Severed Empire: Wizard's Rise

by Phillip Tomasso

  “No. The boy’s right.” A man’s voice came from the branches above them.

  Mykal looked up and saw nothing.

  Blodwyn held his staff loosely. His eyes darted around, searching for the speaker, as well. “We did not plan to enter the forest at night,” he said.

  “You’re not even welcome during the day, old man.”

  Like the sound of snapping undergrowth swallowed and barely bouncing from trees, the man’s voice did not betray his whereabouts. He could be anywhere outside of the blue glow, just beyond the edge of magical light.

  Mykal opened his mouth.

  Blodwyn grabbed his arm. “We are searching for something. It is hidden in the forest.”

  “Then it is ours,” the man said. “Possession being what it is when it comes to the laws.”

  The Archers didn’t follow laws. The comment was ironic. Mykal wasn’t as interested in finding the mirror as he was the princess.

  Mykal saw Galatia summons magefire. She could probably incinerate the entire forest with just a few fireballs. He knew why she wasn’t, though. The thing they were searching for was somewhere inside the forest. That put them at a disadvantage; the enemy was perfectly hidden. A single man might be talking, but he knew others surrounded them. He felt their eyes on him. The hairs on his arm, and at the back of his neck stood up. Archers would have arrows nocked, bowstrings drawn, ready to loose. He rolled his shoulder blades back as he imagined a broadhead piercing his spine.

  “I doubt the item we seek has been found,” Galatia said. “I am a wizard—”

  “Your magic don’t impress us none, witch.” His words hissed as the insult rolled off his tongue.

  Her magic did impress them, though. Mykal knew the fire in her hands might be the only thing keeping them alive. Despite recent storms, the forest would burn. The threat was there, unspoken, but real. Archers might be biding time, waiting for the right moment to loose arrows. He hoped Galatia realized as much. If she extinguished the blue flame, they might never make it out of the trees. The threat was what might be keeping them alive.

  “I am here to take back what belongs to me,” Galatia said.

  There was no answer.

  Mykal looked up, hoping (he knew) in vain to see someone, anyone. There was still nothing but blackness beyond the sphere cast by Galatia’s fire. The darkness seemed only to press down further. The weight of black felt like stone blocks on his shoulders. His knees shook. Could his companions sense his fear?

  “We want the girl back,” Mykal said. He knew enough not to keep her royalty a secret. The Archers were thieves. What better booty could be claimed than a princess’ ransom? King Nabal might pay a hefty price for her safe return.

  There was no answer.

  “They’ve left us.” Blodwyn spun around in a circle. His eyes were lifted to the unseen canopy as well. “They watch us still, they remain close, but they are no longer here.”

  It sounded like a riddle. Mykal hated riddles. “We have to get her back,” he said.

  “And we will.”

  “They live high in the treetops.” Blodwyn knew Mykal feared heights, just as he knew Mykal was plagued by an irrational fear of spiders, and claustrophobia.

  Mykal removed the bow from Babe’s saddle straps and fit it on his back, so that it was secure behind the quiver and sheath. The Archers were masters with the weapon, as their name more than implied. Even with everything Blodwyn taught him, he knew his skill with a bow must pale in comparison. Karyn trusted him to keep her safe. There was no way he could allow the Archers to hold her prisoner. He would climb the tallest tree, and wade through a giant spider’s webbing if there were even a chance of getting her back.

  “The mirror is why we’re here,” Galatia said.

  Her matter-of-fact attitude irritated him. He didn’t think she understood the level of trust and simple acceptance he’d given her. He left his farm to help her. The claim that he was a wizard hadn’t been proven. He didn’t know for fact the Mountain King was after him, or after Galatia for that matter. She announced some coming war, and against his better judgment, he’d chosen to believe her at her word. Blodwyn seemed convinced, which certainly had some bearing on his decision. “I’m bringing Karyn back,” he said.

  Mykal picked a tree, stood in front of it, and looked up. He hated the darkness above him, and knew that the same darkness would prevent him from seeing the ground as he climbed higher. Heights might not cause the trembling if he had no way of knowing how high he’d climbed. He reached for a branch on one side of the tree, and for a branch on the other and, using his feet, pulled himself up.

  His boots did little helping him ascend. Upper body strength was required. He hoisted himself up a few feet. And pushed, and pulled.

  The darkness didn’t alter his acrophobia in the slightest. He thought he might only have made it eight feet above the ground. Still, his arms and legs shook with fear. Cold sweat began to coat his skin. He stepped on a branch, and hugged the tree tightly as he moved his way up inch by inch. He couldn’t move his head back, because he thought he’d fall, so he let bark scrape across his face.

  Closing his eyes only made things worse. It didn’t make sense. He couldn’t see a thing with them open. Everything spun around him when his were eyes closed. Instead they stared at nothing, nothing at all. Blindly his arms reached overhead for the next branch.

  He continued to climb. Hand over hand.

  He lost track of time and height. He had no idea how long he’d been climbing, or where on the tree he was. He wished he was near the top, even though reaching the top frightened him, too. His mind begged him to return to the forest floor.

  Karyn was what mattered. He couldn’t stop. He was going all the way to the top. He wasn’t moving with much momentum, but he felt propelled just the same.

  Another few branches. A few more feet. Hand over hand.

  Each time he managed to inch his way closer to the canopy he waited for an arrow to slam into his body. Training with Blodwyn taught him how to fight. Nothing had prepared him for dying. He had always considered himself immortal. Invincible. His struggles with the serpent forced him to realign that belief somewhat, but not discount it altogether since he had survived.

  Another few branches. Hand over hand.

  He wasn’t surprising the Archers when he reached the top, if he reached the top. His grunts, groans, and loud breathing gave away his position. If anything, they’d been watching him climb the entire time. His lack of tree-climbing skills probably had them laughing at him.

  Let them laugh.

  He was not giving up.

  Another few branches.

  Hand over hand.

  The trunk became thinner and thinner. The branches were clustered more tightly together. He knew he was nearing the top. When large leaves needed to be pushed aside, he began to panic further. His breath quickened further and became shallower. If he didn’t get it under control, he would pass out. Everything inside him screamed not to look down. All he wanted to do was look down. If he looked down, he’d fall. There was no doubt about it. He refused to look down.

  Looking down didn’t matter, he told himself.

  Karyn mattered. And she was up. Not down.

  “Don’t stop now.”

  The voice came from below him, and not far.

  “Wyn? What are you doing?” He whispered, gasping. Eyes closed he clung to the tree for life.

  “We’re getting Karyn back.”

  “And Galatia?”

  “She’s keeping the blue flame lit. It is perhaps our only protection right now.”

  “We must be near the top,” Mykal said.

  “I agree.”

  “You know what? I wish you’d have gone first, because I’m not sure what to do next,” Mykal said. “I don’t think I can go any higher. I’m stuck.”

  “You’re not stuck.”

  “I can’t do any more.” He couldn’t say he was afraid.

  “You’re going to keep clim
bing, Mykal. There’s no stopping now. Climb!”

  With Blodwyn below him, continuing should have been easier. It wasn’t. He held onto the trunk, his face pressed against bark. It was almost as if dried sap had cemented his feet to the branches.

  “Climb, Mykal. Climb!” He was not yelling. Blodwyn tone of voice was powerful, commanding. It didn’t matter if he was whispering.

  Mykal chanced a look up, and blinked twice. At first he wasn’t sure what he saw.

  Light.

  The moon’s rays.

  He had reached the canopy.

  He sucked in a deep breath and when he exhaled, he reached above his head for a final branch.

  His head poked through the canopy. The moon was such a beautiful sight. He sighed, amazed that he’d managed to climb such a tall, tall tree. Don’t think about it, he thought.

  Before he could relish his accomplishment, he gasped. In the moonlight he saw more than just the starlit sky.

  Half a dozen arrows surrounded him, and were pointed in his face and at his head. The Archers who held the knocked bows looked concerned about hurting him. Maybe they were afraid of Galatia’s magic, as they should be.

  “Move it,” Blodwyn said.

  “Ah, Wyn …”

  “Climb!” Blodwyn said.

  The same Archer who spoke on the forest floor said, “I cannot believe what I am seeing. I can’t. You think you can threaten our homes with wizard fire? You can come here, and threaten to burn our trees to the ground? Then you climb up here like this is your place? Like you live here? Like you belong here? I’ll tell you what. I’ll make this simple. You take another step, and we’ll fill your head full of so many arrows your skull will look like a porcupine.”

  Chapter 18

  “Raise your hands,” the man said. “C’mon now. Raise ‘em!”

  Mykal didn’t want to let go of the tree. He knew if he did, his feet would wobble, and off-balance, he’d fall. “I can’t.”

  “Raise ‘em!”

  Mykal raised a hand. He put his palm on the top of his head.

  “Both hands. I’m not askin’ again.”

  It took physical strength releasing his death grip on the top of the tree. He managed. He placed the second hand on his head. His thighs kept him in place. He squeezed the trunk hard enough for sap to flow, he thought, giddy with fear.

  The men that lived in these woods were runaways, military deserters. Most had been knights, and were either banished or had fled their post. Lethally trained, their deadly demeanor demanded attention, respect, and fear.

  They rushed forward. He was stripped of his weapons. Arms slipped under his. With a sudden yank he was lifted onto the canopy. He wondered how they stood without falling.

  They set him down.

  “Kneel!”

  It was wood. Planks. With lit lanterns throughout the canopy, Mykal easily saw that they had a network of walkways. Rope-railed bridges were strung from treetop to treetop. Trails covered the canopy. Mykal saw huts and bridges; a community living in the sky.

  Silently, he watched as Blodwyn was brought up next, his staff ripped from his hands. He was forced to kneel beside Mykal. He knew Blodwyn could take these guys. All of them on his own, if necessary. He’d seen the man’s ability during training. He wasn’t alone, though. If Blodwyn gave a sign to fight, he’d be ready. He believed the two of them together would be unstoppable in a fight. There simply hadn’t been the chance.

  The men were dressed in brown pants and off-white tunics, and wore dark green cloaks. Mykal understood why they seemed invisible. They blended in with the trees. It was more than just the darkness below, their clothing served as camouflaged, as well. He figured the Archers’ eyes were better equipped for seeing in darkness. If the forest was where they lived, they must have adapted. There could be no other explanation.

  “Where did you get this bow?” The man turned over Mykal’s bow in his hands, inspecting every edge with his eyes, and running his fingers over the smoothed wood.

  Mykal was prodded to answer with a jab. “I made it.”

  The men laughed around him.

  The only one not laughing was the man who held the bow. “You made this?”

  Mykal nodded.

  The man tossed the bow to another Archer, who gave the weapon an even more intense inspection. “Well?”

  “It’s good work.”

  “For a kid, or for an artillator?”

  “For anyone,” the second man said, and threw the bow back to the first.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Blod—”

  “Not you. You,” he said pointing to Mykal.

  With his hands still on his head, Mykal looked over at Blodwyn.

  The Archer said, “Me. Look at me. I asked the question. Not him.”

  “My name is Mykal.”

  A look passed between the Archers. It was fast, but it was there, though.

  “Go. Fetch Quill,” the man ordered one of his companions, before turning his attention on his prisoners. “And what are you doing here?”

  Mykal didn’t think Blodwyn would say anything this time, but waited just in case. He wished Blodwyn would speak, because he wasn’t sure how to best answer the question. How much truth did he divulge, how much did he keep secret? If there was a medium, he didn’t know where to find it. “We don’t mean to intrude—”

  The Archer laughed. “Intrude? Is that what you call it? A friend stopping by during a meal might apologize for intruding. The three of you trampled into our forest without an invitation! That is an invasion. There’s a difference. Just so we’re clear. But I’ve interrupted you. Please, continue.”

  Looking at Blodwyn, Mykal said, “We’ve come to collect something that was hidden in the forest—”

  “There is nothing hidden in our home that we don’t know about.” A cord of veins bulged on his neck, as if it took restraint to keep from attacking. “What item have you come to collect? I’m sure we have it somewhere, and can save you the time of looking for it.”

  A new archer walked up and stood behind the man talking. “Anthony.”

  Anthony turned around. “Quill, I hate to disturb you.”

  “You’ve caught the men, I see,” Quill said. The two looked like brothers. Both stood nearly a head taller than Mykal. Dark beards were trimmed close to their faces. The only difference between them was that Quill wore a hat, with a large, bent brim, which curled on the sides, and was pulled down in front. “I thought there were three?”

  “There’s a witch below. She has fire in her hands.”

  “She’s not a witch!” Mykal wasn’t sure why he said anything, and regretted the outburst immediately.

  Quill raised an eyebrow. “I see. And who might the two of you be?”

  Anthony didn’t let them answer. “This one is Mykal.”

  Quill stepped forward, and then leaned in close. Mykal noticed his cloak was secured over the shoulder by a large dragonfly pin.

  “Who is your father?” Quill narrowed his eyes, as if searching for the truth in Mykal’s expression.

  “Why does that—”

  Mykal never even saw the blade, but felt the cold steel edge as it pressed against his throat. Quill was nose to nose with him. Their eyes locked. “Who is your father, boy?”

  Even if he wanted to answer, he couldn’t. Warm blood rolled down his skin, and felt like it was pooling in the hollow of his throat. Quill’s unblinking eyes were a clear sign now was not the time for taking a stand. Regardless that he feared answering would draw more blood. He mumbled his answer, speaking so as not to have the knife cut further into flesh.

  “What was that?” Quill still held the knife in place, but released some of the pressure.

  Mykal allowed a shallow sigh. “My father is Eadric.”

  Quill stood up, spun around. His cloak whirled. “And your mother?”

  Mykal said, “Anna.”

  “Stand up,” Quill said. With an unspoken command, the archers with arrow
s trained on them lowered their bows. “Both of you, on your feet. How do you know the witch?”

  Blodwyn stood up. “Sir, I believe we’ve—”

  “No one is talking to you. I know who you are, Blodwyn. You are more recognizable than the king,” Anthony said. He threw a fist which struck Blodwyn in the back of the neck, dropping him to his hands.

  “Stop!” Mykal said. They somehow knew Blodwyn.

  Quill grabbed Blodwyn’s arms and held him as Anthony struck again. The punch landed on the side of his head, above the ear. Blodwyn fell flat, unconscious.

  “Why did you do that?” Mykal reached for Blodwyn, but Quill stood between them.

  Quill said, “How do you know the witch?”

  “She is a friend. She’s just a friend.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, except that he considered Galatia more of a friend after meeting the likes of Quill and the other Archers.

  “Your friend is down there threatening our forest. Tell me why we shouldn’t just kill her. We could do so. Easily.”

  Then why haven’t you, Mykal almost said. It wasn’t easy to talk, though. Too many questions whipped around inside his head, making concentration difficult. Something was up. He desperately needed to understand what was actually taking place. He had seen it in Anthony’s eyes when Quill was called for. He just couldn’t figure out what it was. What was with the questions about his parents? There was no mistaking a flavor of familiarity on the tip of his tongue, but couldn’t name it.

  It was there. It would come to him.

  “I see you don’t believe me,” Quill said, and raised a hand.

  “No,” Mykal said. No one else should get hurt. Blodwyn breathed, but had not regained consciousness. He’d just answer questions, and do what was asked. If that was the only way of escaping this situation, it was an easy price to pay. “No. I do believe you. I believe you. There’s no reason to harm her.”

  “Tell her to put out the fire.”

  Mykal wasn’t sure Galatia would listen.

  “Tell her to extinguish the flames and climb up here. Now.”

  He couldn’t climb down the tree. How he’d made it up in the first place still baffled him. “How do I tell her?”