Helmyer shrugged.
Garlath bit his lip. It was the rare wizard that bonded and bore children. There were too many things that could go wrong from such a union. Helmyer had no sympathy for any daughter. He had none. He never would.
“Well? Would you not do something if it were one of your daughters, or your sister?”
“You will address me as Mighty One, or Senior Wizard,” Helmyer said.
“When you’ve earned it,” the sorceress said.
“What about your accomplice? What has he to say?” Helmyer glanced up, but the sorceress interrupted once more.
“You leave him out of this. He’s not happy with me, and I don’t need you making matters worse. I did what I did because it was necessary. I could not let such an injustice stand. Someone had to do something and that someone was me.”
“Mighty One.” Garlath raised his hand. “There is nothing more to be gained from interrogating the sorceress. This is a matter for the council.”
Helmyer nodded to the young woman. “You may go.”
Garlath turned to follow her.
“Not you,” Helmyer said. “You are going to explain to us precisely what happened and what you are going to do about it.”
Garlath sighed. What was he to do about it? The sorceress and the wizard already had much more power than he did, more than any on the council save Alwroth and Uskin, and the way the young pair was progressing, they would soon outstrip even the two most senior wizards.
Enough about the sorceress. He needed to change the subject. “I’ve been digging into some of the scrolls young Kelnor had been studying. It seems he has come across the records of how the Ley lines were moved. If he makes the connection between that and the dragons, we may find ourselves in a predicament. We might consider initiating him in the mysteries and see if we can get some use of him.”
“Assuming you find him,” Helmyer interjected.
“I’ll find him. I just hope it’s not too late. He’s a friend of Sulrad. I would not be surprised to see the two of them together at some point. Kelnor never really fit in here. That’s why I assigned him to work with Sulrad in the first place.” As the words left his lips, Garlath winced. The last thing he needed was to remind the council that he had put Kelnor and Sulrad together. He was beginning to regret that decision.
“Now that your mission to bring Zhimosom and Rotiaqua to Amedon is complete, you can spend your time on finding your missing wizard. If we are all fortunate, perhaps you can find a way to stop Sulrad before he does any more damage. Your scheme to prevent him from finding the Dragon Lord’s lair has only made things worse. Don’t let this get out of hand.”
“Your Mightiness.” Garlath nodded and backed for the door, his eye on the senior wizard on the off chance that Helmyer would ask him to stay.
When the wizard did not, Garlath headed for his study.
Egrid had a way of helping him calm down and setting his head straight. As he suspected, she was waiting with a potion that she brewed that always helped clear his head.
“Rough one?” she asked.
“The worst.”
“What happened this time?”
“Rotiaqua decided that the city of Rohir needed a touch of magic to remedy what she saw as an injustice.”
“She saw?” Egrid raised an eyebrow at him.
“It was an injustice. But it’s been going on for generations. Nothing has changed here in memory.”
“Then it appears it was time for a change. What did she do?”
“She cast a series of spells on the city. Transformation, binding, power. Quite impressive for one who has not been trained in Amedon. I’m not sure how she even figured it out.”
“Spells fade. Especially now that she’s here. Won’t things go back to the way they were?”
“Not the way she did it. Rohir is somewhat special. It sits on top of a convergence of two forms of magic. She bound the spells to that natural magic and set them up to feed one another. They will last for generations.”
“So what do they do?”
Garlath shrugged. “I barely understand them myself, but they changed the dynamic between the women and the men. The men used to rule the city and their households with absolute power. She changed that. How far it will swing in the other direction, I have no clue.”
“So then why worry about it? Is there anything you can do?”
“No. Not a thing.”
“There you go. Nothing you can do, so why worry about it?”
“Helmyer is a bit upset.”
“When isn’t he?” Egrid took a seat across from Garlath and crossed her legs. She bounced her foot as she continued. “I’ve heard tales of your wizard. He’s been a busy young man. Out scouting the land for magic from what I’ve heard.”
“Any idea where he went?” Garlath asked.
“I have heard that he’s been seen in some strange places. He seems to be seeking out sources of power and visiting the deadlands. He’s even been to Quineshua.”
“Quineshua?” Garlath asked. “Why on earth would he go there? That place is as dead as they come. Not a lick of magic runs through it.”
“Was it always that way?” Egrid asked.
Garlath pondered the question. He’d never considered it before. All he knew was what most wizards knew. Quineshua was a dead land. No magic. No reason for wizard to go there, and he had no idea if it had ever been otherwise. He shrugged. “I don’t know that much about the place.”
“Why would a young wizard like Kelnor travel to Quineshua?” she asked. “They say he left by ship and did not return for half a moon. That must have been draining for him.”
Garlath sighed. “I’ll see what I can find out about the place, but in the meantime, I need to study up on Rohir. Can you find me a new student to replace Kelnor? Is there a bright one that you noticed?”
There was a timid knock at the door.
“Already here,” Egrid stood and ushered in a young wizard. A third-year student from what Garlath recalled. The young man was bright — not as bright as Kelnor — but he’d made a name for himself as a scholar of the ancient texts.
Garlath shook his head.
How did she do it? Egrid seemed to always be two steps ahead of him.
“Come in. I have a task for you,” Garlath waved the young wizard into his study. At least with this one, he wouldn’t need to keep a tray of pastries around. He just hoped the student was half as brilliant as Kelnor.
31
Sulrad returned to the inn and settled into the public room. He listened discreetly until he heard enough to plan his next move. Near the castle was an inn called The Vulgar Weasel. Many of the castle servants ate there because the fare was hearty and the cost less expensive than elsewhere. The proprietor had once been a servant in the castle and had a soft spot for the poor and downtrodden who labored for a pittance amongst their betters. What better place than the Vulgar Weasel to begin his search?
He ruffled up his clothes and rubbed dust into his shirt and pants, trying to make them look well-worn or at least not freshly tailored. He didn’t want to stand out. He thanked Ran that he had lost weight during his study and looked under-fed and ill-used. That alone would garner him sympathy, and sympathy, lubricated with a bit of ale, had proven to loosen lips in the past.
The Vulgar Weasel was much like any other inn, with its namesake sign portraying a weasel performing an unspeakable act with a mug of ale. He shuddered as he pushed his way into the smelly, smoky, crowded interior. Most of the patrons stood at the rail, mug of ale in hand, but a few sat at tables that were hewn from wood that appeared to have been recovered from a house fire. The beams that served as benches all had some amount of black char on them.
He chose a table that was only half-full and plopped himself down across from a young woman who told him her name was Wy. Her light complexion and sandy brown hair made her stand out from the locals, but she seemed not to be bothered by or even take notice of it. She was slightly overweigh
t, but not extremely so, and could have been called beautiful in the dim light of the inn. He offered her an ale and feigned interest in her life, hoping to glean some useful information from her.
Her life was anything but exciting.
He soon decided he would have to find someone more suitable and had begun searching for another candidate. He almost missed it when she started explaining how a serving girl had taken ill one evening and the castle steward had summoned her, Wy, to replace the ailing girl.
This was it, the key to gaining insight to the king’s presence.
Sulrad signaled the proprietor for more ale and fixed his gaze on Wy as she prattled on about her days in the castle until her words piqued his interest. “The king is worried about foreign spies,” she explained.
“How so?”
“He thinks there are spies in his court, listening in on every conversation and plotting his downfall.”
“Go on.” Sulrad poured her another mug of ale and ordered a tray of sweet meat pies. He pretended to nibble on one, being careful of the steaming interior. He would eat meat he had not himself killed if it was required, but he preferred to avoid it if at all possible. As it was, the woman was so engrossed in her own story that she paid him little heed.
“He’s afraid of poison,” Wy said. “Everything he eats or drinks must be tasted in his presence.”
“Where does he think these spies come from?” Sulrad asked.
“He doesn’t know. He suspects one of the barons.” She laughed a slight laugh that made her look much younger than he had at first guessed. “I think he’s imagining things.”
Sulrad paid closer attention to Wy after that. She had provided him with the key piece of information he needed, but there might be more. He had been overly quick to dismiss her. Why was that? Had he grown jaded as the temple gained in wealth and power? Wy’s station was little different from where he’d begun. She deserved his attention. He gave it to her.
After a while, Wy leaned in close and spoke in a hushed tone. “The king is mad, you know. Just last night, I heard them say he feared to place the crown on his head because he believed someone had bewitched it.” She raised the mug to her lips. “Mad, I say.”
Sulrad’s heart raced. If the king was worried about the crown, he might be able to take advantage of that. This could be the opportunity he was waiting for. Could it be that simple? And why not? Had not Ran himself sent Sulrad on this quest?
“Am I making you nervous, Dearie?” Wy placed her hand on Sulrad’s, waking him from his reverie.
“No, of course not,” Sulrad lied. He wanted to pull his hand away, but he had learned his lesson the only time he had done something like that with Ignal. Was it just Ignal that was susceptible to his magic, or would the girl fall under his spell too? He clasped her hand and looked into her eyes. “You do not make me nervous. I am relaxed in your presence and you are relaxed in mine. You love listening to the sound of my voice — not just my words, but the music of my voice, the rhythm of my voice, the cadence of my voice. You love to listen to me as I speak. My words comfort you, soothe your spirit. You find the sound of my voice fascinating.”
He trickled just the slightest bit of magic into her as he spoke.
Her eyes glazed over. Her face went slack.
Good. It was working.
“Listen to my words as they soothe and relax you. You love listening to the sound of my voice. You love listening to me and you want to help me. You want to find a way to arrange an audience for me with the king. You love the sound of my voice. It makes you want to help me. You want to help me because it makes you feel so relaxed and happy to help me.”
It took several days for Wy to set up a meeting for him. He endured her unfamiliar touch far longer than he believed he could and reinforced the hold he had on her at every chance, even describing a relationship with her that did not exist, but which made her ever more eager to please him. He worried about tossing over such an innocent, but it was for the greater glory of Ran, and besides, what harm came from giving her memories of being loved and cared for, even if they were only in her mind? She would carry those memories with her for the rest of her life, wistfully longing for that tall, thin stranger who had appeared in her life out of nowhere and just as mysteriously disappeared.
As it turned out, Wy had a cousin who had a relationship with one of the guards, a guard of questionable repute. Wy used some of Sulrad’s silver to secure a clandestine meeting with the guard and pressed him to allow Sulrad to enter the castle as a petitioner. At first, he resisted and Sulrad feared he’d been wasting his time, but she was persistent. How could she be otherwise? Wy returned again and again to the inn to report to Sulrad how things were progressing.
He plied her with ale and whispered in her ear, fabricating stories of their wild adventures, each one more lurid and suggestive than the last.
Eventually, she prevailed and Sulrad had a path to gain access to the king. He was to locate the guard in question and pay him one gold to be admitted. This guard was on duty the following day, so Sulrad needed to act quickly.
“You’ve done well,” Sulrad said, releasing Wy’s hands. He’d found that holding her hands reinforced his words, and even more so, when he allowed a trickle of magic to flow into her, making his images even more vivid than words alone could.
“Don’t leave me.” As the contact broke, her eyes widened and her breathing quickened. “Take me with you. It’s been only a night, but I long for your touch.”
She grabbed for his hand, drawing it toward her heart.
“Wy. I need to go. I have to prepare for my audience.” He snatched his hand back and quickly rose from his seat. Had he been too descriptive in his imagery when he used the mesmeric arts on her? The last thing he needed was a romantic entanglement.
“Please. Don’t leave me like this.” She rose and rushed to his side, wrapping her arm around his.
“Wy. Please. Not here,” he whispered.
“Take me home with you.”
“Wy. I can’t. I have to prepare.” He tried to sound conciliatory, but she wasn’t having any of it.
“No. You’re not leaving me. Not now. Not ever.”
“Listen, Wy. You need to let me go. You want to let me go. You always wanted to let me go. Listen to the sound of my voice. You want to let go of me. You want to let me get prepared for my audience. Listen to me. Listen to the sound of my voice.”
“I’m not listening,” Wy said. She yanked at his arm, dragging him for the door. “Not tonight.”
“Wy.”
“Not listening.” She stuck her fingers in her ears. “Come on.”
“Wy,” he started.
“Not listening.”
She dragged him through the empty streets back to a small room not far from the inn. It was little more than a broom closet above a tailor shop, the narrow hallway that granted access flanked by half a dozen doors on either side. The one that admitted them to her quarters had been marked with a hastily painted number seven. She shoved the door shut behind him and began undressing.
“Wy. What are you doing?” Sulrad panicked. He’d gotten himself into a mess this time. How was he going to untangle this one?
“You have to ask?” She shoved him onto the bed and reached for his belt.
“Wy. No.” Sulrad bucked, hoping to dislodge her, but she was stronger than he was.
“Don’t play coy with me.”
Sulrad twisted, his sky iron knife dislodging as he did.
She picked it up and held it before her eyes even as she maintained her grip on him. “Oh. You want to play rough, do you?”
She placed the knife against his stomach, blade up, tugging at his shirt. “I like it rough sometimes.”
She slit his shirt, exposing his chest, and placed her hands on his bare flesh. They were cold and clammy and made his skin crawl.
“Wy. Please stop.”
“That’s it. Beg for more.”
“Stop.”
S
ulrad twisted again. Anything to get those hands off his flesh.
“Wy. Stop.” Rage overcame Sulrad. How dare she?
He reached out with his magic and wrested the knife from her hand. It resisted at first, as if his own magic within her had created an attraction for his blade, but he was able to tear it from her hand.
She seemed not to notice it, so intent was she on her objective.
“Wy. Stop. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Please hurt me,” she moaned.
“Wy.”
She pinched her eyes shut and threw herself on him.
Almost without thought, the sky iron knife twisted in the air and plunged into Wy’s back, the razor-sharp point heading unswervingly for her heart.
She stiffened, eyes flying open.
“What?” was all she said before her eyes closed once more.
Sulrad had no time to think. He’d simply reacted. He drew a spell around her that would bind her life energy into him, absorbing the meager magic she possessed into his growing stores. Her flesh took on a glow as the life force emerged. Brilliant crimson and amber sparks flashed beneath her skin for a brief moment before she vanished in a swirl of golden flickering motes that circled in the air and dove for the sky iron knife. The magic passed through the knife and into Sulrad.
As it did, he also caught the brunt of her memories. She had been born the last of three children to an aging farmer and his young wife. She had grown up on the farm learning the value of hard work at a young age. When her father died, her mother had sent her to live with an aunt in the city. She had been too young at the time to realize that her mother had already formed a liaison with a man who had little interest in raising children begotten by another. Her aunt was a saintly woman who tried her best, but eventually, Wy had struck out on her own, washing laundry for the more affluent in the city, waiting tables when she could, and taking on whatever work there was for an unmarried woman in a city like Ryden.
He almost felt sorry for her.
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Dragon Lord: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Origins Book 2) Page 20
