Fate of Wizardoms Boxed Set

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Gasps and exclamations came from the crowd, followed by whispers. Parsec didn’t need to hear them to know the name on their lips. Pherelyn.

  A question nagged at Parsec, begging for an answer. “You tell us Starmuth has fallen. What of Charcoan? Is he dead?”

  To Parsec’s surprise, Eldalain laughed. He then turned toward the crowd and shook his head. “No, Charcoan Kayal is very much alive. Unfortunately, he has sided with Malvorian.” His voice grew to a shout, filled with anger. “The man handed our city to another wizard lord without a fight!” With his finger pointed toward the door, he continued shouting. “He now marches with them! The man who plead fealty to my father and Ghealdor now comes to attack our fair city!”

  “Wizards don’t join armies!” someone shouted from the crowd.

  Eldalain laughed. “They do now. Malvorian has forced the entire Marquithe Wizards Guild to fight alongside his soldiers.”

  The statement stunned the wizards and wizardesses in the crowd. Parsec sat heavily, defeated. There was no way to prevent martial law now. Doomed to cede control of the guild to Eldalain, he set his mind toward another pursuit.

  I will find the man who killed Gilda. When I do, I will extract blood.

  The march from Starmuth to Fastella took a full week. To Garvin, it seemed to take twice as long.

  With the addition of Charcoan and his guards, the army had swollen to six thousand, much better than losing good soldiers, and possibly wizards, in a battle to capture Starmuth. Diplomacy had worked. Charcoan had turned his back on Eldalain in response to a simple offer of more power. It makes me wonder if any wizard can be trusted, Garvin thought. From what he had seen, turning against their brethren for their own advantage was second nature. At the same time, he had yet to see any wizard, other than Charcoan, be of any use.

  As with other great cities, the walls of Fastella were visible miles away. Slowly, those walls drew closer and closer as the army eased its way north. The plan was to camp south of the river and wait. For what, Garvin was unsure. Henton wouldn’t say.

  Positioned with Henton and Charcoan at the front of the army, Garvin was among the first to reach the area where they were to camp – a series of small glades interrupted by clusters of trees. The space was too small to contain them all, so he expected many to camp in the farmer’s fields farther to the south, where cows lazily grazed. The area smelled of manure, the sea breeze carrying the odor southwest. He suspected the infantry would be stuck in those fields. Infantry always got the worst of a campaign, from having to walk to having to throw themselves at an enemy with little to no hope of survival. Garvin did not envy them.

  Henton stopped as the road turned toward the river. Charcoan, Garvin, the standard bearer, and Henton’s lieutenants settled their horses. All fell quiet as they stared at the city.

  An arching bridge stood before them, spanning the river and connecting the island city to the south bank. Across the river, an identical bridge connected Fastella to the north shore. Without a boat, there was no other means to reach the city. Worse, the portcullis was closed and hundreds of soldiers stood on the tall walls of the great city.

  “This could get ugly,” Charcoan said.

  “I expect so,” Henton replied. “You thought it unlikely Eldalain would join us.”

  Charcoan snorted. “I’ve known Eldalain for twenty years. He would sooner burn Fastella to the ground than capitulate.”

  Henton arched a brow at the wizard. “Yet you didn’t have the same qualms.”

  “I said I know him. I didn’t say I was like him.”

  “I’ve been wondering, what drove you to join us so quickly?” Garvin asked.

  Without turning toward him, Charcoan replied while his narrowed eyes stared at the city. “I am a realist and see little benefit in chasing something unattainable.”

  Henton pulled his helmet off and wiped his brow. It was hot. “Is that why you never challenged Taladain?”

  “Eldalain is why I never challenged Taladain. As well as the desire to live and fight another day.”

  Wise words, Garvin thought. “What makes this situation different?”

  Charcoan laughed. It was an unsettling sound. “I believe we have a chance to win.”

  Garvin shook his head. “Not unless we can get into the city.”

  “True,” Henton nodded. “Which is why that is our next objective.”

  It was late, the streets quiet as Rindle stepped from the brothel and doused the red-tinted lantern out front. Herrod and Cordelia had left via the sewers, the big man escorting her home. The girls inside were off to bed. Rindle was exhausted and longed for sleep.

  He walked down the street, through shadows cast by the bright moon. His walk was short, for the location used for tonight’s business was a mere two streets over from his apartment.

  Three days had passed since he killed the wizardess. Word of the deed had spread rapidly, creating a buzz across the city and striking fear into the hearts of the gentry. Rindle had lived his entire twenty-eight years in Fastella, and it was only the second murder of a wizard he could recall. The previous one occurred just a few years earlier when one of Cordelia’s men used arson to settle a grudge. That event had gone poorly, stirring Taladain’s anger and forcing the wizard lord to enact new regulations. Those regulations almost crushed the Thieves Guild. Cordelia had punished the man behind the scheme, his body parts posted in dens throughout the city as a message. This time was different.

  Not only was Rindle now in Cordelia’s good graces, the woman had proclaimed him the most valued member of the guild. Her glowing praise inflamed his pride. Perhaps she will stop mentioning Landish now. The man hadn’t worked for her in over a decade, yet she had never stopped using him as an example for other thieves to emulate. Jerrell’s recent return to the city only made it worse. How was he able to kill Taladain anyway? The man’s fame had grown from such an outrageous achievement, but Rindle’s flamboyant act of not just killing Gilda Parsec, but the entire household had everyone in the guild talking about him instead of Jerrell Landish. Rindle savored every single drip of conversation with his name included.

  At the second intersection, he turned. The alley to his apartment was narrow and dark. Five steps in, he heard a noise. He spun about, his rapier in one hand, an enchanted, glowing disk in the other.

  “There you are,” a man said, his cloaked silhouette standing at the alley entrance, just beyond the light of the disk.

  Something struck the back of Rindle’s head. The world went black.

  Pain. It raged through Rindle’s body, forcing his back to arch and his fists to clench until his nails bit into his palms. It was a heated, vibrating agony, leaving him panting when it finally stopped.

  He opened his eyes. Startled and shaken, he blinked and winced at the pounding in his head. It felt like it might burst.

  His blurred vision slowly cleared. He was sitting, his neck arched back so he stared at the ceiling. An oddly familiar chandelier hung above him, a rope tied to it…the same rope connected to his neck.

  He gasped and raised his head. Two men stood before him. Men he recognized.

  “There you are,” Parsec said from a stride away.

  The wizard’s bodyguard stood beside him, caressing the hilt of his blade, his face a menacing scowl.

  His throat dry, Rindle’s voice croaked, “Parsec.”

  They were in the same room where Rindle had killed Parsec’s wife. The bed had been pushed aside, and Rindle was tied to a chair below the chandelier where he had hung her body.

  The wizard grinned, the expression lacking any semblance of humor. “I was certain you would recognize me.” His grin fell away. “Did you recognize Gilda, as well?”

  A lump solidified in Rindle’s throat. He swallowed hard. The wizard’s big bodyguard held a blade ready – a dagger with a jagged edge. Rindle tried to move, but ropes dug into his chest, his wrists, and his ankles. He knew he was in serious trouble. The same instinct told him there was only one w
ay out.

  Rindle cleared his dry throat. “If you found me, you must know who I work for. She won’t be pleased if something happens to me.”

  Parsec chuckled. “If you expect me to respond to threats, you will be sadly disappointed. I have no fear from Cordelia or her army of misfits.” The man leaned forward and held a hand out, his fingers crackling with sparks of magic as Rindle tried to shy away. “I lead the Wizards Guild. If I choose to do so, I have the power to destroy that woman, along with you and the rest of your lot.”

  The air around the man’s hand snapped and popped. Rindle felt the heat of it and realized he was holding his breath.

  Finally, he managed to speak. “Please, don’t kill me.”

  The man pulled back and laughed, his bodyguard laughing with him.

  “Are you sure you got the right man, boss?” the big bodyguard asked. “He seems more of a mouse than a murderer.”

  Parsec crossed his arms, lips flattening into a thin line. “Oh, he is definitely the one. He killed my guards, executed my staff, and murdered my wife.”

  His heart thumping, Rindle explained, “It was just business. I was ordered to kill them. It was nothing personal.”

  Parsec leaned forward and jabbed a finger into Rindle’s breastbone again, and again, and again, punctuating every word. “You killed my wife! How can that not be personal?”

  Desperate, Rindle’s gaze flicked about the room, searching for a way out. He clenched his eyes shut and willed himself to wake. Please let this be a nightmare. He then felt a warmth in his crotch.

  “What’s that smell?” Parsec asked, his face twisting.

  “It looks like he wet himself,” the bodyguard laughed.

  The wizard shook his head. “I can’t believe my wonderful wife died at the hands of this coward.”

  The word struck a chord, something rising up inside Rindle, dousing his fear and stroking his anger.

  “I am not a coward!” he shouted vehemently, surprising even himself.

  The wizard’s eyes narrowed. “So you say.”

  “I am not.” Rindle closed his eyes for a beat, then opened them. “What do you wish of me?”

  Parsec nodded. “I offer you the chance to choose how you die.”

  “I… I don’t wish to die.”

  “We all die. It is how we do it that matters.” Parsec sat on a chair and crossed his legs, his eyes never leaving Rindle. “You have two options. The first…” He gestured toward the rope, “your life ends as you ended Gilda’s – swinging by your neck.”

  “And the other choice?” Rindle squeaked.

  Parsec sat forward with his elbows on his knees, his eyes narrowed, piercing Rindle’s soul. “You kill the man who hired you to kill my wife.”

  Rindle blinked, taken aback. “You want me to kill Eldalain?”

  Parsec clapped his hands together loudly, the sound echoing in the silent room. “I knew it!” Clenching his fists, he stood and began pacing, his face twisted in a sneer. “That arrogant slime. He knew the others would bend to his will when they heard of what happened here. He knew they would be loath to risk their own lives and defy him.”

  Rindle groaned, realizing he had just broken the secrecy of a contract. If Parsec didn’t kill him, either Cordelia or Eldalain would.

  The wizard stopped and glared at Rindle. “Will you do it?”

  “Do what?” he muttered. I am so dead.

  “Kill Eldalain?”

  Rindle blinked at the statement, taking a moment to process it before replying. “You want to take out a contract on the prince?”

  Parsec sat again. “Exactly. A contract, but in this case, the reward, whether you succeed or fail, is your life. I’ll only allow you to walk out of here if you promise to kill Eldalain. If you attempt to leave the city before he is dead, I’ll consider the contract broken, the payment due.”

  As an exceptional wizard, Eldalain was already dangerous. With an army to protect him, killing the prince would be nearly impossible.

  Rindle shook his head. “How am I supposed to kill him? He might be the most powerful wizard in the city. In all of Ghealdor. He is protected by guards and…and that beast Klondon is always with him. Always.”

  Leaning back, Parsec glanced toward the bodyguard hovering over him, the man giving a shrug. “How you do it is immaterial to me. I just need him out of the way, and I need it done soon.” Parsec grinned. “You don’t have to do it. I gave you a choice.”

  The bodyguard tugged on the rope. Rindle squawked as his neck stretched, the rope digging into it. With the rope held tight, Rindle’s eyes bulged, fixed on Parsec’s face as he leaned close. Parsec gripped the noose, loosening it before sitting back. The tension released and Rindle coughed, gasped, and blinked away his tears.

  “What will it be, Rindle?” the wizard asked. “The rope or the prince?”

  “All right. I’ll do it,” he said through ragged breaths. “But once Eldalain is dead, and if I somehow survive, we are even.”

  Parsec leaned close, his clenched fist inches from Rindle’s face. “If you do it and survive, I will let you live. However, you and I will never be even.”

  23

  A Shift

  The sun was somewhere beyond the western horizon, and stars were emerging in the east. It had been a long day of riding after a night without sleep. Narine’s backside and thighs ached, and she longed to get off the horse. Somehow, she was able to suppress her complaints. Everyone had agreed the greater distance they put between themselves and Marquithe, the safer they would be. Despaldi and his men were likely to do everything possible to see them dead after what had happened.

  Turning in the saddle, she looked back at Adyn riding a few lengths behind, her jaw set in determination. Rhoa rode alongside Adyn, with Rawk and Algoron sharing a horse in the rear. Each of them appeared in as much discomfort as Narine, none saying a word about it.

  Narine’s gaze shifted to the man riding to her right, then the one to her left. Salvon and Jace had, somehow, assumed leadership of the group. At the first fork, not more than twenty miles south of Marquithe, the two men had argued about which direction to ride. Eventually, Salvon had won out, since his route was the quickest way to Illustan. So they took a road heading southwest, into the mountain range that formed the southern Farrowen border. Narine didn’t care which way they chose. She just longed for a soft bed.

  The weather continued to shift as they journeyed south and climbed in elevation. By late afternoon, the breeze became a cold wind, forcing everyone to don their travel cloaks. Now nightfall, Narine kept clutching her cloak tightly against her chest. The dress beneath it was not meant for cooler climates, and riding left her bare legs exposed below the knee.

  When they crested a rise, Jace drew his horse to a stop. The others did the same, the entire party clustering on the road.

  “You promised we would reach an inn by nightfall.” Jace glared at Salvon, the thief’s face lit by pale moonlight.

  Salvon shook his head. “No. I promised we would sleep in a soft bed tonight.”

  Jace snorted. “You have a way of twisting words, old man. Where is the inn?”

  “Not far now.” Salvon pointed south. “That rise is called Giant’s Ridge. The inn on the ridge is quite nice. I have stayed there on many occasions.”

  Everyone looked toward the silhouette of land where Salvon pointed. It was dark, but Narine still guessed it was another five miles away.

  Jace sighed. “All–”

  He stopped suddenly and looked east. Narine frowned and turned to find both Rawk and Algoron also facing in that direction. Then she heard it. A slow thump, thump, thump sounded in the night, drawing closer. The sound came from above, her eyes trying to locate the source. Louder and louder the sound grew until a shadow passed before the moon. They just knew it was something with wings, something big. Then it was gone.

  “What was that?” Rawk asked, his tone laced with fear.

  “I have no idea,” Jace said.

&nb
sp; “That was a creature of legend.”

  They all turned toward Salvon.

  “Something has changed,” the old man said. “I have felt it all day.”

  “Felt what?” Jace said. “All I feel is a sore backside and an empty stomach.”

  The old man’s tone shifted to one of musing. “There has been a change in the balance of magic. This balance… It is a fickle thing with varied consequences. There are prophecies warning of such a shift.”

  Jace pointed toward the sky. “What do magic and prophecies have to do with an oversized bird?”

  “That was no bird,” Rhoa said.

  Narine nodded in agreement. She didn’t know what creature had flown over them, but it didn’t look like a bird.

  “What was it then?”

  “I already told you. A creature of legend.” Salvon kicked his horse into a trot. “Come along. You wanted a bed for the night.”

  Guided by moonlight, they rode down the pale, paved Farrowen road for another twenty minutes before the lanterns of Giant’s Ridge came into view. A cluster of two dozen buildings stood below a dark ridgeline. Between the buildings and the ridge was a creek, the rush of water occupying the gaps between horse hooves clopping on the paved road.

  Salvon pulled up before a log building, dismounted, and tied his mount to a post. A trough of water and piles of hay waited beside the post. Narine and the others secured their horses to the post and collected their packs and belongings. It felt good to stretch. Judging by everybody’s groans as they followed Salvon inside, Narine wasn’t the only one who was sore.