Fate of Wizardoms Boxed Set

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  The guards seemed surprised and looked at one another until one recovered enough to respond. “Your Honor, what brings you to Dorban?”

  “Like many, I flee the oppression of usurpers,” Forca snarled. “They have defiled the Tower of Devotion and force the citizens of Fastella to pray to Farrow. It sickens me, and I refuse to bend knee to another god.” He clasped his hands together as if in prayer. “Please tell me you will not allow the Farrowen Army to take Dorban, as well.”

  One guard scoffed. “Heldain still rules Dorban. He and Ilsup would die before they allowed the army to take the city.”

  “Very good.” Forca nodded. “Now, may I be on my way?”

  “First, I would have your name and that of where you intend to stay.”

  “I am Cleric Gregor Barnes, and I intend to stay at the Dorban Temple.”

  “Where are your brethren? Do they not also flee?”

  Forca leaned close, speaking softly as he glanced toward Garvin. “My brothers and I are filtering out one at a time, each of us escorting refugees to places of safety – Dorban, Tangor, Westhold. These people who are with me are my flock. Others will arrive soon.”

  The guards nodded and waved Forca forward. While he had yet to clear inspection, Garvin was hopeful. Getting into the city was among the riskier portions of the plan. Should it go well, they only needed to wait until nightfall.

  The day had been both enlightening and frightening. Rindle had never imagined magic could alter one’s appearance until he saw it for himself, Garvin’s face instantly changing to that of a man twice his age. While magic frightened him, he imagined the things he could do with such an ability. The thief inside him longed to test it.

  The man dressed as a cleric, which was surely a ruse, entered the city after the guards waved him past. Rindle watched from the docks as Garvin, transformed to an old man through Portia Forca’s magic, approached the guards. The men asked Garvin a few questions, the disguised soldier answering without pause, as if rehearsed. When the Dorban soldiers waved Garvin and the woman past, Rindle followed, slowing as he reached the guards.

  “Hello, good sirs.” He gestured toward his clothes, stained and tattered just enough to fit his role. “The name is Brin Handall. I’m a sailor. Just came in on Tide Crawler.” He grimaced, looking backward. “However, I wish to seek out a new ship. Captain Flair and I got into a tiff, me calling him a few names, him tossing me off and sending me on my way.” He leaned close and whispered, “You know how it is, right?”

  A guard pointed toward the weapon on Rindle’s hip. “What’s with the sword?”

  Rindle looked down and patted the hilt. “It’s a rapier. Belonged to my father. He was a dueling champion in his youth. When he died, I kept it in his memory.” He shook his head and lowered his voice. “In truth, I don’t even know how to use it. I just wear it to deter others. It works most of the time.”

  One guard looked at the other and shrugged. “Move along,”

  Rindle tipped the sailor’s cap he wore while passing. “If you run into me at an inn later, I’ll buy you each a shot of swoon.”

  The guards’ grumpy expressions grew brighter. “I suggest Heron’s Tankard on Hollis Lane. It’s our favorite.”

  Rindle bowed as he backed away. “I will do just that. Thank you.”

  He spun around just in time to see Garvin and Portia Forca disappear into the crowd beyond the gates. Following, he entered the city, his gaze sweeping the crowd in search of his quarry.

  Garvin and the others were clustered across the square. After a moment, all eight couples and the false cleric headed down the street. A guard entered the square with a sword raised high, waving it and pointing down the same street. Four men dressed as civilians peeled off from the crowd and followed. Each man had a sword at his hip.

  26

  Positioning

  Priella stopped outside the throne room, Bosinger standing beside her. “I am here to join the discussion.” Her voice was firm, her jaw set.

  The guards bracketing the closed doors looked at each other, one responding. “The queen gave orders she was not to be disturbed.”

  “Those orders do not apply to her own daughter,” she said haughtily.

  “Well, she is in there with the Wizards Council.”

  “Yes. And that is why I must join the meeting.” She waved her hands as if to execute a spell. “Will you step aside, or shall I make you regret your decision to defy me?”

  To punctuate the effect, Bosinger drew his longsword. She suspected the guards knew his reputation. Worse, they knew her own history – the whispers, the accusations.

  Nervous eyes flicked from her to the gleaming sword and back. The guards parted, each standing to the side of the double doors, one of the men stating, “If the queen asks, we shall say you forced your way inside.”

  “And I would have it no other way,” Priella replied as she walked past and pushed the doors open.

  The throne room was irregularly shaped, twice the width at the back as at the front, the floor sloping down toward the dais. Rows of benches had been cut into a floor shaped like a half-circle. The entire room was carved out of the side of the cliff, as was the rear portion of the entire castle. High windows at the front allowed daylight to illuminate the space, making it easy to see when the sun was in the sky as it was now.

  Nine padded, wooden chairs sat between the front bench and the dais, each occupied by a wizard. Upon the dais were two thrones, the larger of which remained unoccupied. In the other sat her mother. The moment Ariella saw her, the woman’s face clouded over.

  “…the best opportunity to continue…” The man stopped in mid-sentence and turned toward the door, the other wizards mimicking his action, all eyes settling on Priella.

  Not waiting for an invitation, she turned to Bosinger. “Get me a chair.”

  The bodyguard sheathed his sword and headed toward the storage room at the rear corner. Priella began walking down the steps, moving at an easy pace, her jaw set, eyes issuing a challenge to any who might oppose her. When she reached the floor, she moved to one end of the chairs and gave a shallow bow to the throne.

  “I apologize for my tardiness. Thank you for the invite, Mother.”

  “The invite?”

  Priella tilted her head, dipping it slightly. Doing her best to convey her intention. Remember our conversation. You must support me, Mother.

  Ariella’s eyes narrowed before she nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

  Bosinger descended with a chair, placing it behind Priella. She sat with her mother to her left, the row of wizards to her right, all staring in her direction.

  “Pardon my interruption, Wizard Leordan. Please, continue where you left off.”

  The man stroked his long, gray beard. “Yes. Of course.” He gathered himself and turned toward the dais. “As I was saying, we should consider the success the other wizardoms have had, open up the field to any with sufficient talent. The given situation, the royal family without surviving male heirs, begs for us to evaluate other options.”

  Ariella bristled, her knuckles going white as she gripped the arms of her throne. “Pallanar has thrived for many centuries on honor and tradition. Would you have the ambitious scrambling for position, attacking fellow wizards to eliminate competition as they vie for the throne?”

  The man blinked. “Certainly there must be a middle ground. There is no need to forego civility.”

  “What then?” Ariella leaned forward, her gaze a challenge. “Why do you find my nephews unacceptable? Both are wizards, both graduates of the University. Both are due to arrive this afternoon.”

  The old man glanced at the other wizards. “Yes, well, they may have some talent, but neither is particularly skilled. They also have shown suspect…decision making.”

  “I am aware of Delcor’s transgressions. He has paid those women well, enough to raise the children for years to come.”

  “Don’t forget Arvid’s fondness for swoon,” Priella added, rememberin
g stories she had heard even while away at the University.

  Her mother shot her an angry glare. “Yes. That, as well.”

  Wizard Garwick, a balding, middle-aged man, stood. He opened his palms in supplication. “Please, Your Highness. We merely ask that you consider the possibilities. The Darkening occurs the day after tomorrow. Would you place all hope on Delcor and Arvid? Would it be so wrong to add another applicant from outside the family? One who is a proven leader? One who displays the wisdom and honor Pallanar expects from a wizard lord?”

  “I will do it,” Priella said.

  All eyes turned toward her.

  “Do what?” her mother asked.

  “I wish to be an applicant at the ceremony.”

  Garwick grunted. “A woman? It has never been done.”

  Leordan shook his head. “Don’t you recall Pherelyn? In every wizardom, women have been forbidden from becoming an applicant because of her dark reign. Pallanar could not endure such a disaster. It cannot be allowed.”

  Priella turned toward her mother with pleading eyes. You must support me, Mother.

  A silence filled the room, thick and palpable. Priella realized she was holding her breath.

  Finally, Ariella leaned back and closed her eyes. “The council is correct. It cannot be allowed.”

  Audible exhales came from the wizards, the men visibly relaxing in their seats. Even Garwick sat with a sigh of relief.

  Leordan stood, leaning on his walking staff as he approached the dais. “We need a third applicant to join your nephews in the ceremony.” The old man extended an open palm toward the queen. “Please. Allow the council to select someone with potential. Pallan will decide which applicant is worthy.”

  Ariella’s shoulders slumped and she appeared worn. “The ceremony does call for three. Just remember, any applicant not raised to wizard lord will be consumed by Pallan.”

  “Yes, Your Highness. We will ensure our applicant is aware of the risks.”

  “Then it is agreed.” She rose to her feet. “This discussion is over. I will see you, and your applicant, in the temple two days hence.”

  The woman turned and walked toward a door to the side of the dais, Priella watching her the entire time. When she was gone, the wizards stood and began to climb the stairs toward the rear doors. Still, Priella remained seated, frustrated but not defeated.

  I will not give up so easily, Mother. There is a reason Pallan claimed my brothers and spared me. It was a truth that had come to her during her stay at Tiadd, after a visit by a mysterious old man who educated her on the finer points of divine providence. You may have denied my request, but you will not deny my destiny.

  27

  Dorban

  The dim light of dusk graced the sky, stars emerging to join the brilliance of the moon.

  “Is everyone ready?” Garvin scanned the faces of the men before him, fierce determination in their eyes.

  The illusions masking them were gone, the wizardesses safely inside the inn. Garvin and his squad stood on the gravel of a quiet stable yard behind the building, the area covered in shadow. Forca stood out among them, the man still wearing the white cleric robes, the others in muted shades, less noticeable in the darkness.

  Among the soldiers were Garvin’s three fellow Midnight Guard, men whom he trusted with his life. The others had volunteered to assist in the mission. Other than last names – Briggs, Ghirbaldi, Steck, and Dillard – he knew little of those men. Thus far, they had listened and executed every command without hesitation. He hoped they would prove reliable in battle, as well, for their blades would be required for his plan to work.

  Garvin’s stomach fluttered, his heart pounding, palms damp in anticipation of what was to come. By now, you would think I would be used to this. He gazed into the eyes of his squad and gave his final instructions.

  “We wait for the signal, and when it comes, it falls on us to take the gate.”

  “What is the signal?” Briggs asked.

  “You will know it when you see it. Trust me.” Garvin’s gaze swept across the men. “Timing is critical. If we can’t open the portcullis when Henton’s force arrives, they will be caught between the garrison and the outer wall. The plan requires stealth and speed, which means he will have no more than five hundred soldiers for the assault, the rest remaining back at camp. With the garrison housing two thousand enemy soldiers, I don’t need to explain what would happen should we fail.

  “We must control the gate and hold it open while our army storms the city.” He gripped his sword and felt the solidness of his hilt in his hand, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice. “Let’s go and–”

  Four men stormed out of the inn, the lead man shouting, “You are under arrest!”

  Soldiers emerged from the alley, swords drawn, ready to engage.

  Garvin drew his sword, his men joining him as they backed toward the stable, forming a line.

  A tall, bearded man at the forefront of the eight armored soldiers said, “We heard everything, so there’s no point in denying it. You plan to betray the city, and we cannot allow it.”

  Garvin and his men were outnumbered and lacked armor. His hopes rested on Forca to make the difference. He shuffled closer to the wizard and whispered, “When they rush us, do something to even the odds.”

  Forca stepped backward. “Stand in front of me. Crouch down when I say.”

  Sliding before the man, occupying the gap between Korm and Daggett, Garvin wondered how the city guards had known of their presence.

  The lead guard shouted, “You are outnumbered. Lay down your weapons!”

  Briggs squatted to place his sword onto the gravel.

  “No!” Garvin commanded. “We will not surrender.”

  The man glanced back at Garvin. “This is hopeless. It is eight against two dozen. Why die for nothing?”

  A flash of insight struck. “It was you,” Garvin growled.

  Briggs’ eyes widened, and he burst into a run across the stable yard. Slowing as he reached the guards, Briggs stopped at the side of the alley.

  The enemy squad leader nodded to him. “Well done, soldier. Your gold is waiting, as promised.” He then waved his sword at Garvin. “Last chance. What is it going to be? Life or death?”

  Betrayed, Garvin thought. The act of a fellow soldier turning against his own irked him beyond reason. He wanted blood. Briggs’ blood.

  “Never,” Garvin snarled.

  The soldier grimaced, raised his sword, and shouted, “Kill them!”

  The armored men rushed past the lead soldier, weapons flashing.

  “Down!” Forca shouted.

  Garvin fell to his chest, stirring a puff of dust. A sizzling blast of lightning spread out like a fan, the bolts drawn to the armored attackers. Sixteen soldiers were struck in a chain reaction of arcing electricity, their bodies shaking violently, smoke rising from their helmets, the smell of ozone filling the air. Seconds passed before the bolts stopped. The soldiers collapsed in heaps of charred metal and smoldering flesh.

  “Now, kill the rest,” Forca said, sounding exhausted.

  Leaping to his feet, Garvin charged forward, skewering one of the unarmored men. A sword flashed, and he ducked beneath it. With a jerk, he yanked his blade free and backed away, positioning himself back to back with Korm, the big man using his long reach to keep two guards at bay. The four unarmored enemies were dead, as was one of the armored soldiers who had somehow avoided the lightning. Bean lay on the ground, bleeding from the stomach. Five of Garvin’s men remained on their feet, facing six enemies. There was little time and a gate to capture.

  His rapier in hand, Rindle watched from the stables. The fight was frenetic – weapons slashing, blood spraying, men dying. Garvin and his men were skilled, dispatching each Ghealdan soldier with efficiency. In moments, the only remaining enemies were the squad leader and the man who had betrayed Garvin. Those two turned and ran down the alley, fading into the darkness.

  Three men gave chase, leaving t
he wizard and another man with Garvin, who stood over his downed fellow soldier.

  Forca slipped past Garvin. “That spell was exhausting. I am spent and need to rest for a bit; otherwise I will be of little use to you.”

  Garvin waved him off and knelt beside one of his fallen men. “Get something to drink and meet us at the gate as soon as you can. We will need you if another wizard appears. Send out a wizardess, your best healer.”

  Grimacing, Forca turned toward the inn and headed to the door.

  “Hold on, Bean,” Garvin said in a soothing voice, his hand on the man’s forehead. “A healer is coming.”

  The man on the ground was pale, his tunic drenched with blood from a stomach wound. He was moments from death. From behind Garvin, the other remaining soldier approached, an intense expression on his face, his sword gripped tightly.

  Rindle instantly understood the man’s intent. He means to kill Garvin! Panic struck. He could not allow Garvin to die, not until he discovered the man’s secret. Without it, he was doomed to remain Parsec’s pawn until one of them was dead.

  The soldier lifted his blade overhead, standing over Garvin, ready to drop a killing blow. In an instant, Rindle made his decision, leaping from the stable with a thrust, his long arm and longer blade covering the distance, skewering the attacking soldier in his exposed ribs.

  “Argh!” the injured man cried out, dropping his weapon as he fell to the ground, his body sliding off Rindle’s rapier.

  Garvin spun about with a blade in hand, tip leveled at Rindle’s chest. His gaze flashed to the injured man and back.

  “He was going to kill you,” Rindle blurted.

  “It’s you. The thief from the tower,” Garvin replied. “What are you doing here?”

  Rindle scrambled for a response, seeking a plausible lie but knowing he had no time to apply proper consideration. “I was following you.”