Sulrad slept uneasily. He half expected to be brushed off when he arrived at the castle for his audience. He bathed, shaved his face and head, and donned his best robe, deciding at the last moment not to try to blend in but to stand out. He needed to be shorn.
The water was cold on his skin, invigorating him and filling him with a sense of pride at his ability to forgo warm water in the name of Ran, not wishing to exhibit the least bit of self indulgence that led to gluttony. It had been a while since he had been a strict adherent to the tenets he had grown up with, but it felt like it was time to re-center himself, particularly if he was going to depend on Ran to get him through this day, for there was no guarantee that what he had planned was in any way going to work. He might just as easily end up in a cell awaiting execution as in the king’s treasure house, examining the Charm of the Joiner. About that he had no illusions, but he could only try. He donned his freshly laundered robe, paid his bribe, and walked confidently into the audience chamber, even though his knees were shaking as he did.
Fortunately, he was not the first to be seen, and he had time to compose himself. He waited his turn, listening to the poor and downtrodden begging the king for intervention in their petty affairs until he thought he would go mad. Finally, the guard called his name, and he stepped forward.
King Omrik looked down on him with disinterested eyes.
Sulrad bowed as he had been instructed, keeping his face toward the floor as he spoke.
“Your Grace, I come not here to ask a favor of you, but to offer my service. I am a wizard with information about spies operating in your realm. I have come to warn you of a plot against your life.”
“What?” the king leaped up from his throne and took several steps toward Sulrad before his advisers rushed to intercept him.
They quickly stepped between the king and Sulrad, forming a barrier.
“What do you know? Who’s out to kill me?” Omrik demanded.
“The baron ... Baron Reik ... Your Grace, he covets the throne for himself,” Sulrad lied. It was a lie crafted to trigger Omrik’s worst fears, and it was working.
Omrik struggled to get past his advisers, but they held him in check. “Let me talk to the wizard.” He pushed at the wall of functionaries.
“In the private chamber. After we’ve searched him,” one of the king’s advisers said.
Sulrad’s heart leaped. He was to be granted a private audience with the king. Things could not have gone better. He watched as they shepherded the king into a side chamber, closing the door behind them.
Yes.
It was his day.
Ran had indeed intervened on his behalf, but his reverie was interrupted when a guard grabbed his arm, hauled him to his feet, and dragged him toward the doorway through which the king had departed. Flanking the door was a pair of guards, who searched him thoroughly. Finding nothing dangerous, they allowed him entry.
King Omrik sat behind a long table surrounded by elegant chairs. The table was wide and clear of anything that might be used as a weapon. Guards stood on either side of the king, spears at the ready.
Sulrad bowed.
When he rose, King Omrik motioned him to a chair across the table.
“Sit,” the king said.
Sulrad took the proffered seat and waited.
“What you say ... the baron ... He has always coveted the throne for himself.” Omrik lifted his chalice. A young man came over, took a sip from it, and handed it back. Omrik watched the boy for a while, and then took a deep draught. “Tell me about his plan.”
“The baron has hired a wizard to enchant the crown jewels,” Sulrad said. “He has placed a spell on them that is undetectable by any means other than magic. Should you or anyone else wear one of these jewels, the spell will be triggered, and the results will be fatal.”
“Which jewels?” Omrik demanded.
“I do not know, Your Grace. I would need to examine each piece. Hold it in my hands and test it for any spells that it might contain.”
“So, you can do this? You are truly a wizard?”
“No. I am a priest of the one true god, Ran. My power does not come from the wizardly arts, but is a gift from Ran, for my devotion.”
“How can I know you’re not the baron’s spy?”
“You cannot,” Sulrad said with a sly smile. Let that sink in. It was a risk but anything less would leave the king dithering about the veracity of Sulrad’s words. Best to play on his fears and let him come to the conclusion that permitting Sulrad access was the only chance he had of learning the truth of his words.
“What a dilemma.” Omrik stroked his chin. “What am I to do with you, then?”
“You could trust me, or you could test me.” Sulrad knew this was the tricky part, but he was getting a sense of the king and how he would react to the next suggestion.
“Test you?”
“Test me. Let me take your food tester to don each of the crown jewels. Should he trigger one of the spells, you will know I speak the truth.” Sulrad watched the king for a reaction.
Omrik glanced at the boy, back to Sulrad, then back to the boy. He smiled and raised his hand. “Guard, take this priest to the treasure room and watch as the boy tries on the crown jewels. Keep an eye on both of them.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The guard motioned to Sulrad and the boy.
The treasury was brilliantly lit with torches placed in sconces along the walls. Sulrad had envisioned heaps of gold and jewels piled on tables in some dark and dingy dungeon. These were carefully arranged and inventoried. Each piece had its own bin with a carefully written card that described the piece and where it had originated.
Sulrad cast his eyes around the room. This particular room was dedicated to headwear and filled with crowns, bejeweled helmets, and even fancy hats studded with gems and precious metals. He didn’t see anything like the amulet he sought, but it was best not to let on that he had something specific he was searching for. Better to make a show for the guard and the boy. No doubt they would report back to the king on his actions.
Standing dutifully in the center of the room, he probed the chamber with his magic, trying to find the amulet, but as he feared, it was not in this particular room. He would have to craft a ruse to continue the examination.
“Here.” He pointed to a small gold circlet that could be worn as a headband. “This one feels suspicious.”
The guard motioned to the boy, who lifted it from its perch and set it upon his head. It was too large for him and threatened to slip down over his ears, but he was unaffected by it.
“Try this one.” Sulrad pointed to a crown cast of solid gold and encrusted with precious stones.
The boy tried it on. Once again, there were no consequences.
“I’m sensing it’s part of a necklace,” Sulrad muttered. “Is there a room where such things are kept?”
“Yes, Sire.” The guard nodded to a doorway off to the side of the main chamber. He entered ahead of Sulrad and lit the torches, waiting for the light to take full effect before allowing Sulrad to enter.
The charm was nearby. There was an absence of magic, almost like a wizard with shields intact, a complete blind spot of magic. It told Sulrad he was on the right track, but with a charm that shielded itself — no, not shielded itself, absorbed magic. How would he locate that?
As he stepped into the room, Sulrad sensed the charm even more strongly. He cast his glance around, searching for it, letting his magic guide him. His magic failed him, but far off in one corner, he saw it. His heart raced. Stop. Don’t let on. He caught himself. The last thing he wanted to do was to give himself away. Patience.
He pretended to search for a specific necklace until he laid his eyes on a thick chain that bore a card indicating it was a gift from Baron Reik. If he was to prey on the king’s paranoia, this one would work best.
“This one.” He pointed to it while attempting to formulate a spell that would work for his purposes but not give him away.
T
he guard nudged the boy.
The lad lifted the chain from its stand and placed it around his neck.
Sulrad reached out with his magic and cast a strangulation spell. It was one that he had learned in Amedon. One that worked on the throat and left no visible marks. He had no idea how long to hold the spell on the boy to make it appear realistic, so he simply cast it and waited.
The boy coughed and turned a dark shade of plum. His eyes grew large, and he lifted his hands to his throat. He sputtered, but no sound came forth.
The lad fell to the floor, and doubled over, struggling for breath.
The guard bent over the lad to examine him without taking action.
Why wasn’t he intervening?
For half a heartbeat, Sulrad thought of removing the spell.
The lad had done nothing to deserve death, after all, but that would make it appear as if the spell had been less than lethal. If the king believed that the baron was only trying to frighten him, he might not acquiesce to Sulrad’s next demand.
Still, it bothered Sulrad to simply watch the lad die. He tried to comfort himself, to tell himself that Ran had plans for everyone and that included the lad. He only regretted that he had to let the boy’s life force seep away rather than take it. His memories would no doubt prove useful and Sulrad could have used the additional magic, but best not to take any chances. He watched the final choking gasps. When he was certain the lad was dead, he knelt down and took the necklace in his hand. He focused power on it and warmed the gold until he could barely touch it, then handed the necklace to the guard.
“Here, you must bear witness. I have defeated the spell. It is safe now, but I would advise a note be made so that the king does not don this particular necklace. I’m not certain the spell is completely neutralized.”
The guard grasped the necklace and quickly returned it to its stand. He turned back to look at the boy, dead on the floor. “How can you be sure this is the only one?”
Sulrad shrugged.
Let them think there were more threats. That would endear him to the king.
“Come with me.” The guard escorted Sulrad back to the king’s chamber.
“Your Majesty, the priest has found the cursed item.” The guard shoved Sulrad forward. “Your taster is dead.”
“I knew it. There are spies everywhere,” King Omrik said. “I need your protection. You will be my chief wizard. You will serve me and I will reward you well.”
“Your Majesty, I crave no reward. I only asked to serve you and to defeat this threat. It has been averted. I must get back home.” Sulrad bowed and retreated, but before he could get far, Omrik stood up and yelled.
“Stop. You will serve me. You will continue to test my clothes and jewelry.”
Sulrad hesitated, anger rising in him. For the barest moment, he imagined demanding to know who Omrik thought he was to order a priest of Ran around, but he caught himself. Best not to make an enemy of the king. Not yet. He still didn’t have the charm. “If I might be allowed to fetch my possessions and tell my loved ones where to find me,” he said. “I will return as you have commanded.”
“You go with him to make sure he returns.” The king pointed to the guard who had accompanied Sulrad to the treasury.
The guard escorted Sulrad to the inn, staying close on his heels.
“Please have a seat.” Sulrad waved to a chair by his table. “I will make you a nice cup of tea while you wait. It won’t take but a moment. I will gather my belongings while the water heats.”
Sulrad busied himself packing his precious belongings. He would be leaving tonight, but not to the castle. He mixed the herbs and potions into the cup of tea. The guard had barely finished his drink when his eyes fluttered and closed. His head dropped to the table with a thud.
33
Sulrad rushed to Theria’s home, eager to share with her what he had discovered.
The sorceress answered the door but seemed reluctant to invite him in. It was if she sensed that he had been successful and resented him for it. Was that the way of it? Had she truly been his friend, or was there more to it?
“I just wanted to come and thank you before I depart,” he said. “Your advice was most helpful. My Lord Baron will be pleased.”
“I suppose I could make you a cup of tea. You can tell me your tale of the castle. I admit to a weakness for tales of the well-to-do.”
She let him in and put a kettle on the fire to boil. While it heated, she ground spices and bark into it. Sulrad watched for any signs of deception, but he saw nothing, only an old woman serving him tea as she had so often done before. He was being paranoid. There was nothing to fear from her. Besides, he could use a little company, and Theria was a distraction that helped him calm his nerves when he thought about what came next.
Theria poured the tea and sat across from him. She was a good listener as he regaled her with tales of the castle, and how he had been allowed to glimpse the crown jewels. He felt lightheaded. His throat was dry, and the tea had refreshed him, so he drank more. Too late, he realized that it only made make matters worse. He saw double, his speech slurred. His arms felt heavy, and he lost control of his bladder.
“You think me a fool?” Theria stood up, leaned over him, and reached for his knife. Sulrad could barely make out what was happening. Why was she blurry? Why was she hovering like that?
Sulrad crumpled to the floor. He felt the weight of the sorceress as she knelt down on his chest. She bent over and put her arm on his throat and pressed down with all her weight. She leaned in so close that Sulrad felt her breath even as he himself could not breathe.
“Not so sharp now, are we?” Theria said. She placed the point of the knife against Sulrad’s temple and traced a line of fire towards his jaw. She repeated the process on his other side. Sulrad screamed in pain as she continued drawing on his skin with the knife. Theria smiled at him through the fog and distortion of the drug.
The pain seared into Sulrad’s brain with each cut of the knife. He wrestled with the magic of the potion as she sliced away at him. The pain distracted him, but eventually, he found it. The spell was based on rotting swamp plants and festering wounds. He let his anger well up in him and directed it against the poison. He grasped for the magic and channeled it towards the knife, the special knife that was meant to separate the magic from a dying wizard, but it would work on a living one too.
He drew her magic out of her, pulling particularly hard at the poison. Sulrad felt it separate from her. He drew it to the knife, willing the sky iron to absorb her magic.
The disorientation lessened. The clearer Sulrad’s thoughts became, the easier it was to remove the poison spell from his mind. Soon, he was completely free of its effects. He was heartened; he knew he could win. He bucked hard in an attempt to dislodge Theria from his chest.
She loosened her grip, and Sulrad rolled away from her. She slashed at him as he bucked. The effect of the poison was fading, but he was far from his normal self. She sliced him on the arm, opening a slash that spattered blood across the room.
He cradled his arm and rolled behind the table, knocking it over, trying to put something between himself and Theria. She hit the table with a thud and it rocked over, landing on top of him.
Theria reached around the table, slashing wildly. She caught him in the leg this time, and a burning pain shot through him. Blood trickled from the wound.
He tried to push her off, but her weight on top of the table was more than he could lift. She slashed again and again, each time striking a little deeper in his flesh. He tried to recall a spell of binding to use on her, but his memory failed him.
He pushed on the table once more, trying to dislodge her, and saw her foot hit a pool of his blood. It slid from beneath her.
The pressure on the table lessened and he pushed it off.
Theria sat stunned on the floor, knife in hand.
He lunged at her, grabbing for the hand that held the knife. He missed it and she thrust the knife into hi
s arm, once more searing his flesh.
Pinning her to the floor, he dropped his knee on her arm. He outweighed her, but not by much. Strength was his only advantage now. He reached for the knife, prying it from her fingers. He slashed his own hand in the attempt, but he managed to force the knife away from her.
He brought the knife to her throat. Breathing hard, he looked her in the eye. “You attacked me for no reason. I will take your life and your magic and find out what you have been up to.”
Sulrad sliced through her throat and spoke the words of the spell that would take her magic. Her power rose out of her, wrapped around him, and slowly sank in. He fell to the floor as she turned to a shower of sparks and vanished.
He quickly performed a spell of healing to staunch the flow of blood from his wounds. He didn’t want to heal himself completely, or else taking her magic would have availed him nothing. He would use her power to travel to the vault and return again. He could not waste it on himself, no matter the pain.
As the magic settled into him, he saw flashes of Amedon. Had Theria been to Amedon? He delved deeper. She had. She had been trained there as a young girl. She had found the place not to her liking, just as Sulrad had. Flashes of cruelty being leveled at a young sorceress bubbled to the forefront of his mind. If they were so similar, why attack him?
Sulrad dug for memories.
There.
A wizard. One who had become close to the young sorceress, but who had been kept apart from her. Theria had wanted to bond with this wizard, but she had been denied by the powers of Amedon.
Why?
Was it because her bonding would have created a new pair? One to challenge the current rulers?
There had to be more.
He searched her memories, and as he did, her specter rose up. The ethereal visage of Theria rushed at him.
He leaped back and shut down the memories.
She was strong.
She wanted to take him over.
Steal his body.
That was her plan all along. She had been trained in Amedon. She had been sent out amongst the common folk to act as their agent. When she had encountered him, she had contacted her former masters. They had set her on this path.
Dragon Lord: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Origins Book 2) Page 21
