Severed Empire: Wizard's Rise

by Phillip Tomasso

  They did not have an upper hand. Quill, if he decided, could kill them. There was no doubt other than the seeds Mykal continued planting.

  “The thing you have in the forest is so valuable to your cause that you risk coming into the Cicade? Or were you just fleeing from the men you murdered during the night?” Quill dropped his arms to his side. “People are a complicated breed. Lies and stories come easy when they have nothing to lose.”

  “We’re not leaving. Not until we have what we’ve come for. Your ignorance will not save you, even if you take comfort hiding behind it,” Mykal said. He didn’t want his words to sound harsh. He thought they’d inflict more threat, sound more passionate, and ring truer if he kept his tone of voice even.

  “Ignorance?” He forced out a laugh.

  “If you want to accompany us as we search for the item, you are welcome. Just be warned. One wrong move, one flinch that I interpret as threatening, and we will burn this forest to nothing but ash.” Mykal hoped his threat was taken seriously. It wasn’t an empty threat. He just wasn’t sure how he’d called on his magic before. He was certain he had no idea how to control the power. And, unless they were blind, they saw his flailing earlier. Regardless, they had witnessed his power.

  He would not underestimate the Archers, and certainly not his uncle. These were clearly dangerous men, but, he realized, so was he.

  Chapter 20

  King Hermon Cordillera stood on the dock at the Fjord Range. The oblong inlet, enclosed by the tapered, green, grassy hills, and rocky cliffs which stretched into the Rames Mountains, was at the westernmost point of the Osiris Realm. The Isthmian was placid only trapped within this fjord. The dangers beyond, and below still existed. The king paid well for the delicacy of freshly caught fish pulled from its waters. The few ships tied at the dock’s slips were unimpressive, but ideal for fishing the inlet. His armadas of ships meant for war have never been tested on the open seas. His favorite was Shadow. His sleek beauty was large enough, and the carpenter assured him, strong enough for a sea storm’s pounding should it have to brave such weather. More importantly, it was small enough and light enough to out sail any of the Voyagers’ ships. It bobbed in the water beside him, as languid as a large cat eyeing its inevitable prey, hungry to set out on its maiden voyage.

  He watched his men ready the ship for sailing. He’d been holed up atop his mountains for far too long. Getting directly involved was the only way he could ensure that his plans were fully realized. He looked forward to crossing the sea. Only in his mind had he ever seen the west. And it was glorious. When he was emperor he would go from kingdom to kingdom. His visits would become a regular part of his rule. Random, but regular, and all would recognize him. He would spend less time at home, and more time away from his wife and daughters. No thought pleased him more.

  His possessions were already stowed aboard. It was a risk, but once resolved to taking the journey across the sea, he saw no way of leaving Ida in the castle. He needed her magic close. How else would he find the other wizards? He made promises with some intention of keeping his word. She had demanded the deal be set in writing. She wanted the position as the king/potential emperor’s Advisor. Perhaps more importantly, she also demanded a bedchamber somewhere within the castle, not in the tower. After putting ink to paper, and it being signed by them both, he affixed his royal seal. She was on deck watching everyone prepare for the voyage.

  He’d already heard grumbling from the crew. Superstition held that a woman on a ship was bad luck. He wasn’t sure they’d taken a look at Ida. She was a woman by sex alone. The knowledge that a wizard was on board would likely make things worse.

  It was dangerous letting her leave his enchanted tower. There were no other options, however. He knew Ida wanted the other wizards, as well, even if finding them was the simple matter of satisfying her curiosity. He imagined that she desired to meet others of her kind.

  The sun had risen into a cloudless blue sky. The season’s heat might have run its course. Winter was not too far off. The king had an appropriate royal robe for the cool temperature, but left it behind at the palace. The sun and sky fooled him about the briskness of the day. Anyone who didn’t realize he was king in his own kingdom by sight, entourage, or the crown upon his head deserved a week in the stockades.

  Even without the robe Hermon felt sweat dripping from his armpits, and winced. Sweating was something peasants did, not a king. If only for that reason, he wished he’d brought the robe. He’d sweat more, but no one would see the evidence.

  The stockades taught lessons. Thanks to his father he’d learned a thing or two from the stockades. Humiliation and desperation were at the forefront. It was hard not thinking about the past whenever he thought of the stockades. Sometimes they bothered him, those memories. Usually they served as a reminder. Where he had come from? Where he was now?

  ***

  King Hermon’s older brother, Jeremiah, was the first prince and heir to King Elroy’s throne. Shortly after Jeremiah turned ten years and two, he fell sick with a high fever. Hermon watched his brother collapse on stone stairs. He laughed, thinking Jeremiah had tripped. That would have been perfect, since he was always the one stumbling over his own feet, and walking into objects. Not to mention, at eight, if an older brother stumbles it’s just funny. When his brother didn’t move, Hermon panicked. Rather than check on his brother’s wellbeing, he ran to fetch his father.

  King Elroy hated interruptions, especially when in the Long Room. The massive wooden doors were three times his height, maybe four. The only way to get either of the unlatched doors moving was with a running start. Hermon, only half the size of his brother, and thinner, had not stopped running since he had left his fallen brother. His footfalls echoed from the stone floors behind, as if desperate to catch up with the runner. He lowered his shoulder as he slammed into the door on the right. It didn’t swing open, but merely budged. That was normal for him. He also didn’t have the same strength Jeremiah had, but it was enough for him to fit between and into the Long Room.

  Colossal windows shaped like gravestone markers behind pillars of marble lined the walls running east and west. Except at night, light always filtered into the room. Banners with sigils hung between windows. Knights in full armor with giant swords and steel shields stood in front of each pillar. Hermon could not recall ever seeing one move. Jeremiah swore they just shells, like statues. Eyes behind lowered face guards suggested otherwise, as they followed his every step, every time he came to this chamber.

  “Father!”

  King Elroy slammed fist on the table as he rose to his feet from his seat at the head. “Hermon! What have I told you about coming in here?”

  A conundrum. The question sounded rhetorical. Regardless, it had been asked. “Never to disturb you when you are inside the Long Room.”

  The eight men seated at the sides of the long rectangular table laughed. Hermon knew them all. The two lords seated to the king’s right and left, as well as the general, colonel, and captains of the Cordillera Knights.

  The laughter cut the tension from the room. King Elroy sighed, and waved an impatient hand. “Why are you here?”

  Prince Hermon froze in place. Eighteen eyeballs were locked on him. His father, pulled down on his thick red beard, which was never a good sign. It always meant that the king’s patience had reached its end. “Hermon! Get your head out of the clouds, boy. Close the door on your way out. I don’t want you barging in here like that again. And this isn’t over. We will discuss your punishment after we dine tonight. Am I understood?”

  Hermon found the strength to nod his head.

  King Elroy shooed him away. “Don’t forget to close the door. How you managed to open it in the first place is beyond me.”

  More laughter.

  Hermon knew his cheeks were red. He felt the heat warm his face. Turning around, he stopped. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten why he’d come; it was simply that the room and its occupants had overwhelmed him. “But father
, it’s Jeremiah!”

  “What of your brother?” King Elroy, having already dismissed his youngest son, had returned to his chair and only absently asked the question. The disruption, in his mind, over.

  “He fell. By the stairs.” Hermon said. He hated that tears showed up. Crying was weakness. Men didn’t cry. He remembered a time when Jeremiah took the blame for broken lantern. A tapestry caught fire, and after the fire had been extinguished, it could only be thrown away. King Elroy delivered the punishment in Jeremiah’s bedchamber, but forced Hermon to watch. Jeremiah lay over their father’s knees. Using a thick leather belt, he whipped Jeremiah. Six lashes. After each one, new tears pooled in his brother’s eyes, but he never cried out. Instead, Hermon had stood there sobbing. The king never took his eyes off Hermon. It was almost as if he knew Hermon had been responsible for the fire.

  Hermon hated that memory.

  He knew he should have spoken up. He never should have let Jeremiah take the whippings. He had been too scared to say anything.

  That night he apologized to Jeremiah for being a coward. Jeremiah told him, “Don’t worry about it. That’s what big brothers do.”

  “What do they do?” Hermon had asked.

  “They protect little brothers.”

  King Elroy looked up from whatever occupied his attention on the table. “Well, lad, is he alright?”

  “He’s not moving.”

  The eight men jumped to their feet. So many chair legs scraped against the rock floor that it sounded like a thunderstorm inside the castle. They waited for the king to pass by where they stood before moving away from the table and following him and Hermon hurriedly out of the Long Room.

  Hermon didn’t look back. He ran ahead, knowing they’d all be on his heels. Part of him hoped Jeremiah was up and okay when they found him. Another part worried that if Jeremiah was up and okay, their father would use the switch. Nothing stung more than course wood on exposed flesh, skin that turned red and raw after one whack. It never stopped after just one whack though. Never.

  His fear subsided. Jeremiah had moved, but was not on his feet. He’d crawled to the bottom of the stairs. His hands reached up. “Father?”

  King Elroy bent down, cradled his son in his arms, and spirited him up the stairs in a single, fluid motion. After they were out of sight, Hermon heard his father’s voice boom. “Get the Curer!”

  Hermon stayed outside the closed bedchamber door for two full, excruciatingly long days. The curer came and went each morning, each evening, and once during the middle of the night. When the curer exited the room, he’d smile at Hermon and muss his hair, silently telling the young prince not to worry.

  By dusk of the third day, something had changed. The king, the curer, and a few others Hermon did not recognize stayed in Jeremiah’s bed chamber. He couldn’t be sure, but with his ear pressed to the door he heard someone crying. It couldn’t be his father, but he wasn’t sure who else it might be.

  When King Elroy finally exited Jeremiah’s room he sat down on the hard floor beside Hermon. The king’s eyes were red and puffy. He rested his elbows on bent knees, and chewed at the skin on the side of his thumb.

  Hermon hated that silence. “Is he getting better, father?”

  The king closed his eyes for just a moment, and when he opened them, he smiled. “He’s pretty sick, Hermon. Right now he is in a sleep. The curer is unable to wake him, and isn’t positive as to what might be causing it. His fever has come down. He is not as hot as he was even this morning. The curer assures me this is a good sign. He says the sleep is the body’s way of healing itself.”

  Hermon wasn’t sure he understood what was happening. All he knew was that Jeremiah was in some kind of deep sleep. “And if he doesn’t wake up again?”

  King Elroy patted Hermon on the head, got to his feet, and walked away.

  Had he heard him? Hermon wondered. Should he ask again?

  While playing hide and go seek with his brother weeks ago, Hermon had hidden in some cupboards in the kitchen. He’d overheard conversations that he’d paid little mind to, until now. The women cooking talked about magic. Hermon knew even talking about such things could land someone in the gallows. The old Emperor Rye was responsible for that ancient decree. He wouldn’t tell on them. At the time, he’d not been that interested. He worried more about his brother finding him.

  It was late, but his father had not ordered him to bed. His idea made him smile. If there really was magic, he’d find it, use it, and heal his brother. Their father would be happy to see Jeremiah up and about. He’d welcome Hermon’s newfound talents with open arms. There might be a feast in his honor, but that was beside the point. He waited by his brother’s door until everyone left. He wasn’t supposed to disturb Jeremiah, but that didn’t stop him from quietly visiting.

  Hermon always expected his brother to appear . . . bigger, take up more space in the bed. Instead, Jeremiah looked small and thin under the sheets. Hermon put a hand over his belly, but doing so did not stop its trembling. Standing beside the bed, he stared at his brother for what seemed like a long while. He didn’t look any different now than before he became ill.

  “I’m going to find a way to heal you, brother. I can’t tell you how. But don’t you worry. I have a plan. I know it will work. I just have to be very, very secretive about it. If I get caught before I am able to cure you, father will whip me something fierce, I’ve no doubt,” he explained to the still form. He whispered, but wasn’t sure why. He should speak loudly; everyone should. No one should whisper. That didn’t make sense. What was the worst thing that could happen, Jeremiah might wake up?

  “I’ll be back to see you in the morning. If you wake up before then, please don’t tell anyone,” Hermon said, and then laughed. “Oh, but I haven’t even shared my plan with you, have I? It’s better this way. Then you aren’t forced to lie if anyone asks where I am, or what I’ve been doing.”

  He almost reached over and hugged Jeremiah. If his brother had been awake, and not sick, he’d never have thought to hug him. He couldn’t explain the urge, but stopped before acting on it. What if Jeremiah woke up while he was giving him a hug, and got mad? He didn’t ever want to do anything to make his older brother upset with him.

  His course of action decided, Hermon made his way through mostly dark and narrow hallways. Every third torch was lit, casting his shadow in animated relief against the castle’s stone walls. He climbed a staircase, his back close against one wall. With so many people living inside the castle, it was likely others were awake. If anyone saw him, they wouldn’t ask him anything directly. They’d be apt to report to his father, or a Lord, and then, eventually, he’d be questioned. It was far easier to not get caught roaming the halls alone at night. Far easier.

  The library door was simple to open compared to the heavy doors to the Long Room. Inside, Hermon was always amazed by the amount of books in the room. There were two rows of book shelves, with aisles easy enough to navigate through. Each row had four separate five-shelf bookcases. That wasn’t all. The walls around the room had been fitted with shelves by the palace carpenter. Hermon enjoyed touching the leather spines. On some of the shelves rolled scrolls were stacked like triangles. The paper was yellowed and aged, and he’d been warned more than once never to touch the scrolls. If ruined, the history written on them would be lost forever. Actually, he had been warned never to touch any of the books, either.

  Hermon grabbed a stack of books from the closest shelf. He went back to the hallway and stacked them against the wall. He climbed on top and removed one of the lit torches from its hold. He traded it with an unlit one in the library, and retrieved the stack of books.

  He knew in essence how the library worked, the manner in which books were catalogued. The trouble he faced was of a more academic nature. He knew books on magic existed, assumed some were in the Cordillera Library, but didn’t know the books by title, or by author. He also knew that having books on magic broke the law. If his father wasn’t wor
ried about getting caught, then he wouldn’t.

  Hermon searched shelf by shelf, and bookcase by bookcase. The daunting task lasted most of the night. He just never realized how many books existed in the library. There were books written on so many topics, he worried he might not recognize a volume on magic even if what he sought was right in front of him. And he was not worried his father would come looking for him. He couldn’t recall a single time when the king sought him out. If anything someone on his staff was always sent to fetch him.

  And then he saw it. Magic Spells & Potions. The book was written by Gunther Crowley. He carefully pulled the book from the shelf nearly dropping it, not expecting its weight. Hugging it to his chest he went back to the front of the library and set it on a table. He replaced the torch in the hallway, and the books he used to stand on back upon their shelf. With his prize under his arm, he made his way back through the castle and rushed to his bedchamber. As best he could tell, not one person had seen him.

  Pushing the book under his bed, he climbed onto the mattress, and beneath his covers. He figured he should sleep. He needed rest. The last several days of vigil outside of his brother’s sickroom had left him exhausted. Yet lying in the darkness, he tossed and turned. It became impossible for him to ignore the hidden book. His brother needed his help now, not later tonight, not in the morning.

  Using a wooden match, Hermon lit his bedside lantern, and adjusted the flame. The small table and chair in the corner were meant for his studies. It was a perfect place for reading. He opened the book and began. There were so many words he’d never seen before; he had no way to know what they meant. A new spell seemingly filled every page. Each chapter began with a list of needed supplies. Most required cooking instruments. Finding a cure would prove more difficult than he had anticipated.