Fate of Wizardoms Boxed Set

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  She clutched the book and altered her illusion, masking the tome so it appeared as if she were simply clutching her stomach, the book hidden from view.

  “Let’s go.” She headed toward the door. “We have what we came for.”

  “We do?” Jace asked as he trailed after her.

  She grinned at his confusion. “Yes. A new use for magic is worth all the wealth in Fastella.”

  “Great.” He caught up, walking alongside her as she headed toward the door. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me sell it?”

  A snort came out. “Not for anything.” She paused and turned toward him. “Do you know anyone who can read Hassakani?”

  He grinned. “I believe I do.”

  Rhoa stepped into the room, her stomach growling at the mere thought of food. The dining hall was located on the main floor, two stories below the rooms they were to use during their stay in Kelmar. It was a long room, curved like all the others. Ten tables, each large enough to seat twenty, filled the space, every table empty save for the one Rhoa and her companions were assigned. She took a seat on the bench between Blythe and Rawk, glancing at the pair of sisters standing at each end of the table, monitoring their every move. Are we guests or prisoners? Rhoa wondered. The seers claimed the prior but behaved as if it were the latter.

  A hand gripped her shoulder. She turned as Jace leaned between her and Rawk.

  “Do you mind if I sit beside Rhoa?” Jace asked the dwarf.

  Rawk looked at her, his purple eyes conveying reluctance, although he nodded and slid aside to make room. After stepping over the bench, Jace settled to fill the gap.

  “I’m starving,” the thief said as he reached for the pewter cup before him. He took a sip and frowned. “Ugh. Milk.”

  “Goat’s milk,” Jionna said from her standing position at the end of the table.

  “Even worse. Do you have ale, by chance?”

  The confused look on the seer’s face left Rhoa wondering if she had ever heard of ale. Another sister rang a bell, the high-pitched peal echoing in the chamber.

  A string of men marched through the door at the end of the room, each carrying a plate of food. They were all shirtless and wore flowing, loose, white trousers that were tight at the ankles. Their feet were bare, their black hair cut identically – straight across the bangs, hanging down at the sides, reaching the nape of their neck. Most noticeably, they were all young, none older than thirty, and all handsome, their bodies lean and fit.

  The male servants split apart, half going to each side of the table. Lining up behind each of Rhoa’s companions, they stood still, staring off into space. Rhoa focused on the man standing behind Narine, her eyes narrowed as she watched closely. It was difficult to tell if he was even breathing.

  “You may serve them,” Yinette instructed.

  The servants moved as one, each placing a plate on the table before one of the guests. They then formed two lines and marched back out the door, not a word said.

  “Please, eat,” Jionna said.

  Rhoa picked up her fork and looked down at the food. Odd, dark shapes she assumed were vegetables and slabs of raw fish. She cut into the fish and took a bite, the flesh smooth on her tongue and almost causing her to gag. She swallowed with a grimace.

  “Interesting meal,” Jace said. “This is food, right?”

  “Yes. It is helving and horchatto,” Yinette replied. “One of our most common meals.”

  His face twisted. “I have no idea what those things are.” With his fork, he picked up one of the vegetables – dark, wet, and limp. “Which is this?”

  “Horchatto. It is a plant that grows in our gardens. Quite tasty.”

  The thief poked at the meat on his plate. “So, this raw fish… It’s helving?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I get it cooked?”

  Jionna frowned. “Why would we do that? It would ruin the flavor.”

  Rhoa looked up. “Yes. Can I get mine cooked, as well? I… I cannot eat it like this.”

  Everyone began asking for their fish to be cooked. The sisters were visibly frazzled by the request.

  Finally, Jionna sighed. “Fine. Give us your plates.”

  Everyone except Salvon, Rawk, and Algoron held their plates out as the four seers collected them, each holding two plates before heading out the doors, leaving them alone.

  Jace leaned close to Rhoa. “Can you read Hassakani?”

  She gave him a sidelong glance and shrugged. “It has been a while.”

  He reached behind his back, digging beneath his coat. A book emerged, its dark blue cover etched in gold. Keeping it in his lap, he opened it to the first page.

  “What does this say?”

  Narine leaned forward, listening closely, curiosity blazing in her eyes.

  Rhoa looked down at the book in the dim light. The writing on the page was large, immediately giving her the impression of the book title, the script curled and elegant.

  Her eyes narrowed as she puzzled out the words, reciting them in a halting stutter. “The…Compendium of…of Applied Research Regarding…Constructs of…Augmentation.”

  With a furrowed brow, Jace stared at her for a long moment before closing the book and slipping it behind his back again. Then he looked at Narine. “What does that mean?”

  “Augmentation…,” Narine repeated the word, her eyes flicking about as if searching for something. “I don’t know what that means. I only know that the constructs pictured in the book are not like anything I was taught at the University.”

  16

  Apparitions

  Rapture. It consumed everything, the power of prayers a tidal wave washing away all existence. Thurvin Arnolle exulted in it.

  Upon his crystal throne, high above the city of Marquithe, the wizard lord drew in threads of Devotion by the tens of thousands, each prayer charging his magic. With two Ghealdan cities under his rule, including the great city of Fastella, his power was unequaled, the prayers of those citizens honoring Farrow rather than their own god. Never once did he consider how it might affect Gheald or the rest of the world. Such concerns were beneath him.

  The incoming charge of magic leveled, his power seemingly capped, and he knew he had reached the end of Devotion. Reluctantly, he released the spell from the sapphire in the throne. The blue flames surrounding him faded, the inferno becoming a simple ring of shimmering light. Rising to his feet, he stepped through the flames, sensing no heat, and stopped at the outer edge of the tower, leaning against a rounded pillar as he gazed over his city.

  Somewhere below, crimes were being committed. A murder for hire, the theft of an heirloom, the smuggling of houza, an illegal Kyranni liquor – all at his command, all feeding his personal coffers.

  It is ironic. I make the laws, enforce the laws, and break the laws. A smile spread across his face. I am the law.

  With the power coursing through his veins, he was much more than that. He drew on his magic, it filling him until he glowed brightly and thought he might explode. With it, he could do practically anything…yet he was trapped, forced to remain near his tower in order to initiate Devotion each evening.

  There must be a means to extend my power, to have greater influence over other cities and rival nations. While he believed it was so, he had no solution to the conundrum.

  Climbing onto the ledge surrounding the tower, he looked down, the buildings hundreds of feet below. Then he stepped off the edge.

  The fall brought a thrill, an adrenaline-pumping, heart-stopping thrill. He willed a construct of physical manipulation into existence, the disk of blue-tinted magic surrounding his open palm. With a thought and a twist of his wrist, a rope of magic lashed out, curled upward, and wrapped about one of the thick pillars above. The other end of the magic cable looped about his waist, the lasso drawing taut, stopping his fall. A wave of his hand swung him out from the tower, lifting him upward and outward until he was higher than anything in Marquithe.

  Extending the thread of magic, Thur
vin shot out, far over the city, until he was halfway between the Tower of Devotion and Marquithe’s outer wall. His arms spread out, he commanded the rope to accelerate, and he burst forward, reaching an incredible speed while looping in an expanding circle with the palace in the center. To anyone below, he would appear to be flying. To a wizard, he would appear frightening, the display of magic something nobody had ever attempted. Yet he performed the task with ease.

  Yes, he thought. This city is mine to do with as I wish. Soon, Ghealdor will fall beneath my thumb, and the world shall tremble.

  Thurvin entered his private chamber and willed the enchanted lanterns to light, casting the room in a pale blue aura. The meeting with Farmondt, who had assumed his role as The Whispering Man, replayed in his head. Farmondt, a long-time smuggler, had been working for Thurvin for years. The man had proven quick-witted and consistently produced results. While Thurvin didn’t completely trust him, he needed someone to step into his old role, to manage the underbelly of Marquithe and his network of informants. Based on what he had seen thus far, Farmondt had proven a wise choice. He wondered if the man knew Thurvin had assigned others in the organization to watch over things and report anything that might seem out of the ordinary.

  He made for the bar and poured himself a brandy. Aged to perfection, it was smooth and carried a hint of smokiness. The barrel came from Malvorian’s private stock, the drink something the wizard lord used to share with him before his untimely death. There were times Thurvin missed his old master, but Malvorian had proven his incompetence, and it was now his turn to rule.

  “Sorry, Malvorian.” He held up his glass. “There can be only one wizard lord in Marquithe.” Then he took a drink.

  “Congratulations,” a raspy voice said from behind him.

  In a flash, Thurvin drew in his magic, the room filling with the bright glow of his power as he spun about, eyes searching the room, prepared to defend or attack. There was nobody in sight.

  “Show yourself!” he growled.

  A shadow from beside the curtain stepped forward – the shape of a cloaked man, features blurred, body transparent. “It is I, Vanda. Your old master’s humble servant.”

  The glass fell from Thurvin’s hand, shattering when it struck the tiled floor. Despite the power he held, he backed away, his hand against his chest. “By Farrow, I see a vile spirit come to haunt me.”

  Vanda chuckled. “No. Nothing so dramatic. What you see is a mere aspect of my true self, projected over a great distance.”

  What dark magic is this? “Where are you? How is this possible?”

  “By leveraging the power of the Oracle, I am able to extend my presence beyond the boundaries of space.”

  “Why come to me?”

  “As you are aware, it was I who placed Malvorian on a path toward greater power.”

  Thurvin grew wary. Does he seek to avenge Malvorian? Can he know of what I have done? “I am aware.”

  The apparition flickered and advanced a step. “Moreover, capturing the cities of Ghealdor and acquiring the power of their prayers was but the first step. In order to see more clearly the path to come, I traveled to Kelmar and sought answers hidden in prophecy.”

  Thurvin had heard of the seers, but the stories were not good. “You conspire with witches?”

  Vanda held his palms out in supplication. “I merely leverage the unique abilities of the seers in your favor, Lord Thurvin. I have unearthed information that will be of utmost use to further your agenda.”

  Despite his hesitancy to deal with the seers, Thurvin was practical enough not to dismiss an opportunity. “Go on.”

  “Know that even now, others move against you – a conspiracy to the north, a fire to the south, a betrayal to the east. Left unchecked, you will soon lose what you have gained and, perhaps, much more.”

  Scowling, Thurvin said, “Resistance is to be expected. In each case, I will deal with any challenge as it arises. Already, my power is unequaled.”

  “Yet you are limited in its use, confined to this very city by the threads of Devotion feeding your abilities.”

  Thurvin scowled at the statement. “Every wizard lord is bound to the same restrictions.”

  “What if I could give you a means to extend your acquired magic beyond your borders?”

  Hunger for more information forced Thurvin’s feet to lurch forward, his fists clenching. “What is it?”

  The ghostly man chuckled. “Before I departed Marquithe, I had secreted a book of magic – a text translated from ancient Vantath, the preceding language to Hassakani. My own name was given in honor of that language.” The man’s image rippled and faded. Thurvin feared he might disappear before sharing the information. When the shadow stabilized, Vanda continued. “The book reveals a forgotten strain of constructs. With it, you may extend your power and further secure your position.”

  A new use for magic? The ability to extend my power? Thurvin’s heart raced with the possibilities. “Where is it hidden? I must have it,” he demanded, unable to mask the eagerness in his voice.

  “Go to the room I used while at the palace. Slice open the mattress. You will find it there. However, take care with this information. Your enemies will pursue it with diligence once the existence of this forgotten magic is exposed.”

  Exercising restraint, Thurvin resisted bolting from his chamber to search for the book.

  “I must go,” Vanda said. “The fugitives you pursue will be here soon, and I cannot be seen.”

  “What?” Thurvin thought of Despaldi, whom he hadn’t seen in weeks. “The thief who stole the Eye?”

  “The very same. He and his companions are destined for Kelmar to consult with the Oracle. I know not where they will head next, but I must be away before they arrive. I will be unable to contact you again, unless in person. May the gods be with you.”

  The apparition shook, flickered, and faded. Thurvin released his magic, the room darkening once again.

  While the conversation had been enlightening, Vanda’s final revelation disturbed him. Not only had Despaldi failed to reclaim the Eye, but the dwarf remained on the loose, as well. Without Algoron’s skill, Thurvin would soon run out of gems, which would leave him unable to capture Pallanar.

  Why do the thief and his cohorts seek the seers? he wondered.

  The witches were rumored to live far to the east, somewhere near the Pallanar Ice Fields. It was a great distance to travel, and nobody would do so without a compelling reason. Worse, it placed the fugitives much farther from his reach.

  The other reason for Vanda’s message spurred Thurvin to rush from the room, pulling the door closed while nodding to the guard patrolling the corridor. As he walked past, the man stood at attention.

  “Do you require an escort, Lord Thurvin?” the guard asked.

  Thurvin waved him off. “I am only going down to the third level. Surely I will be safe in my own castle.” He didn’t wait for a response as he hurried toward the stairs.

  “Very well, Your Majesty,” the man called after him.

  When Thurvin reached the third floor, he followed the hallway to the end. Vanda’s room had been the last on the right, the man rarely leaving it, living a reclusive life during his stay. Not once had any of Thurvin’s informants seen Vanda in the streets. Even before he left, the man was more a ghost than not, his shadowy visit on this evening strikingly appropriate.

  The door was locked, but Thurvin had no patience to wait for a key. A simple construct of physical manipulation blasted the door off the frame. It struck the floor with a thunderous thud as he stormed inside.

  The curtains were drawn back, the bright, round moon shining through the tall, east-facing window. A beam of pale light illuminated a cozy interior furnished with a bed, a nightstand, a chest, a desk, and a chair.

  Thurvin headed straight for the bed and tore back the quilt and sheets. He crafted a construct of energy, formed a sharpened point of hardened air, and tore open the mattress. Feathers puffed out, drifting toward
the floor as he reached inside. At first, he found only more feathers, the quills poking him as he dug around. His hand then clamped around a book. He removed it and stepped into the moonbeam.

  The cover was black, the book a foot wide and an inch thick. He opened it to the first page to reveal elegant, flowing script.

  “The Compendium of Applied Research Regarding Constructs of Augmentation.”

  Paging through it, he stopped when he located the first drawing. It was a construct unlike anything he had ever seen. His heart began to pound, and he burst into laughter. He had no idea what a construct of augmentation might do, but the book in his hands would make him even more dominant.

  Guards appeared in the doorway, swords drawn as they peered into the room. “Sire!” one said in surprise. “Are you well?”

  Thurvin’s laughter subsided as he approached the men. “Oh, I am well. In fact, I feel wonderful.” He slipped past them and glanced backward. “Please, have someone repair the door.”

  Whistling, he cradled his prize as he headed back to his chamber.

  17

  Research

  A knock came from the door. Jace jerked alert, although he was already awake and had eaten, his empty breakfast tray sitting on the table across the room. This place is so quiet. Any noise seems out of place.

  “Yes?” he called out.

  “It is Sister Jionna. I am coming in.”

  A key slid into the lock. It was only the third such event since their arrival at Kelmar, the first two consisting of dinner the prior evening and breakfast earlier. At least that was the way he imagined the time to be. Lacking access to the sun, he could not tell if it were day or night.