Fate of Wizardoms Boxed Set

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Jerrell rubbed his jaw in thought. “Seven years or so. However, you should call me Jace now.”

  Brogan snorted. “Why the name change? Did you piss someone off again?”

  Jerrell glanced toward one of the women in the room, blonde and curvaceous. After a moment of hesitation, he said, “In truth, there are many who hold grudges against me, and more than a few who would rather see me dead.” He shrugged. “Occupational hazard.” Turning to Salvon, he asked, “How do you know Brogan?”

  Salvon gave a knowing smile. “I helped Brogan out roughly six years past. He was in a bad way after meeting an angry moar bear.”

  The nightmare of the mauling came rushing back. For all of the battles Brogan had been through, the moar bear attack had brought him nearest the end. If Salvon and Blythe hadn’t found him, he would be dead. The scars on his back and scalp were harsh reminders of the frightful encounter. After two weeks of recovery, when Brogan’s fever had broken and his wounds were no longer life-threatening, Salvon had departed. Blythe, however, remained to care for him. She never left.

  His gaze fell to the bearskin rug on the floor, the fur brown with black, brindled stripes. It was a gift from Blythe, who had hunted down and killed the bear four weeks after his attack. In return, once fully recovered, he had built the woman her own cabin.

  The memory of Salvon’s last visit passed, Brogan banishing it with a grimace. “While I appreciate seeing you again, Salvon, why are all these people in my cabin? It’s hardly a convenient stop.”

  Salvon gestured toward an open chair beside the small kitchen table. “Please. Sit,” the old man said as he took the only other chair at the table.

  Brogan’s gaze swept the room. Everyone stared at him, waiting. I have a bad feeling about this. He set his axe against the wall and closed the door before turning to the table and sitting with a sigh. His muscles were sore, so sitting was a relief.

  “All right. What is this about?”

  The old storyteller fell into his telling voice, reciting the group’s tale, beginning weeks earlier. Despite his annoyance at the unexpected guests, Brogan found himself drawn into the story. By the time the old man was finished, the gravity of the situation had become clear. Recent events would have a widespread impact on the world. The deaths of two wizard lords in such a short time was bad enough. The idea that Towers of Devotion could be redirected to another wizardom, well… That was alarming. However, Brogan lived in the middle of the mountains where nobody ever ventured. The location had been chosen for good reason.

  “While interesting,” Brogan said, “none of this is my concern.”

  “We are in trouble, Brogan. We are being pursued, accused of killing one, if not two wizard lords.” Salvon’s eyes were pleading. “Before I left, while you were still recovering from your injuries, you said I could ask anything of you. I am asking now. We need another sword, someone who is skilled and trained for combat.”

  Brogan frowned. He had grown to enjoy a peaceful life in his quiet mountain valley. Blythe was all the company he needed, even if she disappeared for days at a time. He knew she would always return.

  “I cannot.” He shook his head. “My days of fighting are in the past.”

  The petite, Hassakani girl asked, “How can you deny a request for help – a request from someone who saved your life?”

  He scowled at her. “I am not the man for this job. Perhaps I was once, but those years are behind me. Besides, what do I care of wizard lords and battles between nations?” He held his hands out, palms up. “Out here, I am away from all such concerns. It’s just me and nature.” And Blythe.

  “Innocent people are dying while you sit here and do nothing,” the voluptuous blonde sitting on his bed said, her voice heated. “How can you be so selfish? You would leave us and everyone else to the whims of power-hungry men while you look the other way? If so, you are as bad as them.”

  Irritated, Brogan growled, “Listen, lady–”

  Another female, tall with cropped hair, stood and pointed at him. “She is a princess, and you will treat her with respect.”

  The woman was dressed like an assassin, wearing black leathers with a dagger on one hip, a curved sword on another, and a larger blade strapped to her back. Brogan’s gaze locked on the hilt above the woman’s shoulder – a familiar black-wrapped grip and a polished cross-guard with a golden eye in the center. The pale blue topaz in the middle of the eye sparkled in the light of the lantern. He leaned forward, staring at the sword with hunger.

  “Where did you get that blade?”

  The woman frowned and looked down at the curved sword on her hip before she realized he was looking over her shoulder. “Oh, this? I took it from a man a few days ago. The same man who is pursuing us.”

  “Who is this man? What is his name?”

  Jerrell replied, “His name is Despaldi. He is Captain of the Farrowen Midnight Guard. He is tenacious and efficient.” His mouth twisted. “I have never heard of him failing at anything, and I have lived in Marquithe for the past six years.”

  Despaldi, Brogan thought. The bastard is still at it.

  He stood, heart racing as he discarded thoughts of the man and focused on the weapon. “May I see the sword?”

  The woman looked at Salvon with a question in her eyes. The old man nodded. She unstrapped her pack, the sword hooked through a strap, the blade wrapped in cloth. When she held it out, Brogan accepted it with care. He unwrapped the cloth to reveal the black-tinted blade just as he remembered.

  “I can’t believe it,” he muttered. “Augur has returned to me.”

  As Brogan gripped the hilt, the dark room grew three shades brighter. The falchion, the weapon he had been gifted by Lord Raskor twenty-two years prior, was his once again.

  A distant crack came from outside. Brogan woke, eyes flickering open. The cabin was dark and quiet, save for snoring from one of the dwarfs sleeping on the floor. Salvon was still curled on the sofa, the three women squeezed together in Brogan’s bed.

  He looked toward the window, the crack in the curtain revealing the pale light of predawn. A shadow moved by the window. Jarrell pulled the curtain aside.

  No, not Jerrell. He calls himself Jace now, Brogan reminded himself.

  Moving with care, Brogan rose from the chair where he had been sleeping and crept across the cabin. He leaned over the thief and peered through the curtain. It was all trees and shadows, the sky just beginning to grow lighter. A shadow moved near the trail that led northeast.

  “Someone is out there,” Brogan whispered.

  “Of course someone is out there,” Jace replied. “And not just one, but a number of someones. I can’t tell for sure how many. At least a half-dozen, likely more. Some on horseback.”

  Brogan peered outside, his brow furrowed. “You can see all that?”

  “Yes.” Jace turned and nudged one of the dwarfs. “Rawk, I need your eyes.”

  The younger dwarf rubbed his eyes and rose, looking out the window while Brogan and Jace waited.

  “What’s happening?” Adyn asked.

  “Shh,” Jace hushed her. “Someone is outside. We are trying to get a read on the situation, but we cannot let them know we are awake.”

  “What?” The blonde princess sat upright as light appeared above her palm. “Why would people be out there?”

  Jace rolled his eyes. “Narine, why do you have to be difficult?”

  She glared at him. “I am not being difficult.”

  “Of course you aren’t,” Jace replied, his tone sarcastic. “You are just being helpful, offering the enemies surrounding us light so they can properly put arrows into our throats. So thoughtful of you.”

  The princess glowered at him. “Your sarcasm is not among your endearing features.”

  Jace grinned. “So I have other, more endearing features?”

  She slid out of bed, straightening her dress as she stood. “I used to think so, but I’m having second thoughts.”

  Rawk pulled away from t
he window and lowered his tinted spectacles back over his eyes. “It is him…the man we fought in Marquithe. He has soldiers with him, six on horseback and at least four others on foot. The ones on foot are armed with bows.”

  Brogan stepped over to his chair and gripped Augur. Immediately, the room grew brighter, the princess glowing with her magic. The enhanced vision enchantment the falchion held was unique in nature and had saved his life many times. Holding the blade again was reassuring. He wasn’t wearing his baldric, but that was a minor inconvenience. A baldric wasn’t required to cut Despaldi to pieces. Gripping the hilt, he moved toward the door.

  “What are you doing?” Jace asked, looking at the blade in Brogan’s hand.

  “Despaldi ruined me years ago. He was the reason I was thrown out of the Murguard. The bastard stole my blade in the process.” Brogan grinned, knowing the expression held no humor. “It would be fitting if I used Augur to repay his kindness.”

  Jace jumped between Brogan and the door, holding his hands out. “Stop.”

  “Why? The man deserves it.”

  The thief rolled his eyes. “Listen to yourself. What you are saying sounds crazy. We are outnumbered and he has multiple soldiers armed with bows. You aren’t even wearing armor. You’d be dead before you were halfway to Despaldi’s horse.”

  Brogan blinked and considered the blade. If felt so good in his hand, as if he were whole again after losing an appendage. He suddenly realized Jace was right. What was I thinking? The blade seemed to instill confidence. He wondered if it were part of the enchantment.

  “We are surrounded,” Brogan said. “What do you propose?”

  Jace released a sigh of relief and turned toward the others. “Everyone gather your things and get ready. Our chance to escape might be brief. I don’t know exactly what we will do yet, but I’ll figure it out.” He turned toward Narine. “Can you shield us? It will be easier to bargain with them if we don’t have to worry about arrows.”

  She nodded. “Yes. When you are ready, Adyn and I will go out first. Everyone stay close, and nobody passes me or I cannot protect you.”

  Adyn drew her blades, gripping one in each hand while standing beside the door. Narine stopped before the door with her arms extended, body glowing brightly with magic. Brogan knew the others couldn’t see the glow. They weren’t wizards, nor were they gripping Augur.

  “Wait a moment,” Brogan said. He tipped his small, round dining table on its side and snapped the center post in half. He tucked the post beneath his arm, the tabletop becoming a makeshift wooden shield. “All right. I’m ready.”

  A disk of white light appeared around Narine’s hand, forming an intricate pattern. With her other hand, she bent the pattern into an oval as tall as the door and just as wide. She nodded, and Adyn opened the door, revealing the pale light of dawn. Narine stepped outside, followed by Adyn, Jace, Brogan, and the others. Brogan stopped beside Jace and glared across the small clearing outside his cabin, while Narine expanded her shield.

  Roddem Despaldi sat on a horse, flanked by six other riders. To the left and right of the mounted soldiers, archers stood with bows nocked and ready, the entire force forming an arc around the front of the cabin. Despaldi looked much as Brogan remembered – lean, fit, stern, intense gaze. Yes, he appeared older, but fifteen years had passed. Brogan knew he also appeared older.

  “I suggest you leave my home, Despaldi,” Brogan growled. “I would hate to see you and your men come down with a bad case of death.”

  “Brogan Reisner,” Despaldi said. “Why am I not surprised? This lot of murderers seems perfect company for someone of your reputation.”

  “You are the one who tarnished my reputation.”

  Despaldi shouted, “No! You did it to yourself. You put your own personal needs above those of the soldiers who followed you.”

  “We saved lives that day.”

  “Half my squad died. Twelve men, raw, green, and on our first day in the Murguard!”

  “What would you have had me do? Leave those soldiers to be sacrificed by monsters?”

  “I would have had you use caution. We could have saved them without so much loss.” Despaldi’s gaze fell on the sword in Brogan’s hand. “I’ve held that blade for fifteen years. I know what it can do. You could have taken the lead. The vision could have been used to save lives, not just preserve your own.”

  Silence fell, Brogan scowling at Despaldi, who stared back in disdain.

  Finally, Jace spoke, “Well, this has been a touching reunion, but we really must be going.”

  Despaldi sneered, “You are not going anywhere unless it is in shackles.”

  “I’m sorry, Captain, but I have discovered I am allergic to shackles.” Jace grinned. “Besides, they don’t go with my outfit.”

  “How droll,” Despaldi said. “You might be a talented thief, Landish, but you can’t escape this time. You are outnumbered. My men are skilled warriors and my archers don’t miss. One move, and you’ll have an arrow in your throat.”

  There was a flicker of motion in the forest beyond the Farrowen soldiers. There and gone in a flash.

  Brogan smiled and gripped Augur. “I believe you are in for a bad day, Roddem.”

  Despaldi frowned. “What are you going on about, Brogan?”

  He lifted Augur, twisting the blackened blade as if examining it. “Fifteen years have passed since I last gripped Augur, but the blade was always mine. It has returned, and with it, I will cast you down.”

  Brogan took a half-step, stopping just shy of Narine’s shield. He could see it in the air, inches from his face, swirling with magic, twisting the images beyond it.

  “I warned you,” Despaldi said. “One more step and my men will shoot.”

  “Too bad that won’t be possible.” Brogan grinned. “Now!” he shouted.

  From somewhere to the south, an arrow appeared, plunging through the throat of one of the archers. Another followed, taking a Farrowen archer out even as he loosed, his arrow striking Narine’s shield and harmlessly falling to the porch. The other two archers scrambled backward, their bows nocked, searching for their assailant. Brogan burst forward with a roar.

  Another arrow zipped past, striking a Farrowen archer in the eye, leaving only one. Brogan charged toward the mounted soldiers. The last archer loosed, the arrow sailing at Brogan, who hastily raised the round tabletop. The arrow buried into the table with a thud, the shaft quivering. The archer quickly nocked his bow and drew, but another missile sailed past and plunged through his hand. He cried out and dropped the arrow.

  By then, Brogan was almost to the mounted riders, the armored men brandishing swords. Brogan shifted his grip on the table and threw it. But rather than aiming for the men, he aimed for Despaldi’s horse. The table smashed into the animal, striking it right between the eyes. With a high-pitched whinny, the horse reared up, nearly tossing Despaldi. The crazed horse bucked and slammed into the horses beside it, sending one rider off his saddle. A gray and brown dog burst from the woods in a blur and attacked the fallen soldier, snapping and tearing at the man.

  Brogan slashed, slicing a rider in the leg while ducking a sword. The falchion bit deep into the man’s thigh. He spun, blocked another strike, parried again, and leapt backward. The man urged his horse forward, then his head snapped sideways when a thrown knife buried into his cheek. The man’s eyes went wide. He dropped his blade and reached for the knife, which was a mistake. Brogan’s next stroke crashed into the man’s back, cutting through his leather armor and deep into his spine. Even as the man fell, Brogan spun, in search of another target.

  The dog went after the horses, barking and zipping between them. Despaldi’s already spooked horse bolted, the man desperately hanging on as his mount fled into the woods. Four saddles were empty, the horses scurrying away from the fracas and the attacking dog. One rider fought the female bodyguard, the man’s legs covered in shallow cuts as he tried to get in a clean hit. The smallest woman, Rhoa, darted in from behind the man and l
eapt up, blade in hand. She buried it deep into his back. The man feebly tried to reach for it, and Adyn finished him with a sword thrust under his arm, burying her blade deep between his ribs. The man fell to the ground with a thud, his horse racing off into the night.

  Suddenly, the fight was over.

  Brogan’s gaze swept the area, searching for threats. One man lay moaning on the ground, clutching at his bloody leg. The other Farrowen soldiers were dead, three archers and five who had been unhorsed. Only Despaldi and one archer appeared to have escaped.

  Jace walked over to one man and pulled the knife from his face, before heading to another whose eyes were wide and lifeless, a blade in his throat.

  Adyn appeared to have a shallow cut on her shoulder, but nobody else was injured.

  “I see you found yourself some trouble while I was away.”

  Brogan smiled at the voice. He turned as she stepped out of the woods, her longbow in hand. “Hello, Blythe. I was hoping you would come back before we left.”

  With flaming red hair tied in a tail and green eyes able to make an emerald blush, Blythe stood six feet tall, lean and fit. She stopped, her gaze sweeping the area, her eyes keen and intense as always. “Two got away. I doubt they’ll return. One has an arrow through his palm, the other trying to tame an angry horse.” She called out, “Phantom, come.”

  The dog came loping over and settled beside her.

  “Is this your girlfriend, Brogan?” Jace asked. “Like you, she has a knack for stating the obvious.”

  Brogan growled. “She is not my… She… This is Blythe, my neighbor.”

  Jace looked around, frowning. “Neighbor?”

  Blythe smirked, gesturing toward the large gray and brown dog sitting beside her, his ears perked, brown eyes alert. “Phantom and I live a quarter mile away, to the other side of Brogan’s garden.”

  Jace grinned. “Garden? Are you a farmer now?”

  “A man has to eat.”

  Blythe added, “As does a woman.”

  “So, you farm for the two of you. How quaint.”