Wizard Pair (Book 3) (41 page)
When the grass stopped growing, Zhimosom felt the magic in it. He had poured much of Kel'hin's remaining magic into the transformation. It would hold; for as long as he lived, the grasslands would be an impenetrable mass of green sword blades that no man could pass unprotected. The dragons would be safe.
Next, he turned his attention to the spell that bound the dragons. He altered it slightly, allowing them in times of need to transition their bodies to a new form. He visualized the mini dragon Rotiaqua had described to him.
He bent the spell to help preserve the dragon folk. If one of them was mortally wounded or near death, they could take an intermediate form while their magic recovered and then emerge as a mini dragon when the time was right. He wanted to restore the power of flight and fire to them as compensation for what he had taken from them.
He bound the spell to the earth and the grass. He reached deep within himself and found the last reserve of Kel'hin's power and used it to seal the spell. They would be safe. Safe until Zhimosom could deal with Sulrad and the amulet's power.
When he was done, Zhimosom sat heavily on the ground. He was exhausted and drained. He had failed them. He only hoped that the grass would provide them some measure of protection from the world around them. "You are safe now," he whispered.
Du'ala strode up to him, looking him straight in the eye. Her dragon eyes flared with anger.
"You promised. No more killing. Go deal with that Priest, then come back and free us." She stood with her hands on her hips, staring him in the eye, and then raised her arm.
"Go now. Back to your Wizards' city. Find the path to restore us."
Zhimosom felt the familiar disorientation of the travel spell and found himself sitting on the floor of the Council Chambers in Amedon. Rotiaqua was at his side.
Zhimosom surveyed the damage, collecting his thoughts. The smell of smoke and charred remains flooded the Council Chambers.
"Do you think anyone survived?" Zhimosom asked.
"I don't know. I sense some magic, but nothing like before."
Rotiaqua was the first to stand. She reached down and helped Zhimosom to his feet. He was still unsteady from the long night of transformation and then his battle with Sulrad. He hobbled towards the main entry doors, leaning heavily on Rotiaqua.
He saw a Wizard's staff leaning against one of the supporting pillars. He took it and leaned his weight on it. It felt good in his hand and he could sense the power of the jewel in its head. It was a good staff; he wondered to whom it had belonged.
The doors opened onto a sight that made Zhimosom's eyes tear up. The compound was smoldering, wagons and carts had been overturned and reduced to cinders or ash. Nothing remained alive, not even the solid stately trees that had lined the avenue.
"I can't believe they're all gone." Zhimosom sniffed. He probed for magic of any sort. He caught the scent of a Wizard, no, two Wizards, young ones, but definitely Wizards.
"Come on out, it's safe," Zhimosom shouted. He waited, searching out the source of the magic. Along the wall of the main building, a door slowly opened. Inside the doorway stood a young Wizard. The Wizard stretched his arm out, holding someone back in the shadows.
It was the two young Wizards Zhimosom had shielded during the dragon attack.
"Come on out," Zhimosom repeated. "It's safe now."
The young men inched forward. They looked into the sky, fear clear on their faces.
"It's safe," Zhimosom reiterated. "Is anyone else here? Did anyone else survive?"
"One of the Wizards ... I think." The first young man pointed to a pile of rubble.
Zhimosom rushed over to find Garlath buried beneath the rubble. He was bruised and burned, but breathing. "Garlath. How did you survive?" Zhimosom cried. "I saw the dragon fire strike you."
"I invoked a travel spell when the dragon attacked me ... It didn't hurt me ... much." Garlath rubbed his shoulder and paused to breathe.
"Let's get you up and out of here." Zhimosom helped Garlath to his feet. Garlath leaned heavily on Rotiaqua and one of the young Wizards. Zhimosom bent over his staff as they shuffled back to the Council Chambers.
"What happened?" Garlath asked as he slid into a chair.
"I freed one of the dragons, and he took Sulrad somewhere far away so we could work on the rest of the clan. Then I transformed them so the command spell would not work on them."
Zhimosom sat heavily by Garlath's side.
"Now what?" Garlath asked. He was breathing better. Zhimosom felt his own strength returning.
"I managed to defeat Sulrad," Zhimosom lied. "I froze the amulet ... the Charm of the Joiner ... so that it can only be used to command the dragons, and they are safe from him in their new form."
"How did you accomplish that?" Garlath demanded.
"I tied the spell I used to transform the dragons to the magic of the plains."
"How long will the dragons remain the way they are?"
"Until I release them." Zhimosom shrugged. "We must find a way to destroy the amulet so that it's safe to restore the dragons. Until we do that, they must remain the people of the grass.
Zhimosom felt a flush of shame at his failure to destroy Sulrad and restore the dragons. He knew he would have to find a way to free them without killing Sulrad. He resolved himself to study and work towards a solution until, the dragons were, once again, free to roam the skies.
Epilogue
Sulrad suffered in the cold as he wandered the island until he came to a place where a stand of trees grew beside a rapidly running river. The river crashed to the sea in a waterfall not far from where he stood.
A large grove of trees, their branches heavy with fruit, sheltered an abundance of wild creatures. Sulrad knew he would not starve to death, but being alone on the island was not what he had planned for himself.
He tried to travel using magic, but the amulet would not cooperate, and he didn't have enough power on his own to travel all the way to the mainland. He was stranded.
Sulrad built himself a crude shelter and learned how to hunt and fish. His hair and beard grew out and became a constant reminder of his impotence. He spent most of his days perched on the cliff, peering out to sea, hoping for a ship to sail nearby. As his magic recovered, Sulrad cast about, commanding any ship within range to alter course for the deserted island. All the while he brooded about his defeat at the hands of that young Wizard.
One afternoon while Sulrad was sitting on the edge of the cliff, he saw a sail off on the horizon. He found it hard to contain his excitement. Finally a ship had come in response to his spell. Or was he growing mad, seeing things that were not there?
The sails grew more distinct. It was a ship and it was headed his way.
Sulrad waited as patiently as he could until the ship drew near the shore. It was a solid square-rigged merchantman sitting low in the water. A boat was lowered into the water and Sulrad saw the men bend their backs into the oars.
He rushed to the beach where they would come ashore. Sulrad calmed himself as the boat fought the breakers and beached on the sand of a small alcove before the face of the cliff.
A man in black robes stood in the bow, peering towards land. Sulrad recognized him immediately.
It was Veran.
Veran leaped from the boat and ran to Sulrad. He bowed his head low and touched Sulrad's hand to his forehead. "Bless me, Father."
"How did you find me?" Sulrad asked.
"I sensed you, and that you were in trouble. I pulled together an expedition and used Temple funds to hire the ship. We've come to settle here and build a new Temple with you, one where we can be free from the watchful eye of the Baron and the Wizards of Amedon."
Sulrad looked back at the ship. Along the railing stood a row of adherents dressed in black robes, waiting for his blessing. Sulrad smiled. He had not been defeated. He would realize his dreams yet. From Quineshua, his Priests would infiltrate every city in every country until Ran was god over all.
And he, Sulrad, would be the High Priest of Ran, commanding an army of Wizards far larger than Amedon had. They would raise Temples everywhere and gather in the magic of any Wizard that refused to join them.
He didn't need the dragons.
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Map
Other books by this Author
Foundling Wizard
begins the Apprentice to Master Series. Find it on Amazon
Wizard's Education
is the second book in the Apprentice to Master Series Find it on Amazon
Master Wizard
is the fourth book in the Apprentice to Master Series. It is due out in the summer or fall of 2013.
On the following pages you will find a brief excerpt from Foundling Wizard and Wizard's Education.
Foundling Wizard
Vorathorm entered the secret chamber where he made his sacrifice. His movements sent a sparkling shower of dust motes swirling into the single shaft of sunlight that illuminated the bloodstained altar. He stood before it, fidgeting in anticipation, his bony hands itching to reach out and start the ritual. His eyes were focused on the advancing shaft of sunlight as it crept slowly downward.
A statue of a young woman dressed in ceremonial robes cradled the sacred blade against her throat. Beneath her, a small rabbit lay trussed upon the altar. Its legs were bound with a leather thong. It cried out in fear as it caught the scent of blood from its predecessors. Finally, exhausted, it fell silent, the only evidence of its struggle, its heavy breathing.
Vorathorm rested his hands on the animal to quiet it. He imagined that a young wizard was trussed upon his altar, not a field animal. He visualized himself performing that sacrifice. He’d pluck the knife from the arms of the maiden at the precise moment the sun struck the blade. He’d make one smooth, quick motion cutting a single slice across the boy’s throat.
The power of the boy’s magic would be his tenfold, to add to his growing personal reserve.
A shadow fell across the altar, blocking the shaft of sunlight, breaking his reverie.
Rage at such an act of desecration boiled up within him, as he turned to face the intruder. "How dare you interrupt!" he cried out. "Who could be so insolent as to disturb my sacrifice?"
The interloper stood there, calmly blocking the beam of sunlight. He was tall and thin; his shaved head highlighted the shape of his skull and accentuated the birdlike beak of his nose. His long black robes were trimmed in gold, swirling the dust motes into the air as he moved.
Sulrad was the only person who would dare approach the altar at such a critical time. He was also the only person who would be so bold as to spoil Vorathorm’s sacrifice without a hint of hesitation.
“Sulrad.” Vorathorm said slowly. “To what do I owe this honor?”