Severed Empire: Wizard's Rise

by Phillip Tomasso

  “Limitless? But how will I know what I can and can’t do?”

  Galatia smiled, and shrugged, “By trying. The thing to remember, magic is not to be used for trivial matters. Using your power will drain your energy, though that will replenish over time. The more frequently you use your ability, or the extent of the use. . .can leave you weak, and vulnerable.”

  Chapter 27

  The roar surrounded her. It rose and fell in waves. There were cheers and jeers, and snide comments. None indistinguishable from the other. Together it was impossible to make out any one word.

  There was a sense of chaos. People everywhere. Shoulders bumped, and pushed. Rancid breath and body odor made bile rise in her throat; she feared she’d vomit if she continued breathing. Packed in tight, she couldn’t see over anyone’s head. Whatever was happening, she was missing.

  But she somehow knew that it was bad.

  Whatever it was, the collective ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ grew more intense. Snaking her way forward was difficult. No one wanted to step aside, or let her pass. Not easily detoured, she continued forward, gaining as much ground as allowed. There was barely room to breathe that fetid, collective stench.

  The man in front of her spun around. The size of a small giant, she strained her neck looking up at him. If she wasn’t pressed person to person, she would have backed away, frightened. Yet, she couldn’t move. There was nowhere to go; no way to flee, though running seemed prudent.

  He had no eyes. The nose was wide, flattened, and somehow still bent to the left. The few teeth he did have were crooked and decaying. His gums were shredded, as if he’d been chewing on broken glass. Gooey strands of pink flesh dangled where teeth once occupied space.

  “He’s not going to live.” He breathed in and out of his mouth; she was confident he’d recently eaten a barrel of fish left to dry out in the sun for two and a half days.

  She didn’t have to ask who.

  While there was no apparent light source, she had no issue seeing clearly. Her skin was cold, clammy. “I can save him.”

  “Only one can live. You are the one who kills him.”

  “I wouldn’t do that!” She grabbed his arm and attempted to move him aside. The man was a wall. His muscles felt like rock. “Move!”

  “Only one can live.”

  “I can save him!” She would never kill Mykal. Never.

  “Not this time. You are the one that kills him.”

  “I will save him!”

  “You will be the death of him.”

  Karyn came awake abruptly, eyes wide, sitting up. The fog shrouded most of her body; it was as if she were treading water with her head just above the sea’s surface.

  She realized her mouth was open. She was thinking, I will save him!

  She didn’t think she’d screamed.

  The voice came from behind her. “Not this time.”

  She turned her head, and just before she could make out who had replied to her thoughts, her eyes lurched open, and out loud she gasped, the scream caught in her throat.

  ***

  With no real path to follow, the six of them rode their horses in a line, an inverted V. The Cicade fell further behind them, and the Zenith Mountains loomed ahead, stretching on for miles. As they drew closer and closer, the breathtaking beauty of the range should have filled him with a sense of peace. It didn’t. There was something foreboding about their sheer size and the over-abundance of cold grey rock. With a break in the mystical storm, a view of snow covered peaks and a blue sky were bold contrasts in color in the sky. The mountains were more distinct now that they were closer, the intimidating size of each jagged rise brought on anxiety that made his heart race and his breath quicken. He could feel them, the mountains, as if they were pressing against him; against the very air he had trouble breathing, reminding him of his desperate struggle trapped beneath the Isthmian.

  Karyn stayed close. She was on his right, Blodwyn and Galatia to his left; Quill and Anthony continuing to lead.

  Quill said they’d reach Ironwall before midday.

  The steady clap of hooves stamping the ground was rhythmic, a hypnotic counterpoint to his stifling dread, like a tantra which formed Galatia’s magic.

  He felt aware.

  It was the only way he could explain it to himself.

  Between yesterday and today, some switch inside him had flipped, something had changed.

  He was aware of himself unlike he had ever before been.

  A Natural Wizard. He wasn’t positive what that meant, but felt comforted by the simplicity of the way it sounded. Natural.

  His breathing slowed.

  It wasn’t arrogance that fed his level of comfort, as much as it was the beginning of finding real answers about who he was, who his mother had been. Or, he dared dream, who she was still.

  He concentrated on his breathing. Deep breaths in, and long, slow exhales.

  The flat landscape evolved, becoming hilly, and rocky. There was a narrow brook, and a few sparse trees with patches of green grass under them. After the horses stopped for a drink, they continued on, falling into line, one behind the other.

  Mykal saw the village. Two rows of main structures separated by a wide dirt road. Behind the buildings along the main road were clusters of small homes. A lot of the houses were surrounded by an odd looking twenty-foot-tall wall. It looked like some kind of loose metal, like it was made from iron chainmail. Sharp, coiled loops ran across the top of the wall. Mykal thought that even if someone scaled the iron, they’d have a difficult time getting over to the other side without fileting flesh off the bone.

  The sun sat directly above them. There were no clouds—not that clouds mattered, since bizarre storms had been springing up without any notice.

  Quill pulled back on reins, “Whoa.”

  His horse’s neck turned to the side from the tug, and its feet kicked up mud. The other horses slowed, and the six of them clustered together.

  “This village is filled with people who spend their days in the bowels of the mountain. It’s dangerous work. They’re not even-tempered men. Their lungs are black, and their souls blacker. You stay close, and watch your tongue,” Quill said. It was like he had not heard Blodwyn at all. “Stay close.”

  They approached the village at a trot. It was nothing like Nabal’s keep. There were no fortified walls, or armed guards. The main fortification was the odd looking walls around the villages behind the main street. Unlike the market in Grey Ashland where vendors sold product from carts, here merchants sold from buildings set one beside the other. Most noticeable were a tavern, and an iron smith shop where custom swords and daggers were crafted. There was an inn, and a place that sold fresh grown vegetables and fruits. Across from the inn well building where fish was sold. Some of the others looked like dwellings, one on top of the other, as high as three stories. Mykal was in awe at the unique ways of the village. Anything a person could want was here, in one of these buildings.

  “Where is everyone?” Karyn said. She whispered, as if her voice would disturb everyone who was not in town.

  “Under the mountain.” Anthony pointed toward the Zenith.

  “They’re working,” Blodwyn said.

  “So where do we take the horses?” Mykal said.

  As they walked the main street of the Ironwall Pass, Mykal noticed posts in front of each building, with troughs filled with water. “We can tie the horses off here for now. Let them have some more to drink, and rest, while we figure out where we can get some oats. It’s going to cost us some silver, though. No one here is going to take care of our horses out of the kindness of their hearts,” Quill said, and then motioned Blodwyn over to him.

  Mykal watched them whisper.

  “What do you think’s going on?” Karyn said. She wasn’t looking at him. It didn’t seem as if she was interested in the village, so much as she was avoiding eye contact.

  “Is something wrong?”

  She shook her head.

  Galatia s
tood in the center of the road, arms up, stretched wide.

  He noticed Karyn’s arm wrapped around his.

  “No,” Karyn said. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  Blodwyn walked over. “We’re going to find food for the horses, grab something for ourselves. Not sure about the rest of you, but a hot cooked meal would be a nice change to the rations we’ve been living on.”

  “I second that,” Anthony said.

  Blodwyn smiled. “I’ve a friend here. Makes candles. We’ll stop and see him, as well.”

  “Shouldn’t be too tough to find. Signs hanging by each place,” Mykal said. “What were you guys talking about?”

  Blodwyn looked back at Quill, who watched them. “If it turns out we need to, we’ll discuss it then, okay, Mykal?”

  He didn’t like the way that sounded, but Blodwyn wasn’t a man you argued with. You could argue, just don’t expect to win. It was a lesson he’d learned long ago. “I suppose.”

  Blodwyn clapped a hand on Mykal’s shoulder, like he was relieved the subject was dropped. “You two hungry?” he said, an awkward segue.

  “Very,” Karyn said.

  “Me, too.”

  ***

  While the others searched for a hot meal, Mykal and Karyn followed Blodwyn. He walked with calculated steps, using his quarterstaff as a walking stick. His cloak flapping in the breeze that flowed from the mountains. The colder air gave even dirt a crisp scent.

  “I have not seen Copper in a long time,” Blodwyn said. “We go way back. Knew each other when we were just kids.”

  “What happened?” Mykal said.

  “Tragedy.”

  Mykal looked at Karyn, who frowned. “What kind of tragedy?”

  “There was an explosion. Copper lost his eyesight. He was about your age when it happened, Mykal. It became difficult for him to make a living. Working his father’s fields was no longer possible. He felt like a burden. I did my best to convince him things would work out. One night he vanished. I remember wanting to look for him,” he said.

  “And did you?” Mykal said.

  Blodwyn shook his head. “His father forbade it. Ahh, here we are.”

  A shingle hung over a door. It read, simply, Candles.

  The building was old. The clapboard was warped, showing cracks. A large bug scurried over a plank, and disappeared into a knothole in the wood.

  Blodwyn opened the business door. A bell jingled.

  The inside of Candles was dark.

  The man was blind, so lanterns or torches must not have been his priority.

  There were several barrels set in rows in the center of the room. Each rested on an iron plate over a small open flame. Above each row of barrels, on a spit were odd-shaped shafts. There were handles at one end, with gears that meshed together. Dangling over each barrel was a long white piece of string. Mykal stepped closer, and dipped a finger into a barrel, and wasn’t surprised. “Hot wax,” he said.

  A curtain leading to a back room parted.

  A man stepped out. “Hello?”

  Copper and Blodwyn might have been friends when young, but Copper had not aged nearly as well. His thin white hair were mere wisps on his head. Oblong, brown spots dotted his skin. A few days’ worth of stubble covered his cheeks and, chin. He hunched forward, his spine bent at an angle, and his feet scuffed as he shuffled forward. “Hello?”

  “It’s been a long time, old friend,” Blodwyn said.

  Copper stopped. He tried to stand up straight, but his angled spine prevented the movement. Only his head raised, and with milky white film covering his eyeballs, he appeared to search the room, making Mykal wonder if the man was completely blind, until he noticed that the man focused on nothing, and the eyes continually panned left, right, up, and down, as if twitching; the muscles behind the eyeballs, restless.

  “Blodwyn? Can it be?”

  Blodwyn laughed. He moved forward and embraced Copper in a tight hug. The two clapped each other on the back.

  “It’s been too long, Copper. Far too long.” Blodwyn held Copper’s arms and studied the man. “You look well.”

  “I wish I could say the same.”

  They both laughed.

  Mykal smiled at Karyn as they witnessed the exchange.

  “And who do you have with you?” Copper said.

  “Friends.”

  “And you need help?” Copper said.

  “We do.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  Blodwyn looked back at Mykal. “Yes. A war is coming, my friend.”

  “Isn’t there always?”

  It wasn’t true. Mykal never knew war. He’d heard stories. There has been peace as long as he could remember.

  “We have several horses, which are going to need tending to. We can pay,” Blodwyn said. “We have them tied to posts outside.” From under his cloak, Blodwyn produced a small leather purse, cinched closed with a gold string. It clanged, full of coin. Without any word, he tossed it in the air.

  And without turning his head, Copper caught it and, as if a magician himself, it disappeared. “I can assure you they will be well cared for.”

  “We also need a guide. Someone familiar with the caves, but more importantly, someone you trust.”

  “The mines?”

  “No. Not the mines.”

  “You mean the Gorge Caves?”

  “I do,” Blodwyn said.

  “Why would you want to be heading into there? It’s not a safe place for people to venture. I know of many who have entered, but never come back out. Many. Their families still mourn the loss, crippled by not knowing what happened to their loved ones,” Copper said.

  “We wouldn’t go down into the caves unless it was absolutely necessary,” Blodwyn said.

  “No,” Copper said, “I suppose not. There are few men who know those caves very well. Even fewer I trust as a guide. Let me think on that for a moment.”

  “Thank you,” Blodwyn said.

  “Will you introduce me to your friends?”

  After the introductions, Mykal said, “A pleasure to meet you. Wyn has told us all about you, sir—”

  Copper held up a hand. He snickered. “It’s Copper. Not sir. Has never been sir. Not for me. My father. He was Sir. Capital ‘S,’ that’s for sure. And what did you think when Wyn told you that explosion of his cost me my eyesight?”

  Mykal looked at Blodwyn, who shrugged, sheepishly.

  Copper laughed. “He left that part out, didn’t he, Mykal?”

  “He may have, si—Copper,” Mykal said.

  “Ah, yes. He always does. Would you like to hear the story?”

  Mykal raised eyebrows at Blodwyn, who only shrugged again. “I would?”

  “We were just kids, really. Young, wild. We were invincible. When youth is on your side, it’s hard to believe some day you’ll die. Or worse, some day you’ll grow withered and old.” Copper pulled at his shirt, indicating he had failed to die yet was instead plagued with age. “Wyn fancied himself a magician when we were kids. Oh, hush hush now. We never broke any laws. Just kids playing. Same as if we pretended to be knights and thieves, really. Only Wyn gathered a bunch of items from his family, chemicals used to clean, and such. He had a glass beaker and mixed items together, cooking them over an open flame. He took notes on when the liquid changed color, or bubbled, or boiled, or foamed. The foaming, that was always fun to watch. Except one day, he asked me to add something-or-other to the concoction, and like a fool, I did. He was older than me. So I believed everything he told me, or showed me, or did anything he asked me to do.”

  “Oh, you make it sound like you are nothing but an innocent victim,” Blodwyn said.

  Copper waved a dismissive hand at Blodwyn. “Who’s telling the story? Seems like you had your chance. Didn’t you? Of course you did.”

  He wasn’t mad. He seemed almost joyful retelling the tale of how his vision was lost. Mykal marveled at the man’s good nature. It impressed him. He smiled at Karyn. She seemed as involved in the rend
ition as he was. She was so silent all of the time. He hoped he’d get her to talk more. He had questions for her. Not about him, or his safety. He wanted to know more about her, since she seemed to occupy his thoughts more than anyone else had before.

  “I did as I was instructed, and added the whatever-it-was to the beaker, and . . . BOOM! . . .” Copper bounced his head from side to side in a lackadaisical manner. “The rest is history.”

  Silence fell over them. Blodwyn no longer smiled. His eyes stared toward the ground. The melancholy seeped into old wounds that apparently weren’t yet healed.

  “Copper?” Mykal said, trying to think fast. “What is this contraption you have here?”

  “Ah, this?” The man’s eyes lit up at the question. “Watch!”

  Copper bent below the first row of barrels. He turned a knob. The flames increased. After a moment the wax began to bubble. Copper walked the line, checking to ensure a thin piece of string was attached over each barrel. At the opposite end, he worked the crank. The gears rolled. The shaft spun. The strings dipped down into the wax, and then were raised. Over and over he churned the crank. Soon the string held onto the wax, and the wax thickened as it cooled layer upon layer.

  “This is how you make candles?” Mykal was impressed. He stood over a barrel and watched as the wax took shape. “The string, it’s candle wicks?”

  “Yes!” Copper said.

  “And with this. . .thing, you can make five candles at the same time?”

  “I can. I do. And I sell out daily. The people here spend their lives in the mines, surrounded by nothing but dank darkness. When they emerge the sun is close to setting. They burn candles all night long. The darkness makes them fearful. They prefer to spend the night in some kind of light.”

  Chapter 28

  Mercer stood on the starboard side of The Shadow. He held the lower end of the ax handle in one hand, and the other gripped higher near the double-headed blade. The few men who did not die during the boarding stood around him. They were sentinels. Their charge was guard and protect.