Foundling Wizard (Book 1)

by James Eggebeen

  “I think we both need a break,” he said.

  Lorit took the opportunity to probe the boy again. This time, he tried to make a channel, to siphon the force from the boy and direct it against the priest. He pulled with all his might and felt the violet aura start to separate from the boy. He could easily take it into himself, and turn it against the priest. It would take almost no effort, and the pain would be over, but that was the path to ruin. It was what Chihon feared the most.

  He channeled the energy of the boy tighter and tighter, shaping it into the form he’d prepared. As he started to draw power from Chedel, he could hear Chihon warning him, “Be careful Lorit. Don't take the easy path,” she said her voice weak in his head. He knew she was already drained. If he tried to draw power from her, she would surely not survive the fight.

  Lorit held the magic from the boy in check. He probed the priest for gaps, looking for any weakness in his shield. He separated the strands and layers of protection around the priest one by one, until he had a small gap. He carefully worked at it until it opened ever so slightly.

  The priest stood to resume his torture as Lorit pulled the power from Chedel through the channel he’d carefully prepared. He aimed it into the gap in the shields, shoving the boy’s power through the opening. He thrust it deep into the priest, aiming for his life force.

  Chedel screamed in pain and toppled from his perch as Nyspol doubled over, holding his chest. He slammed his staff into the floor to steady himself, and leaned against the table where Lorit was bound.

  “You cursed boy,” he screamed. “What have you done?”

  Lorit lay there, quietly regaining his strength, and searching for another source of power. He could sense that the priest was severely injured. Chedel had died before he fell from the stool.

  Nyspol straightened up and hobbled away. “Guard,” he croaked, staggering for the door.

  Lorit probed the bindings that held him. With the pain of his torture abating, he was able to free his wrists. He sat up and worked to loosen the straps on his legs, with hands and fingers sore from the chafing of the bindings.

  Two guards rushed into the room. They grabbed him by his arms, one on each side. Lorit reached out and put them both to sleep, as he had done previously in the temple. He knew he had to work quickly, before anyone else showed up.

  He freed his legs and swung them over the side of the table. He saw his staff in the far corner of the room, and headed to retrieve it. His feet and legs immediately erupted in the fire of returning circulation. He fell on his knees and crawled across the floor. If he could only reach his staff, he could use it to help him up, and to guide his magic.

  As he stood, the pain of a thousand needles almost overwhelmed him. It was agony just to stand, but he managed it with effort.

  The door swung wide and Vorathorm entered the room. He took in the sight, glancing at the sleeping guards and the body of Chedel.

  “Well, well. Looks like you’ve been busy.” Vorathorm said as he waved his hand. The bodies were swept aside to clear a path to Lorit.

  “No matter,” he said. “They’ve served their purposes. Now I think it’s time to finish what we started in the park. I don't need your power. I'm just going to kill you.”

  Vorathorm raised his hand out palm upwards. A blue fireball appeared, turning faster and faster as it spit sparks and hissed.

  Lorit prepared himself for the onslaught. Without Chihon's help, he was fearful of the outcome. Lorit knew that the priest had absorbed enough power over the years to overpower him easily. He leaned back against the wall to steady himself and raised his shields, preparing for the onslaught.

  The first fireball struck him with as much force as any Vorathorm had used in the park that day. It blazed past his shields and struck the wall next to him. Stone chipped and shattered from the impact, showering him with debris.

  Lorit reached out to Vorathorm. He carefully opened the hole in his shields. Vorathorm may have learned to protect his life force from Lorit, but he hadn’t learned how to keep his shield closed properly. Lorit fashioned a spear from his own magic and thrust it into the opening. He felt a shudder and a low, deep rumbling, as the ground beneath him started to shake.

  Lorit pressed harder. Once again, he felt the familiar violet aura of the High Priest's power. This time he could sense the blended flavor of it, confirming that the priest was only this powerful because he’d taken the magic of others. It was not pure and natural, but twisted and forced. Lorit looked for a way to exploit that. He probed the strands, trying to find anything that he could use against him.

  Another fireball shattered on his shield, and sent more scorching rock chips down on his head. He searched frantically for anything that he could use. The shaking of the temple was becoming more pronounced as he pressed the fight with all his might.

  Just when Lorit felt that he had no choice but to take the High Priest's power for himself, he felt a bright spark of gold glowing beneath the table. He reached out to it, grasping at it. The spark grew in intensity, and Lorit was filed with an overwhelming sense of Mu’umba.

  The power was open to him, freely given, shared, just as Chihon shared her power with him. He seized it and fashioned it as he’d done with the boy's. He directed it through the hole he barely managed to hold open in Vorathorm's shields.

  Fireballs continued to assault him, each one hitting harder than the last. The temple groaned and shook beneath his feet so violently, he was afraid he would fall down.

  He continued to shield himself, drawing on his reserves even as he felt his own shields fading. Lorit pressed the attack, guiding the golden lance of power into the High Priest.

  Lorit sensed a change in the High Priest. His attacks were losing power and accuracy. He pressed his advantage, for the first time thinking he might survive this fight.

  Vorathorm grasped at his chest; staggering backwards, he leaned against the wall. Lorit intensified the attack, adding his own strength and what little he could grasp from Chihon to that of the golden light. He pushed hard against the High Priest's aura.

  Lorit felt the heat of the next fireball wash over his shields and knew that he was only just holding them back. He needed to end this, before he grew too weak to prevail. He made one final thrust, wielding the combined powers he held in his hand.

  Suddenly, the rumbling intensified as if an earthquake had hit the temple. The floor rolled up and down in a rhythmic motion. Vases and decorative gold pieces flew from tables everywhere, adding the noise of their shattering to the din of the fight. Lorit heard the screams of people rushing to escape the temple.

  He ignored the sound, pressing his attack. A large crack appeared in the wall, and a section of the roof collapsed behind him, yet Lorit pressed ever harder. The attack from Vorathorm came again, but Lorit could feel that it was getting weaker.

  He pulled power from the bright golden light. He pulled it from the lamps that lit the room, and the rest of the temple. He pulled power from the earth beneath his feet. He wove it together in the shape of the lance of light he wielded, and thrust it through the priest's shields, plunging it deep into his life force.

  A sudden flash of violet light blinded Lorit. When his vision returned, the High Priest was gone, leaving only a shower of sparks that filed the room, settling to the floor before they also vanished. The flames in the lamps flickered back to their normal intensity. Lorit slumped to the floor, totally exhausted.

  He waited as the rumbling stopped and the dust settled. The sound of people screaming died down. A cloud of dust settled around him as silence fell. Soon, there was no sound around him, save the chirping of the cricket.

  Lorit saw the insect crawl out from beneath his new coat that still wrapped the fallen Chedel. It stopped in front of Lorit and sat down, chirping loudly.

  “Thank you, old friend,” Lorit said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Lorit struggled to his feet. He had to find Chihon and get her out of here. He wasn’t su
re if the temple would continue to crumble and fall, or if the worst was over.

  He dragged himself up and slowly made his way to the doorway. He had to use his staff to help his still-tingling legs navigate the debris that lay about the room. The door itself was open and torn partially from its hinges. It was jammed against the floor, and Lorit had to squeeze through to get out into the corridor.

  He reached out with his senses to locate Chihon. He found her behind another of the heavy wooden doors. He pushed it open, to find her chained to the wall, lying on the bench.

  He hobbled over to her. She was unconscious, but breathing steadily. He gently shook her to see if he could wake her.

  “Lorit?” she asked without opening her eyes.

  “Yes, it's me,” he answered. He helped her sit up. She winced in pain whenever he touched her.

  “Is it over?” she asked.

  “It's over,” Lorit said. He tried to get her to her feet, but the pain was too much for her.

  Lorit reached out again for that bright golden spark of power. He drew out a gentle ball of it and pressed it on her. He could feel her accept the energy that would bring back her strength.

  “I think I can make it now,” Chihon said.

  Lorit helped her to her feet. They made their way through the dusty air, stepping on or over large chunks of the temple walls that had fallen. As they passed the open door where Lorit had been imprisoned, he spied a small golden vessel. It was sitting on one of the tables that hadn’t been crushed in the collapse.

  He picked it up and opened it. It contained a light purple powder that smelled of lavender. Lorit dumped the powder on the floor, to mix with the dust. He knelt by the doorway and called out.

  “I have a new home for you if you want it,” he said.

  He listened for the sound of the cricket. He heard the chirping of the insect inside the room. He stuck his head between the broken and jammed door, to get a better look inside. The cricket sat on the floor near the door, as if watching him.

  “I have a new home for you,” he said, shaking the small gold vessel.

  The cricket chirped at him once, twice. It grew silent as Lorit waited. It chirped again and turned away from Lorit. The insect took one jump and was gone from sight, landing somewhere in the debris.

  “What was that?” Chihon asked as Lorit returned to continue their exit.

  “That was our old friend Mu'umba,” he said. “He really was in the cricket.

  “He lent me the strength to prevail at the end. Without him, we’d both be dead.”

  They made their way down the street to the inn and entered the dining room amid the buzz of people talking about the terrible happenings at the temple. They found Rotiaqua already seated at a table, with a large platter of meat, bread and cheeses before her.

  Lorit guided Chihon to the table. He threw himself on the bench in exhaustion.

  “I thought you'd need a little breakfast,” she said, gesturing towards the feast before them.

  “Care to fill me in on the details?” the Sorceress asked.

  “Nothing much to tell,” Lorit said. “The priests tried to kill us and take our power. We didn't let them.”

  “I see. It was like that,” Rotiaqua said, filling a plate with food and sliding it before Chihon.

  “And my charge?” she asked. “What did you do with him?”

  “I had to kill him,” Lorit said. He grabbed for a plate, but the Sorceress snatched it before he could.

  “Was it necessary?” Rotiaqua asked. She filled the plate and slid it in front of Lorit.

  “He was working for the priests all along,” Lorit said. “I needed his help to handle Nyspol.”

  Lorit took a bite of meat that tasted like heaven. He realized just how hungry he was, and how drained.

  “I felt him go,” she said. “It was you then? I thought the priest had gotten him.”

  “It was me,” Lorit answered. He felt no guilt at the thought of killing the boy, or the priests. The world would be better off without them.

  “It felt a little close there, at the end,” Rotiaqua said, looking questioningly at Lorit. “Care to explain that?”

  “Mu'umba,” Lorit said around a mouthful of bread soaked in gravy.

  “Mu'umba?” the Sorceress asked.

  “The cricket,” Lorit answered. “He really was in the cricket. He loaned me enough power to overcome the priest.”

  “And where is he now?” Rotiaqua asked.

  “He decided to head off on his own,” Lorit said with a smile. “I offered to take him to Amedon, but he declined.”

  “And how was your stay?” Rotiaqua asked, turning to Chihon.

  The girl was half way through her plate, chewing eagerly on the slightly tough meat. She paused to wipe her mouth before responding.

  “Not as much excitement as Lorit’s,” she said.

  The sorceress raised an eyebrow questioningly.

  “I was captured by the priest,” she said as if it were nothing. “No big battles. No bringing down the temple. I’ll leave that sort of thing for Lorit,” she said with a sly smile.

  Lorit was happy to see Chihon recovering her strength and her sense of humor.

  “I don't see why you’re being so closed-lipped about it all,” Rotiaqua said. She sat back and folded her arms across her chest.

  “We’ll have plenty of time to get into all of the details on the way to Amedon,” Lorit said. “Right now, all I have to say is 'Please pass the mead. I'm thirsty'”

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  Map

  Other books by this Author

  Wizard's Education is the second book in the Apprentice to Master Series. Find it on Amazon

  Get the book.

  Wizard Pair is the third book in the Apprentice to Master Series. Find it on Amazon

  Get the book

  On the following pages you will find a brief excerpt from Foundling Wizard and Wizard's Education.

  Wizard's Education

  Zhimosom prepared the spell that would take him to the confrontation he'd avoided for far too long. He'd scoured his library, brushed up on incantations he might need, and committed to memory anything he thought would give him an edge in the battle to come. He mixed and packed the special ingredients that would power the more arcane spells and breathed a heavy sigh.

  "You're committed to this, then?" Rotiaqua asked. The Sorceress sat across from the Wizard. Her long white hair mirrored his own just as many of her mannerisms did. He was constantly moving his flowing beard out of the way of his preparations.

  "I am." Zhimosom pulled at his robe and settled into his chair. He leaned over the table, folding his aged hands on top of the book that lay before him.

  He spread his palms and an image appeared above the book. It showed a young man in his twentieth summer, tall and strong with a serious look on his face the belittled his age. He held a Wizard's staff in his hand. Beside him, stood a woman of similar age. She wore her hair in long curls that dropped to her shoulder and had a far less stern expression.

  An aura of magic surrounded them, a light purple mist emanated from each of them to wrap around the other. It was the bond of magic between a paired Wizard and Sorceress. It was a bond Zhimosom knew well. It was the same bond he shared with the Sorceress Rotiaqua.

  He knew Rotiaqua was fond of them by the way she looked at their image. She had taken the girl, Chihon, under her tutelage and had become a fast friend to Lorit almost since Zhimosom had first sensed the lad's powers awaken.

  "They need to come to Amedon, and undertake the trials." Zhimosom looked up at Rotiaqua. "We've waited far too long for another pair to form. We can't afford to lose them to a traitor. It might be yet again four hundred summers before another Sorceress like her arises at just the right time to pair with a Wizard like him."

  Rotiaqua reached out and patted his hand. Her hands were old, but not quite as bony and thin as his were. Her long years had done little to destroy the well fed appear
ance or dim the ever present look of mischief from her face. She still reminded Zhimosom of the girl he'd met in his youth.

  "I thought the Temple was behind their troubles?" Rotiaqua asked. "Did you find something else?"

  "There is a Wizard working in league with the Temple." Zhimosom waved his hand and the image of the youngsters vanished. "I am convinced of it. I can feel it in the residue left in their wake. It's not just the Temple any longer." Zhimosom sat back in his chair. "There is nothing to do but confront the traitor directly."

  "Do you think that's wise? What if he does have Temple magic at his command?"

  "I have my own sources of magic to draw on," Zhimosom said.

  "I trust you will be careful. You know how I depend on you."

  "I will take all due care, but if I don't confront him now, he will only grow stronger. It is best done quickly."

  Zhimosom closed the book and stood. He was committed to his course of action, but he was apprehensive. Meeting another Wizard in his own domain was always fraught with peril.

  He looked at Rotiaqua once more. "Wish me luck," he said as he invoked the travel spell.

  As the disorientation cleared, Zhimosom found himself in a study much like his own. There were books and Wizardly paraphernalia strewn about the dusty room in a haphazard manner. Some Wizards liked a nice clean workspace, but Zhimosom wasn't one of them, nor was his adversary.

  Zhimosom always said he knew exactly where everything was from the last time he'd used it. Putting things away would only require him to remember not only where he'd used the item last, but also where he'd stored it. That was simply too much to bother with.

  "Welcome," a voice spoke out of the darkness. "Glad you could make it."

  Zhimosom peered into the gloomy corner of the room. He could barely make out the form sitting in the chair behind the desk. He removed his glasses and cleaned them, replaced them on his face, and squinted to get a better look. The figure waited patiently.