4
Kelnor glanced at the note he’d been given after his last class. The note was written in a feminine hand and a script so flowery, he could barely make out the words. He squinted at it, unwilling to admit that his eyesight was not what it had once been. What sort of a wizard had poor eyesight?
Garlath’s study. Immediately after midday meal. Don’t be late.
E
Of course it was Egrid. Who else would summon him to Garlath’s study?
He glanced up from the table, watching as the students flowed out of the dining hall and flooded the aisles and passageways that led to their classes. He’d been one of those. A student. Attending classes with the masters. Most of his classmates were gone now, off on assignment somewhere across the land. Only he remained. He’d never been given an assignment, and never been slated for advanced training. He’d never been asked for anything, never been given anything to do.
He had a strong suspicion it was the wizard’s way of encouraging him to leave on his own, but that wasn’t going to happen. Where would he go? His family had made it clear when the magic came awake in him that he was no longer a part of the family. Not like before. He could not follow in his father’s footsteps. He could learn the family business, but he could never take it over. He was banned from inheriting. That simple rule had banished any hope he had of a future, especially since his magic was so weak, he could barely raise fire.
No. He was not going to be one of the wizards that the bards wrote songs about. No grand and glorious quest. No awesome feats of magic. No. He was a wizard by courtesy and little more.
He tossed the note onto the table. “Incendio ignius,” he whispered.
The note burst into flames and turned to ashes. At least he’d mastered that spell.
He made his way to Garlath’s study and rapped on the door.
“Come in, Kelnor,” a woman’s voice came from the other side of the door. Egrid. How did she know it was him? For a moment, he wondered, then kicked himself. Who else would she think it was? She had summoned him, after all.
He pushed the door open to find the redhead sitting comfortably in one of the side chairs that flanked Garlath’s desk. The wizard in question sat behind his desk. His close-cropped hair and beard stood out in stark contrast to most wizards long, flowing hair. Garlath had always been a rebel.
Egrid stood and gestured to the chair she had just vacated.
“Sit,” Garlath said.
Kelnor settled into the chair, feet flat on the floor, hands folded in his lap. He waited. He had a good idea he knew why Garlath had summoned him, but he was not going to open the discussion.
“Do you know why I’ve summoned you here?” Garlath asked.
Kelnor shrugged.
Garlath raised an eyebrow. “I think you do.”
“If you say so.” Kelnor was not about to admit anything.
“You’re not cut out for field work. I think we can agree on that. Your personal magic just isn’t strong enough. You would find yourself in a predicament you could not extricate yourself from and probably end up dead before the summer ends. That’s not why we’ve trained you.”
That much was obvious.
So he was being expelled from Amedon.
Worse things had happened.
“You may not have the strength of magic most wizards do, but you understand it better than most. Even the council has come to appreciate your — shall we say — special talents.”
Where was Garlath going with this?
Was he not being expelled from Amedon, then?
What then? Why mention his studies if he were being sent out on his own?
“You have shown a facility for languages and the ancient spells that no student has mastered in generations. I truly wish you had the magical ability to match your intellect. If you did, you would be one formidable wizard.”
“But I’m a failure,” Kelnor interrupted.
“No. You’re not. You are a rare find. We need your kind as much if not more than the field wizards. You will be one of the few who contribute greatly to the success of Amedon, even if you are not praised and lauded for those contributions. What I am asking you to do is very valuable. If it were not, I would not be asking it of you.”
“And what is it you are asking?” At least they were not sending him out into the world to fend for himself.
“I am transferring you to the research section. You will be asked to research the old scrolls and prepare summaries for the council. At times, they will ask you to dig deep into one subject or another. On those occasions, you will provide all the detail and insights you are able to garner and present them to the council.”
“If I choose to decline this assignment?” Kelnor asked.
“You will be asked to leave Amedon.”
Garlath had spoken as if it mattered little to him if Kelnor stayed or left. Garlath was like that. He had ejected Kelnor’s old friend Sulrad without mercy for an infraction so slight most would not have even received a slap on the wrist. The wizard was known as the hatchet in the whispered conversations between students. He showed no mercy. Brooked no disobedience. Kelnor had no illusions. If he declined the position, he would probably be out of the city by nightfall.
Better to take the position and see what came of it.
“I see,” Kelnor said. “I accept. I will be your researcher. Is there something you wish me to start with?”
“Not specifically. Why don’t you simply familiarize yourself with the more ancient sections of the library while I decide what’s most critical?”
Kelnor waited, but there was nothing more.
Garlath glanced up at him. “That will be all.”
Kelnor rose and opened the door to find Egrid standing just outside. She frightened him just a bit. She had no magic of her own, but she seemed to be able to read his thoughts as if he had spoken aloud.
“It’s not a demotion,” she said.
“Feels like one.”
“It’s a very prestigious position, and a valuable one.”
“Feels like I’m being shuttled off to pasture,” Kelnor said. “I suppose it’s better than being expelled.”
“It only feels like that. What you will be doing is very important. If you don’t mind, can I offer a suggestion?”
“Don’t see why not.”
“Start with the ancient texts. Learn the language. I hear it’s changed a bit since the texts were written and sometimes wizards misinterpret things because they read what they expect to read and not what’s actually written. Things change over time. Cultures change. Scrolls are written as if the reader already knows the culture and common knowledge of the times. Often ancient customs can seem strange and baffling to us. Learn these things and your knowledge will be most sought after.”
Kelnor pondered what she had said as they made their way to the library.
Egrid gripped his arm as they crossed the narrow bridge that spanned the chasm between the main complex and the library tower. She guided him to the fourth floor and stopped at a door bearing a nameplate where his name had already been inscribed.
“You knew I would take the position?” he asked.
This time, it was Egrid who shrugged. “As a researcher, you have a bit better room than you are accustomed to.” She pushed the door open, revealing a large foyer with a boot rack and brush. Beyond the foyer was a small sitting room. A fireplace. A pair of chairs. A divan. A table that supported a flowering plant that looked like lilac but smelled of mint. A door opened off the sitting room to a large study. The desk was made of wood with all manner of woodland fauna engraved into the legs and skirt. Above the desk, a scroll case had room for several dozen scrolls and as many tomes. Sitting on the desk was a tray of parchment, a pair of inkwells, and a small tray of quill pens.
Whoever had arranged the place wished him to be prepared to study. The suite was carefully arranged around that activity.
“Looks like you thought of everything,” he said.
/> “Not me. I had one of the senior researchers stock it. He said everything you would need to get started was all in place. Tomorrow, you are to meet with a wizard named Rilurd. He is the coordinator of the research section. He will arrange for the pass that will permit you entry into the restricted sections of the library.”
“Restricted sections?” Kelnor knew that there were sections where students were not permitted, but full wizards? What sort of thing would he find there?
As if she had read his mind, Egrid said, “There are dangerous spells in the library. War spells. Execution spells. Spells that not everyone should be privy to. You will have access to these. Not all of them at first, but as you grow in your position, you will be granted access to more and more of the dangerous information. You will need to know it in order to serve the council adequately.”
Kelnor nodded as she backed out and closed the door, leaving him alone with his thoughts. War spells? He supposed those existed. He’d just never considered that they were written down somewhere. He wondered what sort of spells they would be. Spells used against another wizard were carefully guarded secrets. It gave him a brief bit of pleasure to think that he was now one of those with the privilege to study such spells. After he’d proved himself, no doubt, but the idea was intriguing. Too bad he’d never have the power to cast a spell like that.
5
The baron had yet to impose his new tax, but Sulrad knew that was only a matter of time. In the days since he had been informed of this, Sulrad had tried to come up with a plan. Could he distract the baron somehow? Convince him that taking the gold from the temple was somehow wrong? The temple needed golds. It was expanding. Rooms had been added for the new recruits; not only the ones he had located so far, but those he anticipated adding soon.
Perhaps he could persuade the baron to take his share after the expenses of the temple were covered. That would almost be acceptable.
Until such time, Sulrad kept himself out of public view. Out of sight. Perhaps the baron would forget. Whenever he could, Sulrad utilized the back passages of the temple that were unadorned. It still made him uncomfortable living in a palace of such opulence. Surely this was not what Ran wanted of him. The private part of the temple was more in line with Sulrad’s own views. Stark cut stone walls with no decoration. Rough cut tile floors stretched out along passageways decorated with nothing but the doorways that led to the private rooms. Rooms for the faithful. For now, that meant Sulrad and Ignal. No one else had yet proven their faith with anything beyond a few golds, and that wasn’t enough. The faithful of Ran needed something more. Something to demonstrate that they were completely given over to his service, willing to sacrifice their lives if need be.
Golds were not enough. Anyone wealthy enough could give golds. Ran could make gold from stones if he wished. What Ran wanted was a person’s loyalty. Their devotion. Their soul. Ran cared not for golds. Ran cared for hearts and minds. Those were the true measure of sacrifice.
Unfortunately, such actions were rare, even among those who professed faith in Ran. People could easily part with wealth. Parting with their time was something few cared to do. If none were prepared to make this sacrifice, how was Sulrad going to defend against the wizards of Amedon? With golds? Not likely. He needed faithful. He needed followers. He needed people willing to make the ultimate sacrifice.
“Father?” Ignal knocked at his study door almost timidly. It was most unlike her.
“Come.” Sulrad glanced up as the door swung open.
“I believe I have found one who may be our next priest,” she said.
“So soon? Sit. Tell me what you have found.”
“A leather worker. A cobbler. There are rumors that he has magic, but he is clearly hiding it. He’s either a secret agent of Amedon or one they’ve missed. He’s not a boy. He’s grown.”
“That hardly means they haven’t gotten to him. Some of their wizards choose to live amongst the common folk, preferring a more authentic life to that of the scholars. Perhaps he is one of those. There is no certainty that he is free of Amedon or their control.”
“Is there not a way you could test him? Something you can do to discern where his loyalty lies?”
“I wish I knew. Without taking his magic, there is little I can do to discern his true intentions. All I can do is to somehow get him to let his guard down. Distract him with something so personal that he forgets what he is fighting against.” Sulrad recalled the times he’d found it difficult to concentrate on his magic. More often, it was when he was distracted by pain.
“I have an idea,” he said. “It’s one I’ve been thinking about. But it is something that I have shied away from. It means causing pain, and while I’m convinced that it will work, I like it not. Yet it’s said that in pain, truth is revealed. Perhaps that is the key to discovering where his loyalties really lie.”
“Do you wish to have him brought here?”
“No need for that. I think I’d rather see him in his everyday surroundings.”
The next day, Sulrad woke early and made his morning meal. Gruel and a pinch of salt was all he allowed himself. He needed a clear head and Ran’s full measure of blessing today. He wasn’t going to take a chance on indulging himself with a full meal before he set out. Rather, he’d spend the morning in quiet contemplation, rehearsing in his head what he might do. If the man turned out to be an agent of Amedon, well, the temple could always use more raw magic. The man would end up on his altar, his blood spilled, his magic adding to the store that lay beneath the altar.
But what if he could be turned to Ran’s use?
It would certainly relieve some of the burden Sulrad carried. Serving Ran was a privilege, but at times, he felt that with a bit of help, he could accomplish so much more.
And, the wizards of Amedon still threatened him. He needed more help. Not just acolytes but true wizards. Here was his chance, if Ran favored this plan. Some days, Sulrad felt as if he had no idea what Ran wished of him.
Today was one of those days.
The sun had reached the point where shadows were cast straight down. Most of the town was headed home for the midday meal. It was a good time to make the trip. The streets were not as crowded as they would be in a glass or so.
He let the sun beat down on him. It was hot and damp. The evening rain had dried up, but the air was still heavy and smelled of rain.
His stomach fluttered as he approached the cobbler shop. The sign out front proclaimed it the shop of Veran, a second-generation cobbler who had taken over from his father not long ago.
Veran, the man Ignal had chosen, was in the shop tapping tiny nails into the sole of a shoe. He glanced up when Sulrad stepped into the doorway.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
Sulrad leaned against the door frame and let his senses expand. The man had power, but it was shielded. Not as well or as strongly as Sulrad would have expected from one trained in Amedon. In truth, the fact that his power was discernible at all told Sulrad the man had probably not been trained in Amedon. If he had, he would have been virtually undetectable to Sulrad’s magic.
“So it’s true, then,” Sulrad said.
“What’s true?” Veran stood, hammer gripped in his hand.
“That you’re a wizard.”
“Wizard?” Veran took a step toward Sulrad. “I think you best be along now. I don’t need any of your type of trouble here.”
Sulrad invoked the compulsion spell he had prepared. He visualized the magic as it leaped from him. Ropes of silver encircled the cobbler, drawing his arms to his side and tightening with every breath he took.
Sulrad relaxed. He’d seen the cobbler’s powers and assumed the man would be a formidable enemy, but he was not. He just stood there letting Sulrad’s spell work its way tighter and tighter until his face turned purple. Was it going to be that simple? All Sulrad had to do now was command him to follow under threat of death and the cobbler would be his.
“Stand there.” Sulrad directed th
e cobbler toward the corner while he finished his business. He wrote a quick note to the baron to inform him that he had taken the proprietor of the shop. For a moment, he considered taking possession of the cobbler shop too, but with the gold pouring into the temple, the shop would be a distraction. Let the baron grant it to someone else.
Sulrad straightened up, turned to the cobbler, and blinked.
Veran was advancing with a hammer in one hand and an awl in the other. How had he escaped Sulrad’s spell?
Sulrad rapidly recast his spell, but it had no effect.
The man swung the awl.
Fire erupted where it slashed across Sulrad’s arm.
Veran raised the hammer. “Your spells don’t work on me. I’m not your freshly awakened boy. I’m a man. Grown full and in command of his magic.”
Sulrad stepped back. It was as if he were facing one of the senior wizards in Amedon.
He tried to recall the instruction in the martial arts he’d been given. Wait for your opponent to make a move and use his momentum against him. That was what the instructors had told him. More often than not, it ended in Sulrad’s being injured, but there was no other path.
Sulrad stepped to the side as Veran swung the hammer at him. He grabbed the arm that held the hammer, and yanked.
Veran stumbled and struck his head on the table. He staggered and dropped to his knees.
While his opponent was dazed, Sulrad formulated a new spell, one of containment with the addition of a spell to sap the will.
After the spell was in place, Sulrad spoke quietly to Veran, instructing him to rise.
Dragon Lord: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Origins Book 2) Page 3
