Severed Empire: Wizard's Rise

by Phillip Tomasso

  “Yell down to her.”

  Mykal walked across the planks. He looked back, fearful the height and potential plummet to his death. Karyn was not far from his thoughts. He hoped she was okay. He wanted to know where they were keeping her. Getting onto his stomach, he leaned his head over the side and looked down. Although he couldn’t see the wizard, he saw her blue flame. It glowed like a living orb floating and spinning around and around. He cupped his hands over his mouth. “Galatia, put out the flame and climb up here.”

  He felt stupid shouting down to her. He hoped that doing so was not a betrayal. He wasn’t sure Quill could kill her. There was a chance he could hurt her, though. That was not something he wished to witness. Having her come to the treetops could be a trap. It probably was. He still didn’t see that he had any other options and he hoped that her power would keep her safe… and possibly aid them. For the moment, Quill had all control.

  Mykal pushed himself up and stood, brushing off his clothing.

  A green smoke appeared and spun in a tight circle by his feet. He stepped back, as the smoke spread and shot further upward. In the center of this glowing whirlwind, Galatia appeared.

  The archers were ready once again, with arrows nocked and bowstrings taut. Mykal jumped in front of her, arms out. “She did as you asked, Quill.”

  “Richard, bind her,” Quill directed another of his men.

  Richard uncoiled a rope held in place by a loop at his belt. He tied one end into a lasso.

  Galatia raised her hands, not in surrender.

  Mykal hadn’t paid attention before, when she created the blue flames, but noticed now. Her mouth moved. He couldn’t hear what words were said, but he now knew she spoke her magic into existence.

  Before Mykal could warn her, an Archer grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms behind her back. Another archer stepped forward and stuffed a rag into her mouth. Richard draped the lasso over her head, and around her shoulders before pulling the knot tight pinning Galatia’s arms against her side. He continued wrapping the rope around her until she was able to do no more than wiggle her fingertips.

  Richard had been a simple distraction. His lassoed rope fooled Mykal, and had obviously tricked Galatia as well.

  “Who do you think you are?” Quill stood in front of Galatia. “Take her down a notch.”

  Anthony punched Galatia in the back. She winced, eyes closed tight, her cry of pain muffled by the gag. Her legs wobbled. She dropped to her knees. Mykal wished there was a way to wipe away her tears. Looking away was not an option. She surrendered because he’d told her to give up. This was his fault.

  “Stop this! Stop it. Quill, make him stop!”

  “Uncle Quill,” he said.

  Mykal’s next plea for mercy froze in the back of his mouth. Their eyes met.

  “Out of respect, you should call me Uncle Quill.”

  There were no words. Mykal knew it was a trick. This sinister man had to be messing with his mind. “You’re not my uncle!”

  “How is my father? Without that leg of his, he’s bed ridden, I suppose.”

  His father?

  Grandfather?

  Mykal said, “My father never mentioned a brother.”

  “You barely knew your father.”

  Galatia’s eyes were open wide, her tears forgotten. She kept looking from Quill to Mykal and back again.

  “That’s why he has me get the names,” Mykal said.

  “What was that?” Quill said.

  He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud. Grandfather wanted the names, worried each time it might be his son the king had strung up. “If we’re family, why are you doing this?”

  “Have I hurt you? Has anyone here hurt you?”

  “You’ve hurt my friends!”

  “An old man with a walking stick, and a witch? Those are your friends? What would your father say if he knew you were hanging around with such . . . people?”

  “My father’s dead! Don’t talk about my father!”

  Quill raised a condescending eyebrow. “He is? When did he die? How?”

  Quill laughed.

  Mykal didn’t know the answers.

  “He’s not dead, I assure you.”

  If he wasn’t dead, then where was he? Mykal thought. He wasn’t going to ask. Even if Quill knew the answer. He’d rather spend the rest of his life searching for the truth then rely on this man for help.

  And he would learn the truth, he decided then. Eventually.

  “What would my father say if he knew his brother was nothing more than a two-bit thug, living in a treehouse, beating up, and robbing innocent people?” The words were filled with such venom he couldn’t risk keeping them in his mouth without the poison making him sick.

  Anthony delivered an opened hand slap. Mykal felt as though his eyeballs had been knocked loose in their sockets. He saw specks of light float in front of his face. His tooth cut into his lip. Warm blood coated his tongue.

  Blodwyn stirred. Galatia shed fresh tears.

  “I want to know what item you’re looking for. What is it the three of you think you’ll find here?”

  Mykal hadn’t been able to find a middle ground to what he revealed to their captors. Even so, he knew telling Quill about the mirror was nowhere near it.

  An Archer raised his bow. He drew the nocked arrow to his cheek. The Archer kept both eyes open.

  The sun was rising. The eastern horizon looked orange, and pink, and red, fringed with light blue.

  Quill said. “Kill the old man.”

  Chapter 19

  Mykal screamed as lightning bolts launched from his fingertips. Ten strands of brilliant energy, blinding in the early predawn, merged into one dense crackling beam. The lightning slammed into Carl’s chest. He released the bowstring. The arrow flew, but missed its target by a fair margin. The electricity coursed through Carl’s body and pinned the Archer in place. His skin bubbled. The putrid odor of burnt flesh permeated the air around them.

  Mykal couldn’t curl his fingers. The bolts wouldn’t stop. He took a step back, and raised his arms. The lightning shot into the trees. Severed branches fell around them. Wood burned. Smoke rose in the air. He saw an opening in the canopy, and aimed his hands toward it. The beam coursed into the sky.

  He tried focusing on his breathing. He knew he was having short, rapid breaths. His heart pounded inside his chest.

  Inside his head he counted to five, and then to ten. He concentrated on the numbers. He said each one out loud slowly.

  There was a loud crackling sound, and the lightning stopped.

  Winded, he bent forward. He pressed his palms to his forehead. It throbbed behind his skull.

  What just happened? he thought. What did I just do?

  Carl was stuck where he stood once struck. His mouth was wide open, but no sound passed his lips.

  “Carl?” Anthony poked a finger into his shoulder.

  Carl fell sideways.

  Anthony knelt beside him, lowered his head near Carl’s face. “He’s not breathing.” He immediately began pounding on Carl’s chest with a fist attempting to resuscitate his compatriot.

  Quill moved toward Mykal.

  Mykal didn’t know what had happened, or why it had. He could barely keep his thoughts coherent. He raised his hands, aimed his fingers at Quill. “Stop. Stay right there. This is your fault!”

  “My fault?” Quill jabbed his thumb at his chest. He grunted out a laugh. “Mine?”

  “Untie the woman,” Mykal said. “And where is the girl? I want to see her. I want her brought here right now.”

  “Mykal,” Quill said.

  “Now!”

  Quill waved a hand. Anthony ran off.

  Carl abruptly coughed and began breathing again. He rolled onto his side. “Would you stop punching me, man?”

  The sun burned away most of the night, rising in the sky as if as restless for the day as Mykal was for the light it brought. He was amazed by what he saw. Along the treetops existed an expansive
and elaborate maze of walkways and huts. The revelation made him realize their fear of fire was not even remotely irrational. A single, strong uncontrolled flame could wipe out everything they had built. It made Quill’s anger somewhat justified. There was still no reason for the violence and threats. Certainly not the abduction of the princess.

  Mykal moved his hands back and forth as if ready to fry the next person who moved. Truth was, he didn’t even know how to repeat what he had done. How had the bolts fired from his fingers? He wanted to sit down and just stare at his hands while he tried to figure out what was happening.

  He possessed magic.

  “Untie the woman,” Mykal repeated.

  Quill shook his head. He whispered, “No.”

  “Untie her!”

  “We won’t be doing that,” Quill said.

  His hands shook, but he aimed his fingertips at Quill.

  Quill shrugged, as if it didn’t matter if he lived or died. “We’re not having two witches loose in our community, nephew. Between her fire and your lightning, you could destroy all of this and burn away everything, all of it, until there’s nothing left but ash.”

  “Untie her.”

  “We’re getting the girl, nephew. You can have her, and you can leave.”

  There was nothing warm in Quill’s use of the familiar nephew. He recognized that it was an attempt to bait him. “You’re correct,” Mykal said. “The girl, these two, and me. We’re leaving.”

  Quill didn’t argue. Getting away would not be simple. Mykal knew a battle was a hair’s breadth away. Their weapons were piled together behind Quill. He didn’t know how to play this out. They were maybe a hundred to a hundred and fifty feet in the air. A quick way down must exist, but where? How would they all escape back to the forest floor without the archers firing on them? They’d be easy targets on the descent, to say the least.

  Blodwyn groaned.

  “Wyn? Wyn?”

  “We have a medicine person, someone who can check his head, make sure your friend is alright,” Quill said.

  Mykal almost laughed. He shuffled his feet around, unwilling to stand idle. It was impossible to keep an eye on everyone. They were everywhere. He couldn’t count them. More than ten? No, twenty. There could be as many as fifty. They didn’t stay still. It was difficult gauging exactly how many men there were. No one advanced, but he remembered how easily they’d captured Galatia and rendered her helpless. He didn’t dare look back. If someone was behind him, it would be over soon. They’d be dead. All of this would have been for nothing. “I don’t think so. He’s okay,” Mykal said. “Wyn? Come on, Wyn. Wake up. Untie Galatia.”

  Blodwyn slowly got to his feet as he regained consciousness. He pressed a hand to the side of his head. Mykal couldn’t see any blood. That had to be a good sign.

  “Galatia, Wyn, untie her,” Mykal said, hoping Blodwyn was hearing him.

  Quill raised his hands. He wasn’t surrendering.

  The archers raised their bows.

  “You can’t zap all of us. Not at the same time. We’re not afraid of dying. We’re protecting our community, nephew. Would you be willing to give up your life for your animal farm? I’ll bet you would.” Quill kept his hands in the air. When he dropped them, the arrows would fly.

  Blodwyn made his way over to Galatia and removed the rag shoved into her mouth. He worked at loosening the knot, and pulled the rope away.

  Mykal didn’t stop aiming his fingers at as many archers as possible. “We didn’t come here looking for trouble,” he said.

  “And the king’s knights? Were they looking for trouble?” Quill did that thing with his eyebrow again.

  If there was time, Mykal would hold the man down and shave the brows right off his forehead. “Where is my friend, the one you kidnapped?”

  “She’s coming. They’re bringing her.”

  “Galatia, are you okay?” Mykal said.

  She ran her hands up and down her arms. He noticed how timid she looked, frightened. “I’m okay.”

  “We want all of you to leave,” Quill said, lowering his arms, slowly. It wasn’t quite an admission of defeat. It didn’t matter. They were the words Mykal needed to hear.

  “Mykal!”

  It was Karyn. Anthony followed close behind. He had a hand on her shoulder, and maybe the other pressed a blade to her back? He couldn’t tell. It seemed likely. While the thought of shaving Quill’s eyebrows gave him comfort, the idea of beating Anthony to a pulp was suddenly twice as pleasing.

  Blodwyn retrieved his staff. “It’s unfortunate that things played out this way,” he said. It had been a while since he’d said a word. Mykal was thankful. He no longer wanted to be in charge. He’d never wanted to be in charge. His hand had been forced and he stepped up, nothing more.

  “I am letting you go. All of you. You have my word,” Quill said.

  Your word means nothing, was the insult Mykal almost hurled back. “We appreciate that,” was what he said. Mykal waved Karyn away from Anthony. “Karyn, come here. Behind me.”

  Quill held up a hand. “I ask one thing.”

  You are in no position to ask for anything. Mykal held his tongue.

  “What is the item you were looking for?”

  Galatia flexed her fingers. Her eyes darted left and right. These men would not fool her a second time. She looked even more ready for a fight after her mistreatment. It would be anything but fair. Something about the way she stood said she would unleash unspeakable magic if anyone twitched the wrong way. “It’s hidden in the forest.”

  “I assure you, there is nothing in these woods that we don’t know about.” Quill’s entire demeanor had changed. The arrogance was somewhat toned down. Indicating they knew every inch of the forest sounded conceited, but in context, perhaps was not. “We’re just as anxious for you to find what you’re looking for so you can leave. Perhaps we can assist you.”

  “You want to help us?” Mykal asked incredulously. He tried to regain control of his breathing. Fast, shallow breaths left him winded. Blood raced through his body. His heart had hardly slowed since he began the horrifying climb to the treetops. Lives were in danger, and his magic had kicked in. He’d defended them with powers he never knew he possessed. The power had slumbered for ten years and seven inside him without even hinting at its existence.

  “We want you gone,” Quill said. “If that means helping you, then so be it.”

  As much as Mykal didn’t want to lead, he thought of the king’s knights. He could only guess what Blodwyn and Galatia thought. Murder was something he wanted no part of; there was a better solution. He just wasn’t sure what it was. He could hear Karyn breathing heavy behind him, her palms on his back. She used him as a shield, thought of him as her protector. Aside from his training with Blodwyn, he’d never fought another person his entire life. He spent most of his time on the farm. When he went to the market he kept to himself. His size helped deter fights. Using the skills he’d learned felt impossible at the moment. Using magic felt even more ludicrous, and yet he’d nearly killed a man with lightning from his fingers.

  He counted fifteen archers. More must be watching them, camouflaged in the trees. It only appeared as if he had the upper hand. The one thing that gave him any consolation was Quill’s blatant curiosity, and his obvious fear of fire. “If you want to help us find the item—”

  Galatia held up a hand. “Mykal, no!”

  He glared back at her. She closed her mouth, lips pressed tightly together.

  “We’re family nephew. A fine uncle I’d be if I didn’t at least try to help blood.” Quill’s arrogance was well placed. They were on his land. He knew every woodland creature and every fallen branch. His confidence demanded trust when there wasn’t even reason enough to let him take another breath.

  “There is a war coming, uncle,” Mykal said. It seemed clear that Quill was interested in finding the artifact and seeing if it had any monetary value. Mykal left the sarcasm out of his tone. Matching fire with fire was
not the right choice at the moment. Not if he wanted the plan that had suddenly formed to work. He didn’t consider himself stupid. Their hunt for the mirror would be in constant jeopardy. When they searched the woods Archers would follow, ready to kill them all at a wave of Quill’s hand. They needed some kind of alliance. The best way to bind the two together was in pointing to a common enemy.

  “There is always a war coming.” Quill countered.

  “Not like this one. The time has come to choose sides,” Mykal said. He thought he understood everything Galatia explained. While it had taken convincing, he suspected Quill would be a hundred times more difficult to persuade.

  “We’ve chosen,” Quill said. “Long ago. We are on our side.”

  “That’s not going to be good enough,” Mykal said. “The Mountain King is assembling an army as we speak. He is going to cross the Isthmian in droves, hell-bent on declaring himself emperor! The issues you have with Grey Ashland will pale in comparison to the reign of terror on its way.”

  Mykal saw it: a flash reflected in Quill’s eyes. It was more than a reflection from the rising sun, and then it was gone.

  “That’s crazy. No one crosses the Isthmian. King Hermon knows his place. He rules the east. That’s plenty of land for any man.” Quill sounded defensive, as if he needed to believe his words, his opinion.

  “Unless he aspires to more,” Mykal said. He locked eyes with his uncle. He waited. Quill seemed smart, and he guessed right now the man was working things out in his mind. He gave him time to do it.

  “And the four of you are going to stop King Hermon? How?” He shook his head, snickering. “Not with two wizards, an old man, and a girl.” Quill crossed his arms over his chest, resolved. If sides were taken, he wasn’t interested in standing with the lot before him. “We’ve defended this forest so well that no one even enters. They cross south to north on the lake rather than risk facing our wrath.”

  Mykal sensed doubt in the man’s words. Quill tried to maintain his arrogant front, but his confidence had faltered.

  “And yet, here we are, in your forest.” It was acting. Nothing more. Deception. Mykal kept at it, chipping away at the exterior. “Here we are, and we have the upper hand. Think of the bonfire King Hermon will unleash when his archers send flaming arrows into the woods. Kind of tough to defend against that, don’t you think?”