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

by James Eggebeen

  The next day, Sulrad invited Rotiaqua to participate in the evening ritual. “Tonight, you will perform the sacrifice.” Sulrad led her to the altar room. She resisted the temptation to argue with him. It would reveal the fact that she had broken his spell, and she was not ready to do that just yet.

  She was sure that she would find Zhimosom tied to the altar when she arrived. What would she do then? How could they defeat Sulrad before he sacrificed Zhimosom?

  Thankfully, the altar room was empty when they arrived.

  Perhaps it would be an animal sacrifice, then. Rotiaqua’s heart quickened.

  When called for the sacrifice, Rotiaqua steeled herself for battle. When the guards brought Zhimosom into the room, she would join her power to his and together they would ... what? She needed a plan.

  The door opened and Rotiaqua tensed up, but it was not Zhimosom, as she feared. A young girl entered carrying a field rabbit by the ears. It was already trussed and ready for the altar.

  At least for now, Zhimosom was safe.

  Rotiaqua almost missed it when Sulrad addressed her.

  “First, calm the animal.” He stroked the rabbit gently, soothing it, then nodded to Rotiaqua. She stretched out her hand and rubbed the animal as he had. Its heart raced.

  As she stroked it, the rabbit stopped struggling.

  Its heartbeat slowed. Its breathing calmed.

  “When the sunbeam strikes the blade, quickly slit its throat and utter the spell to take its magic. I will guide you through it this time, but in the future, you will do it on your own. It is important that you complete the spell before its heart stops beating or else you will lose much of its life force back into the great void.”

  Rotiaqua watched the sunbeam advance. Dust swirled up from the altar when the rabbit breathed, sending sparkling motes into the light as it advanced. When the light struck the statue, she grasped the handle of the knife and slit the rabbit’s throat.

  Its life force separated from it as its heart pumped its blood out onto the altar. She grasped the life force and directed it toward the altar. She directed almost all of the magic into the stones beneath the altar, taking only a very small portion into herself.

  She felt a surge in her power as she absorbed the animal’s life force, but something felt wrong. She also experienced the powerlessness that she had witnessed in Sulrad. When she felt the life force of the animal inside her, it sickened her. It was as if something had gotten stuck under her skin that didn’t belong there.

  “Excellent job.” Sulrad reached out and took the knife from her hand, replacing it against the statue’s throat.

  “You will be ready to sacrifice a wizard soon. Then you will know power like you never imagined.”

  25

  Zhimosom reached out for Rotiaqua from his cell in the Temple. His bridge to her was working and her presence was a comfort even when they were not communicating.

  “He means to sacrifice you,” Rotiaqua said. “He intends that I do the ritual and take your magic.”

  “I know,” Zhimosom said, “but when?”

  “I don’t know why he hasn’t done it already. I think he is trying to wear me down. He’s been forcing me to participate in the sacrifices. I feel dirty and contaminated already.”

  Zhimosom examined her magic. The contamination she spoke of was evident through their link. He worried what it might be doing to her, how it might be changing her, but then he recalled how he had taken his own sacrifice and he felt ashamed. Nevertheless, he had to get her free. There must be a way to rid her of the corruption Sulrad was forcing on her.

  She interrupted his thoughts. “I felt my magic weaken when I performed the sacrifice. Just like Sulrad’s does.”

  “We can use that.” That was the first glimmer of hope they had had since being captured. If Sulrad’s magic faded, even for a moment, they could escape. “We have to be prepared. The next time he performs a sacrifice, we must act.”

  Zhimosom wondered just what sort of sacrifice would be next. What would it take to dampen Sulrad’s power enough to allow them to escape? Was that the only way? Wait for another boy to be murdered?

  “He has a mini-dragon,” Rotiaqua said. “I heard him talking. I don’t want to touch it. I don’t want to take its magic.”

  “Be prepared,” Zhimosom said. “When he performs the sacrifice, we are going to travel to that grove where you and I met. He won’t know how to find us. Then we run.”

  Zhimosom waited quietly in the darkness of his cell.

  He didn’t know if it was night or day.

  He slept when he could, better to conserve his magic and his energy. When a tingling feeling came over him, he brushed the sleep from his eyes. It was Rotiaqua.

  “He’s preparing the sacrifice,” she said. “Now’s our chance.”

  Zhimosom forced his head to clear. “How long?”

  “He just summoned me. I can sense the mini-dragon in the altar room. It won’t be long.”

  “Are you ready?” Zhimosom asked.

  “Can we really get away?” Rotiaqua sounded skeptical.

  “I’ve been studying Sulrad’s spells,” Zhimosom said. “He has stolen magic at his disposal, but Sulrad must use his native magic to create and maintain his spells. The stolen magic just reinforces the spells. It does not create them. I think I can defeat him through his native magic. Without the stolen magic, he’s not that strong.”

  “Be careful. He’s still dangerous. I’d rather just get away from him without a fight.”

  “I won’t make any promises,” Zhimosom said. “If I get the chance to kill him, I’ll take it without hesitation. He’s killed too many people already. He must be stopped.”

  Rotiaqua was slow to answer. Was she not in agreement? Was she not going to go along with his plans? Or was she preoccupied?

  “I’m at the altar room,” came her words. “I’ll open my sight to you so you can see what happens.”

  Rotiaqua’s vision overlaid Zhimosom’s and the dark cell faded out to be replaced by the altar room. Sulrad stood before the blood-encrusted altar, knife in hand. On the altar, a mini-dragon was trussed and ready for the sacrifice. Through the slit in the wall, a moonbeam shone on the altar. It was nearing the statue.

  Sulrad looked up as Rotiaqua entered the room. “Watch this sacrifice carefully. The mini-dragon has magical power, much like a wizard. Feel how I take its power for my own, how I integrate its magic into mine. You will need to know how to do this yourself.”

  Sulrad gestured to the mini-dragon. “You will perform a similar sacrifice and then you will be a priestess of Ran and ready to join me.”

  Rotiaqua stood in silence.

  “Do you understand?” Sulrad demanded.

  “I understand,” she said.

  “Good. You must do this to gain power to heal the faithful. It’s an important part of how we keep them faithful.”

  Rotiaqua simply nodded.

  Sulrad turned to the altar. “Start speaking the words of the spell before you strike the sacrifice. Feel for the creature’s magic and grasp it. It will resist you at first, but as you become accustomed to it, it will become easier. You experienced this with the hare, but a creature with magic is different. Pay close attention.”

  Zhimosom felt Rotiaqua reach for the magic of the mini-dragon. It was clear and pure, not like Sulrad’s. He felt bad for the beast, but this was their chance. Their only hope of escape.

  Sulrad muttered his spell and the magic of the mini-dragon lifted ever so slightly away from the beast. A faint cloud of gold flecks shimmered in the air a scant digit away from the creature’s fur.

  As the moonbeam touched the statue, Sulrad took the knife and deftly slit the mini-dragon’s throat.

  Blood spurted out to splatter the altar before settling into a pulsing stream.

  The cloud of magic grew brighter.

  It swirled above the creature as if a small tornado had settled there.

  Sulrad raised his voice.

&nb
sp; The magic altered its course.

  It twisted and turned around the wizard moving faster and faster.

  Finally, it settled into Sulrad’s skin and vanished.

  That was it.

  Sulrad’s magic faltered.

  That was the moment Zhimosom had been waiting for.

  He visualized the copse of trees where he’d met Rotiaqua. He imagined what it would look like beneath the light of the moon and how the grass beneath his feet would feel. He let his imagination recreate every sensation of the place.

  He reached out to Rotiaqua, grasped her magic, and pulled.

  Just before she vanished from the altar room, she yanked the sacrificial knife out of Sulrad’s hand.

  The temple faded to be replaced by the familiar copse of trees, moonlight filtering through the branches illuminating the rock where Zhimosom and Rotiaqua had sealed their pack with their blood.

  “I thought we might need a weapon.” Rotiaqua brandished Sulrad’s sacrificial knife.

  Zhimosom sighed with relief. “Is it really over?” Was it really going to be that simple? Were they free of the temple? Would their shields be enough to keep Sulrad from finding them?

  “We should leave as quickly as we can,” Rotiaqua said. “Sulrad will find us if we stick around Frostan.” She put her arm around Zhimosom’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I put you through that. I should have left with you before.”

  Zhimosom tensed up at her touch but forced himself to relax. They were going to be spending a lot of time together. He’d best accustom himself to her ways.

  “Let’s get going while we have the moon to light our way.” Zhimosom started for the road.

  “Behind you!” Rotiaqua screamed.

  Zhimosom turned back. A shimmering cloud of violet was taking shape in the air between him and Rotiaqua. The sparking motes of light quickly solidified in the shape of a man.

  “You didn’t think you were going to get away that easily, did you?” Sulrad took a step toward Zhimosom. In his hand, he held another knife, much like the one Rotiaqua had snatched from him before they’d disappeared. His hands were moving in a complex pattern.

  Zhimosom struggled to move, but he was held fast. He picked at the spell, looking for Sulrad’s native magic between the strands of stolen magic. It was faint, but he thought he had it. He tugged at the cord that was Sulrad’s magic and the containment spell fell apart, releasing him.

  “Well, the young wizard has a few tricks up his sleeve.” Sulrad raised the knife and took a step toward Zhimosom.

  Zhimosom strengthened his shields.

  Sulrad pushed against them.

  They held for a moment, but then slipped.

  Sulrad took another step toward Zhimosom, muttering the spell he had used to take the magic of the mini-dragon.

  Zhimosom’s magic separated from his body. It hurt like fire and made him dizzy.

  He fought against Sulrad’s spell, but he was too weak.

  The wizard had the advantage on him. There was no escape.

  Zhimosom’s magic draw farther away from his body as Sulrad approached.

  He panicked. He had to find something. Anything. There must be a way to break the spell. He couldn’t. Not like this. Not here. What would become of Rotiaqua if he died?

  Suddenly, Zhimosom’s magic snapped back into him with a shock that threw him backwards. He stumbled to the ground, stunned. He paused to catch his breath, then scrambled to get to his feet.

  He prepared to defend himself, but no attack came. Sulrad stood where he was, stiff, with a look of pain on his face.

  Behind Sulrad, Rotiaqua held the sacrificial knife in her hand, the blade buried deep in Sulrad’s back.

  “Don’t move,” she said.

  Zhimosom carefully approached Sulrad. His magic was bleeding away, swirling around the knife and into Rotiaqua. “What are you doing?” he cried.

  “Saving your life,” Rotiaqua answered. “Get over here and help me.”

  Zhimosom wrenched the second knife from Sulrad’s hand and stepped around beside Rotiaqua.

  “Let’s draw his magic out of him and spill it on the ground.” Rotiaqua said.

  Would that work? Could they remove his magic and not take it into themselves? What would happen to Sulrad if they did? Cautiously, Zhimosom took the knife and slid the point into Sulrad, penetrating his back next to Rotiaqua’s blade.

  Blood spurted forth.

  Sulrad screamed as Zhimosom pulled at his magic.

  He was prepared to separate Sulrad’s magic from him, as Sulrad had done to him. He would kill Sulrad. Right here. Right now. No regrets.

  Zhimosom watched as Sulrad’s magic bled out of him, but it soon stopped. Sulrad was hanging on to a small core of magic.

  He reached for that tiny core to separate it from Sulrad and end the struggle, but he was unable to wrest it away.

  Zhimosom frowned.

  Something was amiss.

  It was not Sulrad’s magic that the wizard was holding on to. It was Rotiaqua’s!

  Zhimosom used his magic to probe Rotiaqua.

  She had a tiny core of Sulrad’s magic in her.

  Not much, but it was there, inextricably twisted up with her own magic.

  He didn’t know what to do now.

  He couldn’t separate Rotiaqua’s magic from Sulrad. If he killed the wizard while Rotiaqua’s magic was still in him, would that affect Rotiaqua? He couldn’t take a chance that it would harm her.

  Zhimosom released his hold on Sulrad’s magic.

  He felt it rush back into the wizard.

  There had to be another way. Some way to keep Sulrad at bay. He pulled the knife from Sulrad’s back. “We have to let him live.”

  “Why?” Rotiaqua stood firm, still holding the knife in the wizard’s back.

  “Because he has your magic in him, and you have his in you. I can’t separate them out.” Zhimosom stepped away from Sulrad and nodded to Rotiaqua.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Can’t you feel it?” Zhimosom was sure. Now that he knew what to look for, it was as plain as could be. Rotiaqua and Sulrad were intertwined and inseparable. Just as he and Rotiaqua were inseparable.

  Rotiaqua slowly pulled the knife from Sulrad’s back.

  He slumped to the ground.

  He would live.

  And so would Rotiaqua.

  “Don’t think we won’t kill you if we ever see you again,” Zhimosom said.

  Before Zhimosom was done speaking, Sulrad turned into a cloud of violet sparkles and vanished.

  26

  The sun had barely risen above the crags that separated Amedon from the rest of the world when Garlath packed his bags and departed. It gave him more pleasure than it should have to hand over his charges to another wizard. The incessant prattle of the students with their magic leaking into his mind was a constant annoyance that he could only escape by putting leagues between him and the collection of young wizards that was Amedon.

  This was his chance to make up, at least in part, for his failing to deal properly with young Sulrad in the manner he felt was necessary. An undisciplined wizard was frightening in so many ways. At least he was being given the chance to train up this new pair. If they truly were a pair, then he would have the chance to guide the development of the next rules of Amedon. Maybe he could use that to his advantage. Secure a place for himself outside of Amedon. Somewhere quiet.

  He packed his bags in the stillness of the morning and departed without a proper farewell being offered to anyone. He preferred it that way. When the rest of the staff woke and began their day, he would be gone.

  He stepped to the edge of the cliff that separated the wizards’ keep from the town and drew a circle in the air. Bight silver sparks followed his finger as he traced out the pattern that would open the void and take him to Tustow. He had chosen a spot behind the market to appear. A place where the chances of his being noticed were small, particularly at this time of the day.

  He waited
for the shimmering silver pool of magic to settle and stepped into it. It always unnerved him. The void contained every time and place, including not only his own past, but any even remotely connected to his. It also contained every future, and too many of those were unsettling. He kept his mind focused on Tustow and the market and emerged half a heartbeat later.

  The air was warmer, with a touch of humidity from the overnight rain. The market held a permanent aroma of roasted meat and nuts and a few less savory scents that he’d rather not identify. Vendors and merchants were already engaged in setting up for the day’s activities when he stepped from the shadows and into the square.

  “Didn’t see you there,” a slender woman with a smattering of white powder on her apron remarked.

  “Sorry. Had to make water. I should have planned better, but the ale.” He shrugged. “You know how it is.”

  “That I do. Care for a bit of bread to soak up some of that ale? It’s fresh. Baked it myself this morn.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Garlath fetched a few coppers from his pocket and handed them over.

  The woman looked at them, turned each one over and then placed them in a jar sitting beside the stack of bread. “Foreigner?”

  Garlath winced. In his rush to get going, he had completely forgotten to change his coin to something more appropriate. What else had he forgotten? “Not me,” he lied. “Got them from a nephew who just returned from a sea voyage. Not sure where he got them.”

  “Well, copper’s copper. All spends the same.” The woman handed him a pair of cross buns with golden brown crust and a slight hint of cinnamon.

  “I’m looking to open a shop myself. Know of any place suited for an apothecary?”

  The woman laughed. “Me? I’m just a baker. Them with coin tend to congregate down the way. The artisan’s square might have some room. Not that the likes of me could afford an apothecary, mind you.” She cast a furtive glance at the Garlath, then at the jar.