Wizard Pair (Book 3)

by James Eggebeen

  "More?" Sulrad asked as he passed the staff over the cobbler once again. This time there was no reaction. Veran should be screaming out in agony, but he was relaxed as if he were lying on the grass on a sunny summer afternoon. Sulrad probed him. The shields were still in place, but this time there was an opening that Sulrad could pass. It was custom made for him.

  He cautiously probed the opening in the man's shield, careful of any treachery that might be at work.

  "I submit myself to you," came the thought from Veran.

  Sulrad stepped back in surprise. He passed the staff over Veran once more to no avail. The man was in pain, a great deal of pain, but he seemed able to ignore it ... no, not ignore it ... embrace it?

  Sulrad felt Veran embrace the pain, internalize it, make it a part of himself. He heard the voice once more. "I submit."

  Sulrad looked down at Veran's face. A slight smile touched his calm lips.

  "How do I know I can trust you?" Sulrad asked.

  "Take my magic. I give it to you freely. No reservations."

  Sulrad grasped Veran's magic. He separated it from the man and drew it towards himself, but something made him pause. This man accepted him as the master. He had power, strong power. He would make a good Priest, just what Sulrad needed to help run the Temple.

  Sulrad released Veran's power. He drew the mini dragon close. The sunbeam was almost upon the statue. It was time.

  He calmed the animal, soothing it with gentle strokes. It relaxed under his touch.

  As the sunbeam struck the statue, Sulrad slid the sacrificial knife from its holder. He deftly slashed the creature's throat. He leaned down to Veran. "Feel that?"

  Veran's smile broadened.

  "Take it into yourself. Make it your own. Harvest the magic."

  Veran drew the magic from the mini dragon and took it into himself. The cloud of sparks swirled around and Veran arched his back. The power settled into him, and Veran screamed. Not a scream of pain, but one of joy, of pure elation.

  Sulrad slashed the bonds that held the cobbler to the altar. "Welcome to the Priesthood."

  Several days later, when Veran had recovered from his ordeal, Sulrad invited him to his study. Veran looked like a true Priest now. His black robes were trimmed with silver and the bruises on his face had faded to a dark yellow.

  "You understand our mission, then?"

  "To help the faithful, heal the sick, and tend to the flock." Veran smiled. "Just like back on the farm, shear the sheep, and send them off so they can run and frolic until the next time we bring them in and shear them." He shrugged his shoulders. "And occasionally we butcher one to satisfy our hunger."

  Sulrad leaned towards the new Priest and lowered his voice. "Let's keep that to the inner circle, shall we?" He sat back and studied Veran's reaction. The man was suitably embarrassed. Good. No need to remind him, then.

  "Tonight I would like you to take over the evening prayers," Sulrad said. "I will teach you the spell. It is a subtle one that simply encourages wellbeing towards the Temple and an inclination to fear crossing us. It helps build faithfulness in our adherents while keeping the undesirables away."

  Veran nodded. "There is another Wizard that we may want to recruit or harvest."

  "Another Wizard?" Sulrad's heart leaped. "Where?"

  "A boy. His name is Dran, the son of a merchant named Burl. He comes here every new moon and sells cloth. They will be by in a few days. He knows me. I can get the boy away from the family."

  "And what would you do then?"

  "Take his magic."

  "For your own?" Sulrad raised an eyebrow. Was Veran thinking of keeping the power?

  "For us. We can both share in his power, can we not?"

  "We can." Sulrad smiled. He was growing to like his new under Priest.

  "You have my blessing. With a Wizard, there is much more power than a mini dragon. You have to earn the boy's magic. Make him believe in you. Make him yield to you. Then you take his magic. It helps the transfer."

  At the new moon, Veran and Sulrad met the merchant at his camp to see about the boy. The man admitted that his son had experienced dreams of fire and on one occasion had set his tent aflame in his sleep. He was worried about Dran and seemed relieved when Sulrad explained that he wanted to train the boy.

  "The Temple trains young Wizards very thoroughly," Sulrad said. "They learn their lessons here, but when they are sufficiently advanced, they move from town to town so that they can learn the plight of the common man everywhere. They rarely return to their home after they are trained."

  "You hear that, Dran?" Burl grasped the boy by the back of his neck. He leaned in and touched his forehead to Dran's. "They will teach you magic. You will be a healer. You will do great good."

  "Yes, father." The boy sniffed back tears.

  "Don't cry, son. This is a good thing. This man will take good care of you."

  "Yes, father."

  Burl patted the boy on the head. He turned him to face Veran and gave him a gentle shove. "Go on. Off with you."

  Sulrad turned to Burl. "We will take good care of him. Today he has made you proud. You have a good son."

  "Thank you." Burl bowed his head.

  When they returned to the Temple, Sulrad prepared the altar for Veran. He cleaned the blood off the surface, sharpened the knife, and replaced the candles. He signaled the Guard to bring the boy.

  Dran wore a black robe of the Priesthood, and his head was shaved.

  "Come right on in." Sulrad motioned him into the room. "Hop up here." Sulrad patted the altar. Clean and shiny, it no longer looked like a gruesome sacrificial altar.

  Dran jumped up and swung his legs, knocking them into the altar.

  "Relax," Sulrad said. "We're going to teach you about magic." He rubbed the boy's back and placed his free hand over Dran's heart.

  "Lie back now. It helps you learn."

  Dran looked up at him hesitantly, but complied. He lay back on the altar.

  "That's a good boy. Just relax." He nodded to Veran who stood ready with the rope.

  Veran grabbed Dran's hands and bound them to the altar. He quickly ran to his feet and did the same.

  "What are you doing?" Dran screamed.

  "This is all a part of your training." Veran reached out and rubbed the boy's arm, trying to soothe him. He leaned over the boy and looked directly into eyes full of fear. "Ready?"

  "Why did you tie me down?"

  "So you won't fall off the altar."

  "I'm no child. I won't fall off the altar."

  "You will when I do this." Veran raised his staff and passed it over the boy. Dran screamed in pain and arched his back; every muscle in his body tensed up, straining at the bonds.

  Wizard

  Zhimosom and Rotiaqua raced from the fire and found an inn. They hired a room and settled down. They were no closer to finding the Wizard that the dragon had sent them after than when they had first arrived.

  "I still think we should have gotten two rooms," Zhimosom said as they stowed their packs. "We can afford it ... for a while."

  "Still afraid they're going to put you back in the stocks?" Rotiaqua stepped closer to him and put her arm around his shoulders. He'd grown enough that she had to reach up to do it. She hugged him tight. "Don't worry; no one is going to lock you up."

  "I know, but it just keeps coming back to me." Zhimosom shivered. He felt her push a feeling of acceptance and affection through their magical connection.

  She released him and twirled around in her homespun clothes. "See? I'm just a simple farm girl. Anyway, you sleep beside me in the field; why should the inn be any different?"

  "It's just not proper," Zhimosom mumbled. She was doing it again. Maybe it was her age, or the fact that she was royalty. He enjoyed her company and appreciated her sense of humor, but she made him feel insecure with her casual familiarity. She was so confident. She made him feel like the ignorant serf he was.

  "Forget proper. I'll tell people that we're brother an
d sister. Will that suffice?"

  "But ... we look nothing alike."

  "I'll tell them you're a bastard, then. Will that help?" She laughed and punched him in the arm.

  "We need to find a real Wizard." Zhimosom hoped to change the subject. He was eager to find the Wizard the dragon had spoken of and was still embarrassed about getting hoodwinked by the charlatan.

  "How are we going to find a real Wizard? I thought we were lucky last time, but it didn't work out so well. Do you think we could try to sense one?"

  Rotiaqua reached out, scanning the area for a Wizard. "You mean like we could with Sulrad?"

  "Yes. We should be able to sense a Wizard if there is one around."

  Zhimosom raised his shield and joined his magic to hers. Together they scanned the city, searching for magic, open and accepting contact.

  "Nothing," Zhimosom said after a while. "Maybe there's no Wizard around."

  "But the dragon sent us to Tustow."

  "Maybe dragons can be wrong." Zhimosom shrugged his shoulders.

  "Let's start with the market in the morning. Maybe we can find something there that could lead us to the Wizard." Rotiaqua picked up her pack and stowed her meager belongings on the room's tiny shelves.

  Zhimosom wished he knew how to find the Wizard. He hoped they had better luck in the morning. The Apothecary had piqued his interest. He was eager to learn magic now. Perhaps someday they could go home and deal with Rotiaqua's father. Maybe Zhimosom could persuade the Baron to take her back.

  The next morning Zhimosom and Rotiaqua scoured the market square looking for signs of a Wizard. Zhimosom soon learned that there was a second market, one where the high end clients shopped. Where products were precious and of a more refined quality than the common market.

  They wound their way through the streets and alleys. Zhimosom stopped several times to get directions from the locals, and they soon found the place. This market was smaller than the first one, and certainly meant for a more affluent clientele. The stalls were freshly painted and each had a banner with neat lettering or an illustration of the wares to be found within.

  They located a stall that sold potions, poultices, and creams for the infirm. The man behind the counter was an older man, with long gray hair and a beard. He was thin, but healthy looking.

  Zhimosom headed for him when he felt a hand on his arm.

  "Be careful. We don't know that he is a Wizard." Rotiaqua stepped behind a stall so that the older man would not see her. Zhimosom followed her example.

  "Let's see if he has powers." Zhimosom reached out to the man as he had done with Rotiaqua or Sulrad. He felt shields, but not magic. He pushed harder, trying to pierce the shield and see if there was magic within.

  Nothing happened.

  "He's shielded. I can't get through."

  "Does that mean he's a Wizard, or just that he has shields? Maybe he hired a Wizard to protect him, or he's wearing some charm that hides him." Zhimosom felt Rotiaqua reach out and examine the man's shield on her own. "Yes, I can feel it, but not the magic within."

  "What shall we do?" Zhimosom peered around the corner. The man was no longer there.

  "Looking for me?" a voice came from behind him.

  Zhimosom turned. It was the man. Strangely enough, Zhimosom still felt the shields right where they'd been. They hadn't moved with the man.

  The man stood there silently.

  "No ... We didn't mean any harm." Zhimosom raised his own shield.

  "I haven't been harmed, but my privacy has been broached. Who are you?"

  "I'm Zhimosom."

  The man turned to look at Rotiaqua. She pulled herself together and stood straight. "I am ..." She hesitated.

  "You are? Come on. Out with it. Who are you? I assume you do have a name."

  "I do. It's ... Veshtia."

  He looked at her sternly. "I suppose you have a good reason to lie to me?"

  Zhimosom feared what the man might do. How had he caught her in the lie so easily?

  "I do." Rotiaqua blushed but she did not explain further.

  The Wizard peered at her intently, examining her face. He looked her over from head to toe and back again. "I see that you do. Alright, Veshtia. Why are you two looking for me?"

  "We're looking for a Wizard. A real Wizard."

  "What would you do with a real Wizard?"

  "We ... we want to learn." Zhimosom didn't think there was any profit in lying; clearly one of the skills he had yet to learn was how to determine if someone was lying.

  "What do you want to learn?"

  "Everything," Zhimosom blurted.

  The man laughed. "Everything? Is that so? That should not take more than a couple hundred summers. I hope you have patience."

  He turned to leave, but stopped and glanced back at Zhimosom. "I'm Garlath, by the way. Are you coming?"

  Zhimosom and Rotiaqua followed Garlath through alleys and side streets until they came to a building in the trade district. It was a cobbler's shop, filled with sheets of leather in various stages of transformation into boots.

  "Around here." Garlath motioned them to the stairs beside the building. They were old and creaked as the trio climbed them. The railing was loose and rickety. Garlath paused at the door and made hand motions shielded from Zhimosom's eyes. A spell, to keep intruders out, no doubt.

  Zhimosom had to duck to enter the room. He had grown during their travels until he was taller than Rotiaqua, and even taller than Garlath.

  "Welcome to my home." Garlath bowed his head slightly.

  The room was large, with a work table and shelf that overflowed with a wide array of books in various states of disrepair. There were several rooms off to the side as evidenced by doorways hung with heavy wooden beaded strands.

  "It's not much, but I call it home. Please take a seat." He waved to a chair.

  "Aren't you worried we might try to rob you or kill you?" Zhimosom took a seat at the table.

  "Are you?" Garlath asked. "Going to try to rob me, or kill me? You already know I have shields. I have nothing to fear from you ... at least not yet."

  "What do you mean, not yet?"

  "You're pretty powerful. Even with your shields, I felt you when you entered the marketplace. When you started poking at my shield like that, I was sure of it."

  Zhimosom flushed. "I meant no harm."

  "And you harmed no one." The Wizard pulled out the chair across from Zhimosom and sat. "So you want to be a Wizard."

  "Yes. I have had no training. There was a Wizard in my home ... our ... home town. He set himself up as a Priest of some new god and is taking over."

  "Hmmm ... That would explain why your lady friend is so leery of me." He looked down at Rotiaqua's boots. "Don't let the cobbler see those. He'll recognize them as boots made for royalty. Even muddied and scuffed like that, they're worth a moon's wages for him."

  Rotiaqua pulled her feet beneath the table and flushed with embarrassment.

  "From your accents, I'd wager you're from Frostan. From what I hear, the Baron has lost his daughter. They say she has run off, bewitched by a young Wizard."

  He turned to Zhimosom. "That would be you?"

  Zhimosom froze. How had the Wizard so easily discovered his identity?

  Garlath turned back to Rotiaqua and examined her closely. He grasped her chin in his hand. She tried to twist away, but he was firm. "No, no compulsion on you. You're here of your own free will."

  He released her. "So now we know why you were so reluctant to give me your real name." He shoved a chair out from beneath the table with his foot. "So you want to learn Wizardry. Both of you?"

  Zhimosom had lost some of his reservation, but he was cautious this time. "I guess so."

  "Good. I can arrange living quarters for you here. Where are you staying?"

  "At the inn." Zhimosom pointed in the general direction of the inn.

  "Go and get your things. I have a spare room in the back where the two of you can stay."

  "Bu
t ... You don't know anything about us. Why would you take us on as apprentices?" Zhimosom asked.

  "It's clear that you have powers. Both of you. It's also clear that you're paired, and that you have no idea what any of that means. I can't let the two of you run around ignorant and uneducated. An untrained Wizard can do a lot of damage."

  "What do you mean, paired?" Zhimosom asked.

  "Paired. When a Wizard and Sorceress join their powers together, it forms a bond. We call it pairing. You are joined. Your magic is shared, your life force is shared, and your thoughts are shared."

  Garlath leaned in to Zhimosom. "I'm right. You have experienced these things?"

  "Well ... we have ..."

  "Of course you have. That means you two need to learn together. You're going to be working magic together for the rest of your lives."

  "Rest of our lives?" Rotiaqua asked this time. There was a spark in her eye.

  "The rest of your lives. You are paired. Your life force is one. Your fates are intertwined and your destiny is one."

  "And you will teach us?" Zhimosom asked. "Why?"

  "One of the things you'll learn is that Wizards shouldn't just stumble around trying to figure out how magic works all on their own. Those that have gone before you have learned the things you will need to know to keep yourselves and those around you safe. I can teach you enough that you won't destroy the town or kill a bunch of innocent folk while you're learning how to be a Wizard.

  "Besides, I can use some help around here."

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial full of rose colored liquid. "While you are getting your things, take this to the inn keeper. Tell him Garlath says to take two drops in his morning tea. No more!"

  Zhimosom pocketed the vial. "What is this for? Why do you want me to take it to him?"

  "You're going that way. This is his potion for his gout. His joints get sore. This is a tea brewed from meadowsweet and willow bark. It helps keep it under control. If he'd take my advice and stop drinking mead, he'd be even better."