Severed Empire: Wizard's Rise

by Phillip Tomasso

  “Then go! Get to it! We might be able to outrun their ship, but we shall change course and head for them, captain. Let’s, for the first time in recent memory, make the Voyagers the prey.” King Hermon threw a fist into the air to accentuate his proclamations.

  Shouting commands, the captain ordered the tars here and there. Ropes were pulled and sails turned. The Shadow charged the Voyagers. The men wore swords at their sides, and daggers in their belts. The bright sun was misleading. It presented the illusion of a peaceful morning. A battle was about to ensue. And the sea would turn red, there was no mistaking that truth.

  “And me, your highness?” Ida asked.

  He hated when she mocked him, the way her words spilled from her mouth like the hiss of a snake. He’d just as soon backhand her across the face, then share his plan of attack. Her chafing against his rule would be dealt with. Eventually. “Get to the bow. Pull the wind away from their sail!”

  Barely glimpsed beneath the hood of her cloak, he caught the rise of the corners of her lips, and the foamy spittle caught between them. Her only redeeming qualities were the evil that flowed through her and her belief in his vision, that he would one day he would become the new emperor. “As you wish,” she said.

  He watched her walk on unsteady legs, keeping a hand on the rail along the stern for support. The Shadow pitched forward, bobbing up and down as it cut the sea. Twice he thought she’d topple overboard and into the Isthmian, surprised that she somehow did not.

  At the bow she raised arms in the air. Bony fingers covered in liver spotted skin twitched at the sky. Hermon thought he could see the flow of magic, as she harnessed power from the world around them. Envy filled him. He hated such weakness. People should be envious of him. His own skills hardly rivaled that of a street hustler’s trickery.

  Ida’s arms shot forward. The wind picked up and waterspouts appeared, racing ahead of The Shadow. King Hermon made his way to the bow.

  “That is not what I commanded,” he said. The waterspouts grew, the spirals reaching toward a blue sky. It looked unnatural. The sorceress ignored him. The Shadow’s speed forced her hood back. With eyes closed, she concentrated on her magic. Two waterspouts became one, and bore down upon the Voyagers. Although he witnessed storms she’d generated from the safety of his palace, this was the first time he was on the sea during one of her displays of power. He wasn’t sure how safe he felt in her presence. The reminder was clear: he should never underestimate this witch.

  The temptation to knock her off the ship nearly overwhelmed. He fought the urge, gritting his teeth, and curling his fingers into fists.

  Just before reaching the Voyagers, the spouts rose into the air, and vanished.

  Hermon turned and stared at Ida.

  She grunted, and motioned his eyes forward.

  The full sails slacked.

  Just like that, the wind was out of them, and their vessel slowed as if anchors had been dropped and snagged on rocks under the sea.

  Unable to control himself, King Hermon laughed. If the witch weren’t so ugly he could have kissed her. The bile that rose up in his throat from the thought prevented any such sign of affection. “Well done,” he said, the only praise he could muster. “Well done.”

  The Shadow would be on the Voyager Ship in no time at all. King Hermon spun to watch the crew ready for battle. Excitement swelled inside him. There was no containing the feeling, and he welcomed the energy provided. It had been far too long since anything had moved him at all, other than his dark ambitions.

  ***

  “Captain!” Cearl watched the waterspouts rise into the sky. They simply not exist. There was not one cloud in the sky. When the wind left the sails, he made up his mind. The woman on their bow was like a living figurehead. The magic came from her. He’d seen her arms in the air, and those forces spark from her fingertips. He needn’t a spyglass to witness it, either. “They’re using magic, captain. They’ve a wizard on board!”

  “Men!” Captain Sebastian said from the wheel, “ready your axes! The people of Osiris believe they are equipped to fight us? They think a wizard on their deck will tip the odds in their favor? They have forgotten the strength and fury of the Voyagers. It is time they are reminded why the sea is ours, and their trespass will be punished!”

  Cheers erupted.

  With sails useless, they readied for the fight.

  The small ship was fast, Cearl thought. It sped across the sea toward them. Mere minutes stood between vessels colliding. Was the intent to ram? Cearl loved the sea, yet had a healthy respect for its creatures. All sailors did. Axes to the back of the neck, or even a blade through the gut, were better ways to die. He’d seen the giant serpents, and had caught sight, once or twice, of the mermaids. There were more below, legends of beasts thought extinct, but, in truth, they hid still alive and breathing through ancient gills. These monsters survived in the dark and crushing depths of the abyss. At any moment one could race to the surface and crush The Derecho in giant jaws. There have been a few ships running cargo to, or from, one place or another, that never returned. Occasionally, pieces of the missing ship’s boards would be caught up in a fishing net, providing some closure to the fate of the lost crew.

  “Lou!” Captain Sebastian said.

  Cearl crushed his imaginings. He needed to focus on the now. “Aye, Captain?”

  “When the ship is beside us, we strike first. We’ve a larger crew, a bigger ship. They want to rush us, then we’ll bring the battle to them. Have the tars ready to swing across!” Sebastian commanded, eyebrows furrowed; his eyes mere slits. He grunted, “We’ll not be made to look like fools on our sea.”

  Waiting was worst. Cearl didn’t wield an ax. He preferred the sword. It handled better. His steel was sheathed, but his hand rested on the hilt. The sea splashed against the side of the ship. Overhead, gulls cried. The scavengers didn’t care if fish carcass, or chunks of man salted the sea. They circled ready to feast.

  The moments passed in counted heartbeats, as the smaller vessel closed the gap between them. Cearl watched the men bounce on the balls of their feet, ready for a fight. He didn’t share their enthusiasm. He would do what needed getting done, but cruising the sea, fishing the waters, making it home to his family was far more essential than driving his sword through a gut, and dodging the blade aimed for his.

  “Ready!” Captain Sebastian shouted, his own sword drawn and raised toward the sky.

  The small vessel from Osiris pulled up alongside the Voyagers. The men on board were dressed in black and red. They had swords ready, as well.

  Captain Sebastian lowered his sword with a swing. “Attack!”

  The Voyagers jumped from their ship onto the other. The blood-letting began. Cries erupted. The men swung axes like loggers chopping trees.

  Metal clashed. Some sailors fought defensively; others on the offense.

  Cearl went ahead of his captain. They wouldn’t leave their ship. They stayed and defended the deck. Any Osiris men attempting to board The Derecho were cut down. Cearl thrust his blade toward a man’s throat. Avoiding the blade, the man let go of the rail and fell backward. No blood drawn.

  Splashes came from the left, and right.

  Seagulls dove for bits of flesh.

  The sky darkened. Clouds formed directly above them, and spread outward in a wide vortex. They were heavy and filled with water, ready to rain down on the battle.

  Cearl watched the men battle below him. Few enemies made their way toward him or the captain. The need to fight alongside his mates surged through him.

  Helix held his ax with two hands. He used it deftly, parry and riposte. Attack and defend. His moves were smooth, almost elegant. In direct contrast, to the way Mercer fought on the forecastle deck. The Carpenter was all bulk, and moved like a massive beast. He swung his ax with one hand, and threw a first with the other. Always appearing a bit off balance, Cearl constantly expected him to fall. His approach was as effective in cutting through the king’s men as it w
ould be swatting flies from food. Richard struggled. Two of the boarders had him backed against the mast. A sword swung for his neck. He ducked. The blade lodged into wood. Richard rolled out of harm’s way, stood up, only to have others there, trying to spill his blood.

  Cearl thought about going over to where Richard needed help.

  Hands clapped onto the side railing of the Derecho.

  Sebastian cut the fingers from it with a swing of his blade.

  A man screamed, fell back onto the attacker’s vessel, leaving his tips tumbling across The Derecho’s deck.

  Thunder boomed.

  The sea churned creating small white caps.

  The gulls weren’t easily deterred. They dropped into the heat of fights, dodging swords and axes for a chance at severed ears and rolling eyeballs.

  Determining which way the battle swayed was not simple. From his vantage point, Cearl saw bodies too bloodied for identification, if not for what they were wearing. “Captain?”

  Sebastian looked hesitantly from his lieutenant to the fight on his ship on the deck below, and then back at his lieutenant. “Go. I’ve got the ship.”

  Cearl jumped over the side rail. He spotted Richard, still alive, still fighting, still outnumbered. He ran at them. He thrust his blade through a man’s back until he could reach a hand to his shoulder then twisted the sword as he pulled it free of muscle, meat and bone.

  Richard carved a ‘Z’ before him. The razor curve of his ax tore a line through the flesh of the man’s chest, and then across his thighs. The man’s shrill scream cut off abruptly when he dropped to his knees and in a single swing, Richard lopped the head from the body.

  In the deadly melee, Cearl’s muscles tensed expecting a sword in the back at any moment. It was a dark fear that needed to be ignored, yet it reminded him of the night spent treading water in the middle of the sea; the traditional Voyager rite of initiation. The first night he joined the experienced seamen dropped and left him and his fellow recruits overboard for hours. The danger was real. Creatures swam about below. He and the others formed a circle. Holding hands, they provided each other support. Some wanted to quit, ready to drown instead of kicking their legs for survival. During a moonless night, Cearl never once worried about his stamina. He could tread water for days if forced; instead it had been his mind that beat him. He panicked more than once waiting for serpents to swallow him whole, or worse, bite away limbs until nothing remained. It was they who saved each other that night, a powerful bond, formed to last and designed to unify.

  The king’s warriors were losing.

  The battle was nearly over.

  Captain Sebastian dropped down onto the deck of the king’s vessel, confident his ship was safe, and being properly defended by his men.

  Best he could tell, only two boarders remained on the Derecho.

  They stood close together at the bow, facing the stern; facing Captain Sebastian, and Cearl, Richard, Helix, and Mercer, and the other Voyagers.

  “Stop right there,” the man said. If it weren’t for the crown on his head, Cearl wouldn’t have known who stood before them.

  A woman wearing a hood was a few feet behind the king.

  Sebastian didn’t stop. “Why would you attack us?”

  “I command you to stop!”

  “You are not my king. Your commands don’t mean anything to me. The sea is ours. Our fleets run these waters. You are in my territory.”

  The woman raised a hand. Energy formed at her fingers, then bloomed. Half a sphere, blue and electrical, it hummed and crackled as it pushed like a bowed wall toward the captain and his men.

  “Captain?” Cearl said.

  Sebastian held up his arms, stopping his men from advancing. “You came onto our sea!”

  The king shook his head, as if comically annoyed. “The sea does not belong to you—”

  “No more than the land on the eastern shore is yours,” Sebastian fired back.

  “We were making our way for the west,” the king said, “not that I need to provide you with explanation.”

  “You made your way for us. Your witch stole the wind from our sail, forget the fact that magic is against the laws of the realms. Your presence was hostile the moment you left the fjord. Go ahead, deny the truth,” Sebastian said.

  Cearl was tempted to touch the living wall in front of them; drawn by the color, the sparkle. His palm was inches from it. He dare not make contact, though. The hair on his arms, and neck stood on end. Richard slapped his arm down.

  “We are going to the west,” the king said. He looked beyond the captain and his men. “And you are now our crew.”

  Sebastian laughed. It was for show. He clapped a hand on his belly and tipped his head back. “You are madder than legend tells. We are not yours to order. You are not going to the west. You can return to the east, and hide in your mountains, king. Let today’s battle be a lesson, a reminder, that the sea is ours. Crossing it is not an option. Not without prior arrangements. Nothing has changed. You are well aware of how this works.”

  The king nodded at the woman.

  Her second hand rose up, parallel to the first. Her fingers bent upward at the knuckle closest to the tip. It sounded like bones snapping.

  Cearl felt real fear for the first time since the fighting began. He’d never encountered a sorceress, and the idea of magic in a fight against steel was unnerving. There was no way of knowing what to expect. He did not want his emotions so easily displayed. He re-gripped the hilt of his sword, as if ready to cut a hole through the blue shield in front of them, as if ready to charge against the king as his witch.

  Axes rose in the air.

  Sebastian spun around.

  His men were ready to attack.

  Cearl didn’t know what was happening. There have always been stories of wizards and magic. He never believed them. They always sounded like fairy tales told at bedtime ensuring restless children slept when instructed. Sorcerers were made up stories shared around fires.

  “If you will not captain this vessel, I will be forced to have your men kill both you and your second.” The king’s smile enraged Cearl.

  “My men would do no such thing.” Sebastian laughed, but stopped when no one laughed with him. He saw her bolts pass through his men; their bodies were illuminated for just a flash of a moment. His men all wore the same blank expression. Their eyes were open, but vacant.

  The woman controlled his tars? Sebastian’s expression dropped. He frowned, silent, and turned back to the king.

  Captain Sebastian stood ready to fight. “Release my men!”

  The king laughed. “You mean, my men?”

  Chapter 25

  “I don’t understand. We have the mirror. It’s why we came to the forest,” Mykal said. He stopped there. Karyn had been kidnapped. They’d all been close to losing their lives.

  Galatia had placed the mirror into the side saddle on her horse. “It will do us no good to call Pendora now. Not without having the other artifacts, too.”

  “What other artifacts?” Blodwyn demanded.

  “It isn’t you I need,” she said, ignoring the question and locking eyes on Blodwyn.

  Mykal cringed. It wasn’t that her words came out harshly, but the meaning was clear. What she said might not have offended Blodwyn, but they’d visibly upset him. She made it almost impossible to trust her, even though he wanted to. Everything about her had been mysterious from the beginning, never revealing more than pieces each time she spoke. “If you expect my support, I need some assurance that all of us are in this together.”

  She raised an eyebrow, as if she appreciated his stand. “I told you four wizards went into hiding, including me. We have the mirror and can now summon Pendora. But we need to acquire two more artifacts in order to call on Matteo and Osuald. The ritual is draining. Completing the steps once will leave us vulnerable. Repeating it three times will insure that the king will catch up to and capture us all.”

  “Which king?” Karyn said.

>   “Does it matter?” Galatia said.

  Mykal thought it did. They were wanted by both, but for such different reasons. There were dead men south of the forest. Eventually, King Nabal would discover the murders. Where were they going to hide with royal enemies in both the west and the east? Despite his earlier determination, he knew that they were all committed now. “What else do we need? Don’t piecemeal it. Okay? We need to know everything.”

  “In the belly of the Zenith Mountains, Matteo hid a dagger dipped in gold. He had the weapon specially crafted. The blade is maraging steel, forged in dragon flames. It is indestructible,” Galatia said.

  “Dragon flames?” Mykal said. “That is a real thing?”

  “It was,” Blodwyn said. “A long time ago.”

  “Dragons existed,” Mykal said. It wasn’t a question. It was said in awe. This might be my other grandfather, Mykal thought. If he is anything like Uncle Quill, summoning him out of hiding might not work to our favor.

  “Why would he part with such a weapon?” Blodwyn said, not hiding his confusion. His thick brow arched, and eyes squinted. “Seems he’d want to keep such a unique blade?”

  “He has two,” Galatia said.

  It was the first time Mykal had seen her drop eye contact. She gazed at the ground. It had something to do with the dagger. There was a story there. Maybe it wasn’t her place to tell it? The weapons didn’t seem to have any bearing on their present situation. He shouldn’t let it go, but decided he would. For now. “And Osuald?” Mykal said.

  “Osuald hid a chalice somewhere near or in the ancient Library Ruins, just beyond the Constantine Realm, north east of the Flaming Crystal Valley. It’s studded with rare gems, and is very valuable,” Galatia said.

  Blodwyn opened his mouth and closed it. Mykal knew he was going to question, again, why such precious items were hidden. Instead he tapped the end of his staff on the ground.

  Although still under the deep canopy, it was obvious that the sun was fading. Mykal guessed more clouds were moving in. He was impatient about to leave the forest. His skin itched as if spiders crawled all over him, beneath his garments. Scratching at his shoulders and arms brought no relief.