The Sorceress: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Origins Book 3)

by James Eggebeen

  “I will not.” She pushed her chair back and stood.

  “You will.”

  “I will not.” She’d had enough. She wasn’t going anywhere with this fraud. She turned and strode from the room.

  The next day, Sulrad sent word to the castle that he had located the village where the king’s men would attack. Rotiaqua called her guards and a small squad of soldiers and rode out with the wizard. It took half of the morning to reach the village where Omrik’s men were supposed to be headed. But it had required no magic to locate them. The king’s men were working their way along the border towns on her father’s land, burning and killing just as they’d said they would. It wasn’t hard to determine the next town they would attack. Rotiaqua was not impressed with the wizard’s powers of divination.

  Sulrad set up camp on a hill overlooking the town. The stone-walled houses below were topped with sparse thatch roofs. Smoke trickled from chimneys as the townsfolk carried on with the business of harvesting and stockpiling the crops.

  A rickety wagon stuttered down the dusty lane behind a pair of oxen; the oxen were being driven by a child.

  The wagon made its way to a field almost at the extent of her vision. The wagon stopped, and the occupants piled out. They attacked the wheat with their scythes and sickles. The tall waving stalks of grain fell methodically before their labor.

  The child who had been driving the wagon joined another in the task of gathering the grain into sheaves, tying them up, and standing them in the field like soldiers at attention in a ragged line. They made quick work, cutting a wide swath that quickly stretched to the low rock wall that marked the extent of this particular field. They turned and headed back toward her, just as quickly felling the golden stalks.

  They had half the field harvested before the blare of a distant horn pierced the silence. The farmers perked up at the sound and ceased their labor. They gathered together, forming a solid mass with extended forks and scythe blades.

  A dozen men galloped down the lane toward the assembled farmers, dust filling the air behind them. They flew a banner bearing the king’s crest. Rotiaqua turned to Sulrad and called out, “Here they come.”

  Sulrad rushed down the hill to the dirt lane ahead of the knot of farmers. He stood in the middle of the dusty road, arm outstretched to halt the advancing army.

  “In the name of Ran, I order you to stop and leave this land,” he shouted.

  The lead soldier reined his horse in front of Sulrad. The soldier remained seated and settled his horse as his men stopped behind him.

  “In whose name?” the soldier asked.

  “In the name of Ran, on behalf of Baron Reik, I command you to leave this land and its people and return to your king.”

  “I don’t know Ran.” The soldier pulled his sword from its scabbard and held it high. “In the name of King Omrik, I command you to step aside or be run through where you stand. We are meting out the just punishment that the king has decreed.”

  The soldier shook the reins, and his horse stepped closer to Sulrad.

  Everything happened so fast, Rotiaqua barely had time to register it. Before she knew it, the king’s soldiers were turning tail and Sulrad was sitting in the road bleeding.

  She rushed to him and knelt down. One of the townsfolk had tied a filthy rag around his arm and cut off the blood flow. “That’s filthy, and it’s tied too tight,” she said. “Go to our men. Ask them for salt.”

  She picked at the kerchief, but the knot was tight.

  “My hand has gone numb,” Sulrad said. “Use your magic. Heal me.”

  “I don’t have magic.” She drew her knife and pressed the point against the knot.

  “We’ve seen each other in the fire. Use your magic.”

  She glanced at the faces surrounding them. The last thing she needed was stories of her possessing magic. She raised her voice and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have no magic.”

  She grasped the knot and gave her knife a shove.

  It slipped.

  The blade slashed through her palm, opening a deep wound.

  “Now you’re hurt,” Sulrad said.

  And she was. The blood dripped off her palm and splashed on his wound. As it did, she sensed his magic. Her fears were justified. He had taken the magic of another.

  “Curse all the gods,” she said. “Would you shut your mouth? You’re distracting me.”

  “Why do you treat me so?” he asked. “I thought we were friends.”

  “We were. But that was before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before I learned what you are.”

  “What am I?”

  “An abomination. Do you think I can’t tell?”

  Sulrad pulled back from her. He knew. He was ashamed. Or he should have been.

  “I’m no different from you,” he said.

  “My magic is pure.”

  She sliced at the kerchief once more.

  This time, it came loose.

  Blood spurted from Sulrad’s wound. For a heartbeat, she considered letting him die, but could she live with herself? He hadn’t done anything to her. Did he deserve to die? But what could she do?

  “Use your magic,” he said.

  “Use your own magic.” She placed her palm over the sword wound and pressed.

  The flow of blood slowed.

  She pressed harder.

  The blood stopped.

  A burst of memories filled her. Memories of a childhood on a small plot of poor land on the outskirts of a poor town. The abuse at the hands of a father who cared for nothing but his god and a mother who had abandoned her own son when he needed her the most.

  “Heal me,” Sulrad said. “Say these words. ‘Novi facts, ut fiat in carne.’”

  “I have no magic.”

  “You can’t hide it from me.” Sulrad jutted his chin at the farmers crowding around them. “They won’t know.”

  “If my father gets word of this, he will burn me at the stake.”

  “He won’t. Say the words.”

  Rotiaqua increased the pressure on his wound. “Novi facts, ut fiat in carne,” she said. “Et nisi hoc indignum.”

  “More,” he demanded.

  “Novi facts, ut fiat in carne,” she repeated.

  This time, the flesh of Sulrad’s arm drew slowly together, the blood slowing as it did. In half a hand of heartbeats, the bleeding had stopped and all that remained was an angry red scar.

  She withdrew her hand and held it out, palm toward him.

  “Now you.”

  Sulrad stretched his hand out, palm against hers. He raised his voice and glanced at the gathered townsfolk. “Let the power of Ran heal this woman.”

  She felt his intrusion and pushed back against his magic. “Keep your thoughts to yourself.”

  “Ran has accepted your petition. He will heal you.” Sulrad raised his voice even louder so the farmers could not fail to hear him, then whispered the words to the spell he had given Rotiaqua.

  Her flesh drew closed, just as his had.

  Her bleeding stopped, just as his had.

  He grasped her hand and displayed it to the gathered farmers. “See the power of Ran? He has saved you, and he has healed me. Would you welcome one such as this into your homes? Your hearts?”

  Rotiaqua gagged as the townsfolk dropped to their knees and praised Ran. It was enough to make her stomach turn.

  Rotiaqua and Sulrad rode back to the castle at a hurried pace. Rotiaqua tried to avoid the wizard as much as possible. She had little interest in his religion. Her father said it was a waste of time. The gods had died out well before the time of the dragons, and they had been gone for a millennium. She didn’t think this new god, Ran, was real. It seemed to her that he was just a story Sulrad made up to try to impress ignorant folk.

  She felt his power, though, even when he wasn’t using magic. It emanated from him as a slight violet light that constantly surrounded him. Ever since they had healed each o
ther, she had a lingering sense of his magic. It was unsettling and strangely compelling.

  Rotiaqua was happy to part ways with Sulrad as they neared the castle. She’d had enough of his company and wanted to spend some quiet time in contemplation, or better yet, in discussion with Odray. Odray might not be able to make any more sense out of what had happened than she could, but the woman had a way of calming Rotiaqua that no other had.

  She headed to her quarters and found that Odray had already prepared her bath. It was precisely what she needed.

  “Did he really do magic?” Odray helped Rotiaqua out of her dusty travel clothes and into the bath.

  “Yes, he did. He raised a fireball and vaporized several soldiers before the rest of them turned tail and ran for home. I’m sure the king has heard of it by now.”

  “No one save the king’s men were harmed?”

  Rotiaqua blushed. How much to tell Odray? “Sulrad was injured, but he showed me a spell and I was able to heal him.”

  “And you? Is that how you got that scar?” Odray traced the scar on Rotiaqua’s palm.

  “I slipped with the knife. It was foolish of me. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Looks like that happened moons ago. Did you heal yourself then too?”

  “No. He healed me. He said a wizard cannot heal himself.”

  Odray straightened up. “Sounds like the two of you are becoming fast friends.”

  “He is the watcher. The one I first saw in the fire. We were friends once, but he drew away from me, and when he returned, he was different. Something about him makes my skin crawl. It was as if he were somehow contaminated, as if he were coated with dung. It’s as if some foul odor clings to him now. Something off-putting.”

  “You best be careful. It looks like your father is warming up to this wizard. That’s something I never expected to see. Now may not be the time to spurn him. Not until you see what he is up to. Best not to anger your father.”

  Odray helped Rotiaqua out of the tub and wrapped a towel around her hair, wringing out the bulk of the water, but before she had finished, there was a knock on the door. “Rotiaqua,” the voice called out. “Your father wants you in the audience chamber immediately.”

  “Go tell him I am making myself decent and will be along as soon as I am presentable,” Rotiaqua answered.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress, but he said immediately,” the voice said. “No excuses.”

  Rotiaqua grabbed a large towel and wrapped it around herself. She twisted her long hair to squeeze the water out and let it fall down her back, stepping into her slippers before heading for the audience chamber.

  When the baron saw her, he scowled the way he usually did when she displeased him.

  “You said immediately,” Rotiaqua quipped. “I wouldn’t think of making you wait when such a summons is issued.” She sat on her chair beside him, water still dripping from her hair and onto the rich velvet covering. It trickled down to the floor, where it made a small pool beneath her.

  Rotiaqua glanced around the room. Sulrad stood before her father. He wore black robes with gold trim. His head was shaven. He looked like a fool or a jester. The robe flowed around him as he knelt before the baron.

  “You were with the wizard,” the baron began. “Did you witness the power of Ran he speaks of?” The baron nodded toward Sulrad.

  “I don’t know whose power he used, but I did witness him vaporize a number of the soldiers and drive the rest of them off before they could put the farmers to the sword or burn their crops.”

  Her eyes kept straying to Sulrad. His shaved head and long black robes looked silly. She wondered what he was up to with such an elaborate affectation. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “Why have you shaved your head and what are you wearing?”

  Sulrad looked up at her. “These are to mark me as a Priest of Ran. I have taken an oath to serve Ran for the rest of my life. No other shall have a place in my heart, no woman, no child for me. I have dedicated my life to him and to his worship. I exist only to serve him and guide others to his light.”

  “And what does this service entail?” she asked. “Besides fighting the king’s troops on behalf of my father?”

  “Ran is merciful and powerful. He shines his light on everyone who comes to him. He heals the sick, soothes the suffering, and prospers his people.”

  “Care to show us how that works?” Rotiaqua asked. She was skeptical about all the talk of Ran, but Sulrad had power – that was certain.

  Sulrad turned to the line of petitioners. “Is there anyone who comes here seeking assistance? Perhaps for a sick or injured child?”

  Back in the line, a woman raised her hand. “I do, sire. I have come asking for help for my son. He was run over by a wagon and his leg is twisted and broken.” Her ragged homespun dress was threadbare and dirty. Her hair looked to have been quickly brushed out, but bits of straw still stuck out of it here and there.

  Sulrad walked along the line. “Anyone else?”

  Farther back, a merchant stood in the line. He wore fine clothes and jewelry made of gold and precious stones. He leaned on an ornate cane for support and looked to be overfed. He raised his hand. “My daughter. She has weak eyes. She can’t see to do her work. She needs a guide to take her from place to place.”

  Sulrad motioned to the merchant. “Please take me to her. I will heal her.”

  “But what about my son?” the woman asked.

  “I can’t heal everyone,” Sulrad said, dismissing her. He turned to the merchant and extended his arm.

  “Please, kind sir. Won’t you heal my son? He won’t be able to work with his leg all twisted up like that. How is he supposed to support a family?”

  Sulrad turned to look the woman in the eye. “Then it’s best that he not raise a family, if he can’t care for one.”

  She grabbed at his robe, but Sulrad pulled it away from her. “Leave me alone!”

  He turned back to the merchant and extended his arm. “Let us see about your daughter.”

  Rotiaqua was furious at the way Sulrad had treated the woman. Why was the merchant’s daughter worthy of healing and not the poor boy? She turned to her father to voice her complaint, but before she could say a word, he held up his hand.

  “Go with him and witness what he does,” he said. “Then come back and tell me about it.”

  Rotiaqua looked at him, her eyes full of anger. She glanced down at the towel that enfolded her. “Like this?”

  The baron laughed. “I didn’t ask you to come down half dressed.” He waved toward the wizard and the merchant. “Hurry up before you lose sight of them.”

  Rotiaqua grabbed one of the serving girls.

  “My clothes,” she said.

  “Ma’am?”

  “My clothes. Fetch me my clothes.” Rotiaqua paused. It was a long way from the audience chamber to her own. No doubt by then Sulrad would be lost from sight.

  “Your clothes. Fetch me a set of your clothes. I’ll reward you handsomely.”

  “Right away, ma’am.” The girl darted away and returned almost immediately. She wore a sheepish grin and carried a worn set of pants and shirt, but no shoes.

  “Where did you get those?” Rotiaqua demanded.

  “Ma’am. It’s too far to my quarters. A friend. She said I could have hers. If you would be so kind?” The girl held the clothes out.

  “Here. Attend me.” Rotiaqua ducked into the nearest set of jakes with the serving girl in tow. She dropped the towel and quickly donned the pants. The shirt was tight, but fit. “Shoes?” she asked.

  “Sorry, ma’am. No shoes. Shall I find some?”

  “No time. Tell Odray what happened. She will reward you.” With that, Rotiaqua rushed off after Sulrad. The street rough and her feet hurt. She was not accustomed to walking outdoors in slippers, but she had no time to lose. She was too curious to give up on the chase. She wanted to learn what Sulrad was up to, and this was the only way.

  She caught up to Sulrad and the merchant just a
s they reached the merchant’s house. It was large and well-appointed. The foyer was huge and decorated with fine paintings of the man and his family. The daughter he described was depicted in many of them. She was a chubby, sour-faced girl with her father’s nose and chin, and her mother’s eyes. Even so, it was evident that she had a problem with her eyes. Even in the paintings, it was clear she wasn’t looking at the artist.

  Rotiaqua and Sulrad were escorted into a sitting room and served refreshments. The merchant’s wife ran around in a panic, shouting at the staff and demanding attention for Rotiaqua. “Your Grace, please excuse my lazy servants. We don’t get much royalty here.”

  “Please don’t trouble yourself on my account,” Rotiaqua said. “I’m simply here to witness the healing of your daughter.” She smiled over at Sulrad, secretly hoping he would fail at his task. The more she saw of him, the more she disliked the man. She certainly didn’t want him getting in the baron’s good graces.

  “Please bring the girl here.” Sulrad motioned to the small divan near the interior courtyard.

  The wife snapped her fingers at the nearest servant. “My daughter!”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The servant bowed his head and backed out of the room. He returned shortly leading the girl by the hand and seated her on the divan, as requested.

  Sulrad stood before her. He held his hand up in front of her face. “Can you see my hand?”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “How many fingers am I holding out?”

  “Two ... three ... I don’t know,” the girl huffed.

  Rotiaqua saw the milkiness of her eyes and knew the girl was nearly blind.

  Sulrad passed his hand before the girl’s face, repeating unfamiliar words. As the power rose up in him, Sulrad took on a slight violet glow. Magic flowed from him and wrapped around the girl. It was mesmerizing the way the magic drained out of Sulrad as he healed the girl. She could barely tear her eyes away from it. So that was what it was like to perform the healing magic. She could see the magic draining from Sulrad as he worked. She had never imagined that it took personal stores to power a spell, but then she had done so little with magic that she was far from an expert.