Fate of Wizardoms Boxed Set

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  “I asked the captain earlier.” Jace ran his hand through his hair. “He says they keep the harbor gate open for an hour after Devotion rather than closing it at nightfall.”

  As if prompted, the fire on the Tower of Devotion blazed to life. Four beams of ice-blue light shot out from the tower, connecting to distant cities across the wizardom. From the darkness of the water, the pale blue city walls, combined with light from the tower, painted a mesmerizing image, leaving Narine breathless.

  Jace gripped her hand. She accepted it without comment. Adyn always said Narine was stubborn, and Jace had proven himself her equal, neither willing to apologize to the other, despite the passing days. Instead, they had allowed an awkward discomfort to persist. She had wondered if others felt the tension or if it were only in her head. While holding his hand and viewing the lights from across the water, she felt the tension release like a massive sigh.

  When the barge neared the harbor, the crew steered it toward the low docks between the main piers and the shipyards. Guided by brief commands from Captain Dorsey, the crew worked with efficiency, swiftly finding an open slip and securing the barge to the dock.

  The passengers began collecting their bags from the bin at the center of the benches. The dog jumped out and stood at Blythe’s side. Brogan thanked Dorsey and gave the man some coin while the others climbed onto the dock and waited. Narine frowned as something occurred to her.

  She turned to Blythe. “How will they get the barge back upstream?”

  Blythe laughed. “Nothing goes upstream. This was a one-way trip for the barge. It will be dismantled, the logs going to the shipyards. The other components will be loaded on wagons and return to Whitewater to be used on another barge.”

  Brogan climbed onto the dock, his shield in one hand, his pack over the other shoulder. “Come along. We need to get through the gates before they close for the night.”

  Salvon walked beside Brogan, the storyteller a head shorter than the soldier. “We need to speak with Raskor.”

  With a grunt, Brogan said, “I know. Let’s get a quick bite to eat before we pay him a visit.”

  “Why not eat at the palace?” Salvon asked.

  “I have some history with Raskor. The man could hug me and treat me like a long-lost friend, or he could declare me a criminal and throw me into a dungeon cell. Neither would surprise me. However, if a dungeon is my fate, I’ll not have it happen without a solid meal in my stomach.”

  Jace snorted. “Good thinking. I’ve made that mistake and don’t care to repeat it.”

  Dinner was an interesting combination of grilled fish, potato bread, and boiled vegetables seasoned in a way Narine had never tasted. It was different, but appetizing. With full stomachs, the party began the uphill trek to the palace. While the air was cool, it wasn’t as cold as up in the mountains. Still, everyone wore cloaks over coats as they climbed the stairs toward the citadel.

  Twenty minutes and a few hundred feet of elevation later, they reached the road leading to the palace gate. While taking the road the entire way might have made for an easier climb, it would have taken much longer than the stairs because of its winding, meandering route.

  Narine realized the climb had not winded her as much as usual. She had also noticed her clothing didn’t fit quite as tightly in the waist and hips. Weeks of travel and exercise with light meals had allowed her to shed some weight. Two sea crossings had likely also contributed, as everything she ate found its way into the sea rather than remaining in her stomach. At the thought, she smoothed her dress and glanced toward Jace. He looked at her with a hunger, his eyes following her hands. In the past, she would have been offended or embarrassed at the undisguised leer. To her own surprise, his attention now brought her satisfaction. She gave him a smile, which he returned. Her heart raced, but she was unsure if it was because of the climb or something else.

  When they reached the guards posted at the gate, Brogan spoke with them and stepped back, waiting while one of the men left to fetch his superior.

  Minutes later, the man reappeared, along with a middle-aged soldier with a gray goatee and long, graying hair tied back in a tail. The man scowled as he passed through the gate. His gaze fell on Brogan, his scowl deepening before it transformed. Suddenly, the man embraced Brogan, smiling as he clapped him on the back.

  “Well met, old friend.” The soldier stepped back and looked Brogan over. “You have aged. Gained some weight, as well.”

  “We all age, Theodin. Well, except Raskor,” Brogan said, his grin dropping away. “Does he still hold a grudge toward me?”

  “I can’t say.” Theodin shook his head. “It’s been years since I have heard him speak your name.”

  Brogan sighed. “As I thought. I will just have to chance it, for we need to speak with him.”

  “Raskor holds court tomorrow. I can put you on the list.”

  “No.” Brogan’s tone was firm, commanding. “We need to speak with him now. In private.”

  Theodin ran a hand down his face. “Do you know what you are asking of me?”

  “I do.” Brogan clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “And I would not ask if it weren’t of great import.”

  With a sigh and a shake of his head, Theodin said, “I pray you know what you are doing, or we may both end up in a cell.” He looked down at Phantom. “Is the dog coming, as well?”

  “Yes,” Blythe said firmly.

  With another sigh, Theodin waved them forward. “Come along then.”

  Led by Theodin and trailed by a complement of a dozen armed guards, they passed through the dark corridors of the palace. They climbed stairwells lit by amber torches until they reached the seventh floor, deep in the palace. Narine guessed they might even be inside the mountain the palace backed against.

  At last, they stopped outside a room with double doors, each marked with a diamond-shaped etching. The rapping of Theodin’s knuckles echoed in the quiet corridor. A moment later, a man’s voice called out from inside.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, my lord. I have something urgent,” Theodin said loudly.

  “Come in, Theo.”

  With one last look at Brogan, the man opened the door and strode inside. Brogan followed, trailed by the others.

  The room was dark, lit only by a warm fire in a large, stone fireplace. A man and a woman lounged on a sofa in front of the fire, the man appearing no older than forty, the woman a similar age. She had red hair, fair skin, and green eyes. Narine saw some resemblance to the daughter who attended the University, although Priella’s features were plain and retained the softness of youth, while her mother had a lean, handsome face marked by lines of wisdom. When the woman’s gaze fell on Brogan, her expression shifted briefly, a flash of sorrow and loss before it was gone.

  Raskor had short, brown hair and a trimmed brown beard, his hazel eyes intense. He stood, his frame more suitable for a warrior than a wizard lord, his pale blue robes stretched tightly across broad shoulders.

  “Brogan?” the man said as he stared in shock.

  Brogan knelt to one knee, his head lowered. It was odd to see the hard, bold man defer to another in that manner. “I submit to your will, my lord. I only ask that you hear what my friends and I have to say before you pass judgment against me.”

  Lord Raskor looked down at Brogan, face emotionless. “I heard about your court martial. I had hoped you might serve the Murguard for life rather than just five years.”

  Brogan stood. “Five years is a lifetime in The Fractured Lands. The court martial is one regret among many, something I seem to collect. Even now, those regrets weigh heavily on me. Perhaps, one day, I will collect one too many and will break…unless I get myself killed first.”

  Raskor nodded, the two men sharing a silent exchange. The wizard lord’s gaze swept across the other people before him, eyes narrowing slightly when he looked at Narine. When he moved on, recognition struck, his eyes widening.

  “Salvon?”

  The o
ld man stepped forward from his position at the back. “Yes. It is I, Raskor.”

  The wizard lord grinned and stepped toward Salvon, gripping his shoulder. “Well met, old friend. The palace has been less interesting without your presence.”

  Rising to her feet, the woman embraced the storyteller. “It is good to see you, Salvon.” She released him and tilted her head as she stared into his eyes. “You appear even younger than when I last saw you, and that was over a decade past. Do you, like my husband, have a god to give you strength and keep you young?”

  “You are too kind, my queen. However, the years and miles wearing on my body disagree. Perhaps your perspective has changed rather than my appearance.” Salvon turned toward his companions. “I present to you Lord Raskor Ueordlin and his wife, the beautiful Ariella Ueordlin.”

  Brogan shifted to stand beside Salvon, both facing Raskor. “We have news that affects Pallanar and the other wizardoms. May the three of us speak somewhere private?”

  Raskor nodded. “We can use my study.” The man held his hand out, his body glowing as he drew in his magic. A dozen lanterns lit the room, proving the chamber was far larger than just the sitting area. The three men crossed the floor and entered the neighboring room, closing the door behind them.

  Narine turned toward Ariella. “I am pleased to meet you, Your Highness. My name is Narine Killarius, daughter of Lord Taladain. I know your daughter, Priella. We shared a floor while I was at the University.”

  The woman’s brow raised at the mention of her daughter. “How is my sweet girl? I have missed her presence these past eight years.”

  Sweet girl? Narine thought. While Priella wasn’t exactly her enemy, the girl was forever moody and consistently separated herself from other students, despite Narine’s numerous attempts to engage. She sought kind words without making a false statement. “Priella is doing well and nearing the time of her Trial, I suspect. She is a talented and dedicated student and will undoubtedly do well.”

  Ariella sat and patted the sofa. “Please. Have a seat.” Narine sat beside her as the woman gestured toward the others. “Find a place to sit. My husband might be a while.”

  As the others found seats, Narine stared into the fire and considered what she had heard, what she had seen. Before she could ask it, Jace interrupted.

  “What’s the story between Brogan and your husband? I thought Brogan was some sort of war hero.”

  “A hero?” Ariella arched a brow. “I suppose I could see how one might get that impression. There was a time he was among the best soldiers in the Gleam Guard. His skill earned him a vaunted position at a young age. That, and his tight friendship with my son, Prince Rictor. You see, he was Rictor’s bodyguard, assigned to remain by his side at all times. His job was to protect Rictor and keep him alive.” The sadness returned to her eyes. “Unfortunately, that is where he failed.”

  Narine took Ariella’s hand, and the woman gave her a sad smile before she continued her story.

  “While returning from a visit to Severan, my son and his guards were accosted by a band of soldiers working for a rogue wizard, a man named Balcor Serranan. Surrounded by armed guards, armed with magic, and having the best swordsman in all of Pallanar should have been enough to fend off the attack. However, a rogue crossbow bolt made it through, taking my son in the throat. The soldiers fought the enemy soldiers, killing each one of them, but there was no saving Rictor.

  “When Brogan returned to Illustan with my son’s dead body, it was the most heart-breaking moment of my life.” She paused, swallowing hard before resuming. “I was crushed, as was Raskor. My husband wanted to kill every guard in the escort, but Brogan claimed fault and absolved all others. Raskor had known Brogan since he was a boy and had treated him as a son. So, rather than execute Brogan, he sent him to The Fractured Lands to fight in the Murguard, allowing the man’s skills to still benefit Pallanar, even if indirectly.”

  Jace sat back, his brow furrowed. “I first met Brogan about ten years ago. He worked as the bodyguard for an important person in Fastella, so he left the Murguard sometime before then. A few years later, he and I did a job together. It paid well. Extremely well. It seems the man has been hiding in the mountains north of here ever since.”

  “Hiding?” Blythe asked.

  “What would you call it?”

  She gave a small smirk. “Living in peace. Enjoying nature.”

  Jace snorted. “Sounds frighteningly boring.”

  Blythe’s grin faded. “It’s not a bad life, but I often wonder if it’s the right life for him.” She looked toward the closed door to the study. “He has seemed…rejuvenated since you people appeared. It’s as if he had been going through the motions before, and now, he is engaging life rather than watching it pass by.”

  The conversation continued for a few more minutes, Narine making introductions while Ariella nodded and repeated names, as if filing them away for safekeeping. The door to the study opened and the three men entered the room. Raskor’s brow was furrowed, his expression one of concern.

  Ariella stood. “What is it?”

  “There is trouble in Farrowen and Ghealdor. It appears Malvorian made a power play, but someone else now holds the reins.” Raskor stopped before his wife, placing a hand on her arm. “They have discovered a means to capture Towers of Devotion and redirect the prayers to another wizardom.”

  Ariella gasped. “With such power…”

  “Yes. This is a threat to us all.” Raskor turned to Theodin, who stood beside the closed corridor door. “Take these folks to the guest quarters. I believe we have enough open rooms to house each of them.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Theodin said as he opened the door.

  Raskor turned toward Brogan and Salvon as he slipped an arm around Ariella. “My wife and I would like you to join us for breakfast.” He gestured toward the glass-paned doors across from the sitting area. “On my balcony. Just the…” He paused, visibly counting to himself, “twelve of us…including the dog.”

  32

  Breath of Fire

  Narine felt wonderful, fully rested and freshly bathed. She hadn’t slept well since leaving Fastella nearly a season ago.

  She wore a clean dress – the only one she had with her. It was wrinkled, but not horribly so. Better yet, it didn’t smell like a horse.

  “If I am dining with a wizard lord and queen, I am doing it after I have bathed and am properly dressed,” she had told Adyn earlier that morning. The snarls in her hair had resisted, but Adyn had battled them with a vigor that left Narine with a headache. Once Adyn finished braiding the long, blonde locks, Narine gazed into the mirror and felt a rare sense of pride. She looked and felt like a princess once again.

  She and Adyn left their room and joined the others gathering in the corridor. At the far end, a beam of sunlight streamed through a stained-glass window with a pale blue diamond in the middle – the symbol of Pallanar.

  They followed a guard two stories up the stairs and along a corridor before entering another stairwell. Climbing three more levels, they returned to the same corridor as the prior evening and passed through Raskor’s chambers to emerge outside.

  The morning sun lit the balcony, bright and warm, balancing the chilled air. The temperature was pleasant for an autumn morning this far south. The guests claimed seats along both sides of a large table, leaving the chairs at each end for Raskor and Ariella. Phantom lay near Blythe, basking in the sun, while everyone chatted about their lush quarters and soft beds.

  A bell rang and Raskor and Ariella stepped outside, arm in arm. The man wore pale blue robes, shimmering in the sunlight, his black sash smartly complementing the outfit. The queen’s garb was an inverse to his own, a black gown with pale blue highlights and a pale blue ribbon in her hair.

  Raskor walked his wife to her chair. She kissed his cheek and sat while he circled to his own seat. With a clap of his hands, a vanguard of waitstaff in white coats and dresses emerged from the room, storming the table, filling plates
and cups in a flurry before retreating.

  “Please, eat,” Raskor said.

  Everyone obeyed his command with enthusiasm. The smoked fish was salty, the bread light and fluffy, the cheese smoky, the berries fresh and juicy.

  Raskor said, “I have been considering your news. For many years, the wizardoms have operated independently, each focusing on its own needs and own problems. Only in our mutual contributions to the University and to the Murguard have we collaborated. Power, or the desire to obtain more of it, has changed the landscape, and we can no longer behave in such an insular manner.

  “However, the thirst for power often creates risk. It sounds as if Malvorian’s aggression cost him his life. We can hope for the same with his successor, but we must prepare in case they set their sights on Pallanar.”

  Jace leaned forward and cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, I have a suggestion.”

  Raskor arched a brow. “If you have words of wisdom, I would hear them.”

  “I suggest you create a network of informants. Place several of them in each major foreign city and have them send coded messages with traders and ships journeying between here and there. Start with Marquithe and Fastella, for that is where the current power struggle takes place.”

  The wizard lord sat back, face souring. “You speak of spies.”

  Jace grinned. “It appears we speak the same language.”

  Raskor shook his head. “I don’t know. Such…subterfuge. It’s dishonest.”

  “Of course it’s dishonest. That’s the whole point.”

  “It’s just very…unPallanese.”

  “That only makes it better. The Pallanese are known to be reserved about many things, including honesty. You are less likely to be suspected.” Jace paused and watched the wizard lord. “It will let you know what occurs in these other cities. It is for the good of your people.”

  The man arched a brow. “May I ask, what is your name?”