The Circle of Sorcerers: A Mages of Bloodmyr Novel: Book #1 Read online

Pondering what to do next, Laedron saw a shadow on the ground next to him. He looked up to see a guard standing over him, pointing a finger. “No loafing about. Get a move on.”

  Laedron stood and walked until he couldn’t see the guard. “'Get a move on; no loafing about. Where am I supposed to go?”

  He wandered the streets for some time, trying his best to follow a route leading to the east gate. Without a map or directions, he found himself in a seedy part of town with shoddy houses and apartments and the occasional brothel or bar scattered along the road.

  Ignoring the catcalls shouted from the steps of each whorehouse, Laedron kept his eyes glued to the cobblestones on the street before him. “Don't look,” he whispered. “Don't seem like you're interested. Keep to yourself.”

  He turned a corner into a narrow alley as the sun drooped low in the sky. The dusky twilight made his eyes heavy, and his feet ached more than ever. “Just a short break, and we'll be on our way,” he said, trying to steel himself.

  Taking a seat on the curb and opening his bag, he pulled out the scraps of sweetbread he'd packed a few days before. Though they were quite stale, he was quick to devour them. His stomach churned with delight, but he was still hungry. Searching his pockets in vain for a coin, he couldn’t stop the tears from filled his eyes. Never before had he been hungry and unable to procure a meal. Never before had he been left defenseless to fend for himself in a strange and foreign place. Every inch of the alley prickled with the same hostility he felt from the city, the high walls on either side looming over him like an executioner waiting for the word.

  Once he’d found a spot not already claimed by a vagrant or a wild dog, he drifted in and out of sleep through the night, the shouting and spirited noises of the local drinking establishments rousing him every few minutes. The cold stones beneath gave little comfort; in fact, his bones creaked and ached with every movement. The only thing worse he could imagine would have been lying in pure sewage during the winter, and he thanked the Creator that he had survived the night when he awoke to the first rays of the dawn's light.

  His first thought was a hope it had all been only a dream, but he knew by his presence in the alley that everything he remembered was true. Drawing his legs to his chest, he rested against the side of the building to plan what he might do. The scent of bread baking caught his attention over the smell of garbage and urine, and he emerged with his bag to find its source.

  To the right, he spotted a sign carved and painted to resemble a loaf of bread. He crept to the window under the sign and peered through to see a burly man pulling fresh loaves from the oven. Laedron's mouth watered from watching the steam flutter gently from the top of each. The baker stacked the loaves on a shelf.

  His heart filled with sadness as he reached into his empty pockets. A tear escaping his eye, he picked up his traveling case and walked away. He wandered toward the towering wall to the east, thinking to himself how Ma and Laren were somewhere out there on the other side. Before long, he spied a fruit cart whose owner was taking a nap, and the apples and pears gleamed in the morning light.

  He looked to the left at the mouth of an alley and schemed to himself. Stepping into the alley, he drew his wand and made sure to stay out of view. He whispered an incantation and swayed his wand back and forth, focusing on a fine apple on display. A few moments later, the apple vibrated with energy and floated off the pile. He concentrated as it approached, and his mind tingled and ached until he could take no more. The apple fell at his feet when the spell faded from existence, and he was quick to snatch it from the ground. The fruit was gone in just a few bites, the juices gushing from his mouth while he struggled to chew.

  “One more,” he said, swallowing the last of it. He swished the wand and spoke the words, bringing another across the air. He was pleased with himself as this one landed in his open hand. He devoured it just as fast as the first.

  He paused, his conscience griping about his thievery. “Only enough to get me home, though. No need to be greedy. It's not stealing if I'm just trying to survive, right?”

  No matter how hard he reasoned, he knew it was stealing. “I have to get home, I have to.”

  Guilt clouded his thoughts, but he resolved to find a way home. The delectable taste of redfish, the fresh lemons from his mother's garden, and even the Wildertea he hated drew him to the village by the sea. He yearned to see Marac again, to see Ma and Laren, to once more visit the side street and taste the honeysuckle wine.

  “What have we here?” a haughty male voice said from deeper in the alley. Laedron turned to see three silhouettes approaching, but he didn't reply.

  “Can't you hear me, boy? You's in our alley,” the voice said. “You gotta pay the tax to be on our land.”

  “Your land? You own this alley, do you?” Laedron squared off in front of the tallest one. His mood and temper held little tolerance for the common thugs.

  Glancing to each one, Laedron saw that they were dressed in dark cloth with hoods over their heads, and each had an unkempt appearance consistent with the other people of the east end. Laedron couldn't say much, though; his clothes had accumulated their own collection of dirt and grime.

  “Methinks we got one here that won't pay up, boys,” the big one said. “Methinks we'll have to take it from him.”

  Laedron produced his wand and extended his arm as the robber lunged at him. With a flick of the wrist and a quick phrase, a blast of energy shot out and struck the boy, sending him backward a few feet to crash to the ground.

  “Who's next?” Laedron seethed with anger. “I'll put you all down if you come any closer.”

  One of the miscreants knelt to check on the one lying on the ground while the other drew a dagger. Drawing back to throw it, he was interrupted by another voice. “Wait.”

  A man robed in black cloth and studded leather emerged from the shadows. He approached, stepping over the thug lying on the ground, then lowered his cowl.

  “You're a mage, boy?” His face bore numerous scars and stubble, and his voice cracked. Even though Laedron thought he could get another flash bolt off, he felt intimidated the man’s stern exterior and the weapons tucked around his belt.

  “Yes,” he replied, maintaining his defensive posture. “Don't come any closer.”

  “My name is Mathias. You have nothing to fear now,” he said with unexpected kindness.

  “Nothing to fear? Your friends were going to take my blood as a tax moments ago.”

  “I am their leader, and they will do no harm to you. I swear it.”

  Laedron's hand faltered, and he found a sense of trust within himself at the man's words. “But why? I've injured your friend, and I'm standing in your alley.”

  “We have need of your services.” Opening his coat, Mathias revealed a crossbow. “If I had wanted to kill you, I would have done so from my hiding spot.”

  Laedron swallowed, his skin feeling the prick of a crossbow bolt even then. “What services?”

  Mathias eyed the apple cores on the ground. “Come, we'll talk at the house. We have more than apples to satisfy your hunger there.” He led Laedron through the alley to the next street, across it, and into another alley.

  He knocked on an unassuming door, then a slot slid open. Whoever was inside opened it immediately upon seeing Mathias's face. Once inside the room, Laedron took in every aspect of the great room; a high vaulted ceiling covered the expansive space. His gaze stopped on the hearth, where a roasting pig pummeled all of his senses at once. The smell of pork, the sound of the fat crackling, and the sight of the juicy white meat made his belly ache.

  “Cut our guest a piece that would kill a normal man,” Mathias said before turning to Laedron. “Seat and serve yourself wherever you like. We'll discuss things after.”

  While he ate the roast pig, he glanced at the tapestries and furniture situated about the room. He slowly began to realize how things seemed to be out of place; each painting, chair, and decoration was far richer than the materials used to const
ruct the building, and seeing a fine piece of art hanging upon a rusty anchor nail gave him an awkward feeling. His surroundings instilled in him the impression he was in a den of thieves who were skilled in their profession.

  Leaning against a beam, Mathias remained silent until Laedron popped the last bit of pork in his mouth, then approached. Mathias took a seat across from him and waited.

  “What sort of services do you want from me?” Laedron slouched in the chair. His belly ached from being full, a feeling more pleasant than the pangs of hunger but still an irritation.

  “Our guild master has fallen ill,” he said. “Do you know of healing magic?”

  Laedron's shoulders tensed. “Not much. I have to be honest; I’m just a student.”

  “Student or not, you bested one of my men with a single strike,” Mathias said. “Can you at least try?”

  “And what if I fail?”

  “We shall do you no harm. The others would be angry, but I would protect you.”

  Laedron raised an eyebrow. “You're a thief?”

  Mathias chuckled, then turned serious. “I, friend, am an assassin of men. Mere thieves steal from purses.” He paused. “I, on the other hand, steal lives.”

  Laedron's heart raced, and his fear was heightened by how calm the man explained his trade. “Very well, I shall try.” Refusing his request, he thought, might be worse than attempting it, even if he failed.

  “Good. I'll take you to him.”

  After rising from the table, Laedron followed Mathias deeper into the structure, where he opened a door at the end of a long hallway. Much like the other rooms, the one they entered featured lavish, tasteful furniture while the sun beamed through the cracks of its shoddy construction. In the bed lay an aged man, pale in complexion and breathing shallowly.

  Laedron studied the man for a few moments, then turned to Mathias. “I'll do what I can.” Laedron opened his bag and removed one of the tomes. He flipped through the pages and sought a healing spell.

  Mathias closed the door. “What happens here will remain between you and me. Take as much time as you need.”

  “I can't read it,” Laedron said, giving up.

  “Why not?”

  “It's written in Uxidi, the language of my teacher.”

  “These are your teacher's books?”

  Laedron nodded. “I'm sorry.”

  Coming to Laedron’s side, Mathias read over the pages and spoke the words in a whisper at first, then louder. Each syllable was crisp yet harsh, a mixture of something sweet but dangerous reflected in every syllable.

  “You speak Uxidi?” Laedron asked. “An uncommon tongue to be known by a human.”

  “No,” Mathias said.

  “How can you read it, then?”

  “It's not written in Uxidi. It's written in Zyvdredi.”

  “Zyvdredi?” Laedron asked, his eyes widening. He imagined Ismerelda speaking those dark tongues deep in her basement by herself, no eyes present to see her. Likewise, he thought it best not to ask Mathias why he could interpret the language. To inquire about it could have me finding a dagger in my back, he thought.

  “Afraid of it, boy?” Mathias sniffed the air. “Or is that smell of fear directed at me?”

  “I don't understand why she would have a book written in the language of darkness,” Laedron said, sorting through what he remembered and perceived of Ismerelda. “She wasn't a dark mage.”

  “You're fresh in the world, boy,” Mathias said. “You draw meaning from that which is not meaningful.”

  “Could you stop calling me 'boy', please?” Laedron asked sharply, folding his arms.

  “Not until you tell me your name,” Mathias said, a sinister grin accenting his lips. “If you've forgotten, it has yet to be revealed.”

  Realizing what Mathias had said was true, Laedron's anger turned to embarrassment. “I'm sorry. My name's Laedron. Laedron Telpist.”

  “Telpist,” Mathias said with a drawl and twitch of his left eye. “Do you happen to know a Wardrick Telpist?”

  Laedron's embarrassment shifted to sudden surprise. “Why, yes, that's my father's name.”

  Mathias bowed his head. “Interesting.”

  “Why is that interesting? What do you know of him?” Laedron asked, hoping Mathias might have information about his father.

  “He was a bannor of a small village years ago. Reven’s Landing, if memory serves.”

  “Yeah, he was my father. What else?”

  “Nothing of great import, Laedron. I’ve lived in western Sorbia for a long time now, and I keep up with who’s who. Shall we concentrate on the task at hand?”

  Laedron nodded, handing the text to Mathias. “Yes, of course. If you can translate the wording, I'll try.”

  Over the next hour, Mathias read the words, and Laedron scrawled notes in his own book. He felt as if Ismerelda were somehow speaking through Mathias, tutoring him through the assassin. When Mathias finished reading, Laedron reviewed his notes and drew his wand.

  With a steady and deliberate motion, Laedron waved his hand in a circle, and brilliant green light flashed above the sick man. The light pulsed as it poured over him, and his skin took on a pale green luminescence.

  The man's breathing hastened, and Laedron developed a searing headache. The light pulsed brighter and brighter until Laedron collapsed to his knees, and the light faded from existence.

  The guild master's breathing slowed while Laedron collected himself. “I'll have to try again.”

  “Take your time, Laedron,” Mathias said, his face bearing an intrigued expression.

  “You've never seen magic before, have you?” Laedron asked, clutching his head.

  “Rarely,” Mathias replied. “The only times I've seen it were fleeting moments, like when you attacked my subordinate in the alley.”

  Dipping his head, Laedron stood, resuming the slow motions and repeating the words. Once again, a green haze of energy appeared, and dancing energies enveloped the guild master.

  Though his head throbbed and his hands shook, he shouted the words and struggled to remain focused. Laedron kept the spell going until he completed it, then fell unconscious to the floor.