at the Temple.

  “Come on, let's get you home,” Lorit said as he reached down to help Ryvor up.

  Road To Trickby

  Sulrad called for his guards as he prepared for the meeting.

  “Stand by for my signal,” he said. “He’ll be here momentarily.” He leaned back in his chair and waited.

  The mist formed in front of the dais upon which Sulrad sat. He waited until it had coalesced into the form of Father Taiez before he signaled the guards.

  “Seize him,” Sulrad shouted. “Don’t let him return. Bind his magic,” he ordered.

  The guards flanked the startled priest. They quickly bound his hands behind his back and collared him with a collar woven of particular enchanted silver.

  “What is the meaning of this,” Taiez demanded. “Why am I being treated this way?”

  “Do you have any idea who just walked out of your temple right under your nose?” Sulrad demanded.

  “No,” Taiez replied. “Who just walked out of my temple?”

  Sulrad was tempted to burn him to a crisp, where he stood, for his insolence, but managed to control his temper. He might still get some use out of the old priest. He had so few that he could depend on. At least Taiez was merely negligent and not incompetent.

  “We’ve located a pair of wizards,” he said. “A wizard and sorceress, to be exact. We believe them to be brother and sister.”

  Taiez stood there looking at him without saying a word. Maybe the old priest was worth keeping around.

  “The boy was in your temple last night. He’s still in Bebrook.”

  “I took the magic from a boy last night, surely that was not him. He was barely worth the effort,” Taiez said.

  “The boy that I am referring to came to your temple to rescue the one you took yesterday. He left empty handed, but he left. He probably walked right out under your nose.”

  “Surely not, “Taiez said. His voice was shaking slightly, but he stood his ground.

  “Most certainly so,” Sulrad thundered. He waited for a reaction. The old priest shook slightly, as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Sulrad waited until he felt Taiez was going to collapse in fright.

  “You can still redeem yourself,” he said. “I have a task for you. It will take a significant investment of your personal power, but it will allow you to prove your loyalty and recover this regrettable situation.”

  Taiez remained motionless, sweat running down his face. “What must I do?” he asked.

  “We are preparing a web for the boy. You will abduct him using stealth and bind him in the web. Place him in the crypt of Azerath in Trickby.”

  “Azerath?” Taiez asked. “How will we open the crypt to place him inside?”

  “I have spells that will open the crypt for you. You need only to capture the boy and place the web around him. Take him back to Trickby and place him in the crypt. That will keep him occupied while we deal with his sister. Once she’s dead, he won’t be able to escape, and we will have disposed of both of them.”

  “Do you believe he could escape from this trap?”

  “If we don’t deal with his sister, he will soon be strong enough to escape. He might already be. We must move quickly. Once you have him trapped, we will act against the girl. We cannot allow this pair to grow any stronger.”

  “Yes, Father. I will do this thing you ask,” Taiez said, bowing. “Thank you for allowing me to be of service and to atone for my mistake.”

  “Go now,” Sulrad said. “Don’t fail me again or it will not go well with you.”

  “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

  “The firewood is ready,” said Chihon. She’d gathered the dry wood and kindling for the evening fire, and was ready to start cooking the evening meal. A rabbit was dressed and spitted above the waiting fire pit.

  “Curse the fire!” Lorit said angrily. He sat with his back to a jagged stump that protruded out of the ground, stubbornly refusing to give way even after it had almost entirely rotted away. His head was bowed; his arms clung tightly to his knees.

  “Lorit, I know it’s painful, but we need to keep going. You need to eat, and you need to rest,” she said. “Please, Lorit?”

  “I said curse the fire,” he growled.

  He extended his arm without raising his head and flicked his fingers toward the fire pit. Sparks jumped from his fingertips and ignited the firewood in one tremendous rush. Kindling, logs, rabbit, and all burst into a bright flare and promptly died out. In moments, the carefully collected and prepared firewood along with their dinner was a pile of smoldering embers.

  “Lorit!” Chihon exclaimed. “I know you’re angry, but that was going to be dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Lorit grumbled as he pulled his knees tighter to his chest.

  Chihon lowered herself to the ground beside him. She rested her hand gently on his arm. “I know it hurts,” she said softly. She sat there in silence.

  Lorit felt the touch of her hand. He could feel her genuine concern for him and her own sense of loss over the death of his young charge. The grief welled up in him. He pulled his knees tighter to his chest to stifle the sound of his sobs.

  Chihon sat by his side with her hand gently resting on his arm. Lorit let the emotion have their way with him. He sobbed until it had run its course, until Chihon’s concern for him slowly pushed out his rage and anguish. He recovered his breathing and quieted himself.

  Lorit looked up and loosened his grip on his knees. He peered over at Chihon, who sat in silence. He saw the tear stains on her cheeks that must mirror his own. “I think I ruined our dinner,” he finally said.

  “Not to worry. I have plenty of travel bread and hard cheese. I know how much you love those.”

  “I guess I deserved that,” Lorit said. He unfolded his arms and gently patted her hand before he untangled himself and stood. “Let’s eat. I’m hungry now, and I think I’ll need all of my energy tonight. I have to get in touch with Zhimosom and find out why he allowed this to happen.”

  “Do you think that’s wise? I’m sure he would’ve helped if he could have.”

  “I don’t know why he’s using me to help these boys. Why can’t he send someone more experienced or powerful? I’m sure he could have rescued Ardser, or even prevented him from being captured in the first place,” he said angrily. “Ardser should not have had to die because of me.”

  “He didn’t die because of you,” Chihon reminded him. “The priests killed him. You tried to help, but you were too late.”

  “I killed him! I killed him by not being there for him.”

  That evening Lorit sat before their small fire. Chihon was fast asleep on her bedroll. He relaxed and reached out for the Wizard. He remembered the feel of him and his image. He recalled the long, gray locks and flowing beard. He called to mind the table in the wizard’s study and the book shelves lining the walls with the books placed helter-skelter, in no particular order. He visualized the heavy, intricately carved chair where the wizard sat during their conversations.

  The image of the wizard was dim and diffuse. He was saying something that Lorit couldn’t make out until he remembered to lower his shields.

  “Thank you, son,” the wi
zard said. “Your shields are getting stronger. I need to teach you how to leave an opening for me, so I can contact you at will.”

  “First, I have some questions for you,” Lorit insisted. “I want to know what happened to Ardser and why you didn’t do anything about it.”

  The wizard sat back in his chair. “What happened to Ardser is unfortunately what happens to a lot of young boys who get caught by the temple.” He folded his hands on the table in front of him and continued, “If a boy is strong, and they are in need of recruits, they break him, and convert him to their ranks. If neither of these is true, they take his powers for themselves, which regrettably also kills him. This is what happened to Ardser.”

  Zhimosom motioned off to the side of his study. There was someone there that Lorit could not see that was taking his attention away from their conversation.

  “Why didn’t they do that to Chedel?” Lorit demanded. “He was locked in a cell overnight, and they didn’t hurt him. What was different about Ardser?”

  “Chedel is strong enough that they wanted him as a recruit. They probably were not planning to kill him, but to break him and train him,” Zhimosom explained. “That’s why you were able to rescue him.”

  “Why couldn’t we do anything about Ardser? We should have been able to protect him.”

  “You tried, but you got sidetracked by saving his father, didn’t you?” Zhimosom reminded him. Again, he looked off to the side of his study.

  Lorit strained to see what he was looking at, but it was not clear. Only the image of Zhimosom and his immediate surroundings were clear and in focus. Everything else was muddy and indistinct.

  “There was no other choice. I thought Ardser would be safe in the temple. I thought we had enough time.”

  “But you did not,” Zhimosom pointed out. “There is nothing more I can say or do about this matter.”

  “But we should have been able to do something,” Lorit insisted.

  “There are more important matters before us. The incident has passed. We must leave it in the past. There is nothing we can do about it now. Put it behind you; examine it in the quiet times, if you must, to learn from it. You must not let it affect your judgment and color your actions in the future.”

  Zhimosom stood and walked around the table. “Now, about the shields,” he said. He lifted his staff and extended his arm towards Lorit. “Can you feel the signature of my power? Each wizard is unique in his signature. It’s more distinct than his voice or his appearance. You must learn to recognize the signature of the wizards you come into contact with so you will know them. You will use this signature to allow us through your shields when we want to contact you.”

  Lorit could sense the signature he was projecting. It did seem familiar. This was the impression he got every time he was in contact with the old wizard. “I think I can sense it.”

  “Good. Hang on to that feeling. Get familiar with it and remember it. When you raise your shield, leave an opening for me, and I will be able to contact you in the future.”

  Lorit broke contact and raised his shields again. This time he imagined leaving a gate open just for Zhimosom. He waited patiently for the briefest of moments before the old wizard’s voice came through loud and clear.

  “Excellent,” Zhimosom said. “Now, there’s another signature I want you to listen for. You’ve met her, so it won’t be hard. See if you can feel the contact she’s trying to establish through me.”

  Lorit could feel the most tenuous of contacts. He concentrated on distinguishing the thread of the new sorceress from that of Zhimosom until it became clear. “Hello Rotiaqua,” Lorit said.

  The Sorceress appeared, standing next to the old wizard. To Lorit’s eye, they somehow looked like they belonged together even though Zhimosom was in his study and Rotiaqua was seated at a table in an inn.

  “Good evening Lorit. I'm on my way to meet you,” she said. “I still have your young friend with me.”

  Lorit could make out the sleeping form of Chedel behind her. “He is well?”

  “Yes, he is. We owe you a debt of gratitude for getting him out of the temple for us,” she said.

  “Well, at least one got out safe,” Lorit said. He was still angry with himself over what happened to Ardser.

  “Don’t chastise yourself over that, Lorit. You did the best you could. When you have a few more summers behind you, you’ll come to realize that this is all anyone can do. You did your best. Sometimes even that’s not enough.”

  “It doesn’t make it any easier,” Lorit said.

  “I know that,” she reminded him. “I hear you have made a new friend along the way.” She peered around as if looking for something. “Is she there with you?”

  “She is,” Lorit gestured behind him to where Chihon lay sleeping.

  “I would like to meet her, when you get the chance,” Rotiaqua said. “When she’s rested, maybe you can introduce us.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “I can show you how,” she said. She gestured to the sleeping girl and continued, “Not now. You both need rest. I will meet you as soon as I am able.”

  The wizard and the sorceress faded from view and Lorit lay down to get that much recommended rest.

  Chihon woke to the song of morning birds. She rolled over, looking for Lorit. He’d had a rough night, and she was worried about him. The tingling in her arm as she moved told her she'd slept more soundly than she’d thought.

  “Lorit?” she called. She looked around the camp site. The fire pit had burned down to a few darkened chunks of ash held together only by the memory of the wood they had been the night before. Lorit’s staff lay next to a flattened patch of leaves where Lorit had spent the night, but his pack was gone.

  “Lorit?” she called again. She started to tidy up the camp site, assuming Lorit had gone off on an early morning hunt. He usually left his pack, but maybe he’d decided to take a quick dip in the stream, to wash up before breakfast.

  She packed her blankets and rekindled the fire to heat water. When the pot was steaming, she added a few roots and berries from her pack and stirred it into an aromatic, sweet tea. She rummaged in her pack to find some travel biscuits and dried meat, which she made into breakfast for the two of them.

  If he was successful on his hunt, they would have fresh, roasted hare for lunch, or maybe dinner. Breakfast, she decided, was going to be cold bread, cheese, and dried meat.

  Chihon wondered how Lorit’s conversation with Zhimosom had gone. She knew he was going to confront the wizard about the boy and the temple. She was worried about Lorit. He was taking the death of the boy to heart and blamed himself.

  Off to one side, she heard a rustling in the brush. “Lorit, is that you?” she called. She turned to see what had caused the noise, only to catch a glimpse of a puffy tail as it disappeared into the brush.

  She searched around the camp site for signs of Lorit’s intent. She searched up the path, backtracking the way they’d come the night before. There was no evidence of Lorit or his passage. Down the path, towards the town, she found fresh prints that had been made by a pair of horses and at least two different sets of boots. The tracks milled around the hoof prints for a bit, and then disappeared.

  There were pronounced drag marks, as if they’d hauled something substantial from the woods over to the horses. The horse prints leaving the clearing seemed deeper than those arriving, as if one of them was carrying a heavier weight when it left than when it arrived.

  She followed the drag marks back into the brush to a place where there was an impression in the undergrowth. Something had lain there and thrashed about. She searched the tangled plants for any evidence of Lorit.

  As she moved one of the plants, a glint of light caught her eye. She knelt down and carefully moved the plants away. There, beneath the matted leaves, lay Lorit’s dagger. She picked it up and examined it. There was no evidence of blood on the blade, just a few specs of mud.

  “Lorit!” she called out. “Lorit! Are
you there?” she yelled, hoping he would hear her and answer.

  She returned to the camp and sat by the fire, worrying about what had happened to Lorit. She could not decide to wait for him to return or seek him out. Clearly something dreadful had befallen Lorit, or he would have returned by now.

  As she sat staring into the fire, the smoke started to transform. It curled upwards, billowing out, until the light gray smoke formed the shape of a woman in a long flowing robe. She had long hair, with a slight natural curl and a weathered, aged look about her.

  Chihon sat quietly, concentrating on the image. She didn’t want to disturb it by talking or breathing heavily.

  The image solidified and turned to look directly at her. “Child,” it said softly. “What’s happened to the boy?”

  “Who are you? What have you done with Lorit?” she demanded.

  The smoke wavered and blurred at her words but settled back into the image once again.

  “I am Rotiaqua, child,” the image explained. “I am a sorceress. I'm on my way to meet you and the boy. Are you Chihon?”

  “Yes, I am. How do you know this?”

  “We’ve been in touch with Lorit for quite some time,” Rotiaqua explained. “Just last night we had a long session with him. Early this morning, his connection was suddenly broken. I can no longer sense him or his whereabouts. Has something happened to him?”

  “I’ve only just woken to find him gone,” Chihon replied. “I’ve been searching for him. I fear he’s been taken. There’s evidence of a struggle, and his pack is gone. His staff is still beside the fire, but he’s gone.”

  “I fear that he may be dead,” Rotiaqua said. “None of us can sense anything of him this morning. He simply ceased to exist, as far as we can tell.”

  “He is not dead! I know it.”

  “I fear he may be dead, child,” the Sorceress said again. “Can you sense him?”

  “No. Yes. No, I’ve never been able to sense him the way he said he could sense Ardser,” Chihon said. “I don’t know why, but I know he’s alive.”