Warriors Wizards & Rogues Read online

  Warriors, Wizards, & Rogues

  Tales from Fate of Wizardoms

  Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Fallbrandt Press

  Contents

  Also by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Introduction

  A Warrior’s Curse

  Introduction

  1. Rapport

  2. Accused

  3. Norstan

  4. Darkness

  5. Betrayal

  6. Duty

  Wizard University

  Forward

  1. Arrival

  2. Arcane Arts

  3. Extreme Reaction

  4. Penance

  Legend of Shadowmar

  1. Feeding the Mark

  2. The Proposal

  3. Brogan

  4. Arrogance

  5. Rear Attack

  6. Comradery

  7. Stained Black

  8. Treasure

  9. A New Level

  From the Author

  Wizardoms: Eye of Obscurance Preview

  Journal Entry

  Prologue

  1. Masquerade

  2. Infiltrate

  3. A Job of a Different Sort

  4. The Prize

  5. Slipping Away

  Also by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Also by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Fate of Wizardoms

  Book One: Eye of Obscurance

  Book Two: Balance of Magic

  Book Three: Temple of the Oracle

  Book Four: Objects of Power

  Book Five: Rise of a Wizard Queen

  Book Six: A Contest of Gods

  * * *

  Warriors, Wizards, and Rogues

  Runes of Issalia

  The Buried Symbol : Runes of Issalia 1

  The Emblem Throne : Runes of Issalia 2

  An Empire in Runes : Runes of Issalia 3

  Rogue Legacy : Runes of Issalia Prequel

  * * *

  Runes of Issalia Boxed Set

  Heroes of Issalia: Runes Series+Rogue Legacy

  Wardens of Issalia

  A Warden’s Purpose : Wardens of Issalia 1

  The Arcane Ward : Wardens of Issalia 2

  An Imperial Gambit : Wardens of Issalia 3

  A Kingdom Under Siege : Wardens of Issalia 4

  ICON: A Wardens of Issalia Companion Tale

  * * *

  Wardens of Issalia Boxed Set

  Introduction

  This omnibus contains character stories from the Fate of Wizardoms epic fantasy series. Discover what led to a vaunted young warrior’s fall from grace, witness the alarming outcome of a first kiss gone wrong, and experience the daring recovery of an enchanted amulet, destined to change the fate of the Eight Wizardoms.

  Brogan Reisner, Narine Killarius, and Jerrell Landish, — a warrior, a wizard, and a rogue — await to share their stories.

  Enjoy!

  -Jeff Kohanek

  A Warrior’s Curse

  Introduction

  T his tale takes place in the Southern Wizardom of Pallanar, twenty years prior to the Fate of Wizardoms epic. Enjoy

  -Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  1

  Rapport

  A clang rang out, Brogan Reisner’s weapon colliding with his opponent’s shield. The soldier returned the favor, the jarring impact a jolt to Brogan’s shoulder. Countering, Brogan swung low and, again, struck metal when the soldier lowered his shield. The exchange continued, lasting for a dozen blows before Brogan’s opponent backed away for a brief respite.

  His golden hair tied back in a tail, Theodin Rahal gasped for air and eyed Brogan warily. He stood well over six feet, nearly as tall as Brogan himself, which eliminated both warriors’ usual reach advantage. However, Theodin’s build was long and lean, lacking Brogan’s muscled frame and raw power. Discerning that advantage as his best chance, Brogan altered his tactics.

  He burst ahead, closing the gap as his sword came around. As expected, Theodin raised his shield to block the attack. Rather than finish the strike, Brogan twisted and thrust his shield forward, connecting soundly with Theodin’s chest plate, the force of the blow lifting him off his feet. The man stumbled backward, sword arm flailing as he tried to regain his balance. Brogan could not allow it.

  A low swing of his wooden sword clipped Theodin’s ankle. He fell back to the dirt, hard, his breath blasting out in a groan. Brogan kicked at his opponent’s sparring blade, the wooden weapon spinning across the yard. He then placed a boot on Theodin’s chest with his blunted sword point at the man’s throat.

  “Do you yield?”

  Theodin coughed. “I…can’t breathe. Get off me, you lummox!”

  Brogan’s brow furrowed. “Not the response I was seeking.” He pushed the sword against Theodin’s throat.

  The man choked and kicked until the pressure released. He took two gasping, wheezing breaths, then said, “Fine. I surrender.”

  “Ah.” The sound from Brogan’s throat was not unlike one he’d make if he had just taken a thirst-quenching drink. “Words I do so enjoy hearing.” He removed his boot from the fallen man’s chest, bent, and extended a hand. “Come on, Theo. I’ll buy you an ale.”

  His fallen comrade gripped Brogan’s hand, and he pulled Theodin to his feet.

  Theodin groaned and held his torso, wincing. “I think you broke some ribs.” His face twisted in a grimace. “To charge with your shield isn’t exactly standard dueling protocol. Is this how they taught you to fight during your stay in Tiadd?”

  For seven years, while Prince Rictor attended the University, Brogan had trained with the weapon masters. Both had focused on their work, Brogan honing his body and learning all he could about fighting and defense, Rictor sharpening his mind as he perfected his spellcraft. The time had passed remarkably fast, the bond between them strengthening with each passing year.

  He clapped Theo on the shoulder. “While the lessons were difficult, the truth of it is quite simple. Battle is about life and death. I doubt Murguard soldiers ask darkspawn about protocol before they attack.”

  Shrugging, Theodin strolled toward the side of the sparring yard with Brogan at his side. “Fair point. Just remember, I’m your friend, not some darkspawn.”

  Laughter came from a brown-haired man leaning over the yard railing. At twenty-one, Rictor Ueordlin was a year younger than Brogan and two years younger than Theodin. Among the youngest to graduate as a master wizard, he also happened to be Crown Prince of Pallanar. Despite his position and magical abilities, Rictor was enthralled with combat, had trained with a sword but was never allowed to spar. It would be poor form to risk the heir to the throne, even if deaths in the sparring ring were a rarity.

  Rictor’s laughter cooled and he chimed in. “I have spent many hours watching Brogan duel. He treats all opponents as if they are darkspawn.”

  “Is that your secret?” Theodin asked Brogan with a sidelong smirk.

  “No secret. Just superior skill.”

  A snort came from Theodin as he approached the rail. “You are solid with a sword, but you lack the finesse of a true master duelist. Still, in a fight to the death, I would take you over Dirk Delmont. He might be lethal with his rapier, but he, as well as any other duelist I know, lacks your ruthless approach. There are no style points awarded in true battles. You either live or die, and that is the truth of it.”

  The prince nodded. “Aye, Theo. And that is why Brogan is my Protector. If he can’t keep me alive, nobody can.”

  Brogan pulled off his helmet and pushed back the brown bangs stuck to his forehead. Tucking his helmet beneath his arm, he looked into Rictor’s eyes. “I would sooner die than see harm come to you, my prince.”

  “This, I kno
w well,” Rictor replied. He ran his hand through his thick, brown hair. “Serranan’s trial is tomorrow and is bound to be dreadfully boring. A night of libations seems in order. Did someone mention ale?”

  “Yes,” Theo said with a grin. “And I distinctly recall Brogan offering to pay for the first few rounds.”

  “What?” Brogan’s voice rose an octave. “I said I would buy you one ale. I said nothing of rounds.”

  “Hmm.” Rictor put his finger to his chin. “As I recall, Brogan said he was looking forward to buying rounds the entire evening.”

  Brogan rolled his eyes. “This feels like collusion.”

  Turning toward the sparring grounds, Theo shouted, “We are heading down to Parwick’s Den. Brogan is buying. Who wants in?”

  The eight Gleam Guard and four soldiers-in-training all turned and shouted enthusiastically, expressing their wish to join.

  A groan slipped out as Brogan muttered, “This is going to get expensive.”

  Parwick’s Den was a taproom built on a hillside, overlooking the city of Illustan. The number of stairs required to reach it meant travelers or citizens rarely visited. However, it resided just below the citadel walls and, as a result, was a favored haunt for Gleam Guard soldiers. As often happened, the only other patrons were women seeking company. Parwick’s was the surest place in Illustan for an ambitious female to find an eager partner.

  Brogan sat beside Rictor, who was positioned at the head of a row of tables pushed together. Sixteen soldiers, including Theodin, surrounded tables littered with empty tankards. While the bill was likely to be frightening, Rictor had secretly agreed to pay while Brogan would get the credit. He had argued against it, but the prince was adamant, stating it was an easy way for Brogan to establish his rapport with the other Gleam Guard after his seven-year hiatus.

  Rictor, deep into his cups, recited stories of their time at the University. His position as prince might have demanded everyone’s attention, but his engaging nature and knack for storytelling had the men hanging on every word.

  “…so Brogan pulls his opponent’s sparring vest up, right in front of everyone, convinced he could not have been defeated by a woman. Guess what happened?”

  “Fruit fell out?” one man ventured.

  Another chuckled, commenting, “What man would be brazen enough to pose as a woman behind a pair of fruit?”

  When the laughter from those around the table calmed, Rictor answered his own question. “The vest came up and revealed a pair of firm breasts.”

  Brogan shrugged, attempting to act nonchalant. Yet the image of Ryanni’s bare torso remained fresh in his memory, as if it had occurred yesterday. “I merely wished to be sure. While her features were attractive, with a shorn head and enough muscle to make me think twice, there was a chance she faked her sex. When she beat me in the sparring yard–”

  Rictor stood and interrupted, “Outraged, the woman punched him in the nose. When he staggered backward, she kicked him in the crotch hard enough to lift him off the ground, which is no easy feat.” Rictor grinned as he clamped his hand on Brogan’s shoulder. “The big man fell to his knees, clutching his jewels. She finished him with a thunderous crack of her sparring sword against the top of his helmet.”

  Curling his body while holding his crotch, Rictor whimpered, “There he lay, curled up like a babe, beaten solidly for the first time in years…” He stood upright and leaned on the table. “By a woman!”

  The story stirred another round of laughter.

  Despite the embarrassment, Brogan grinned. “While Pallanese women are considered hard and stubborn, I can tell you, Kyranni women are all that and fierce warriors.” He shook his head. “If you ever come across one, do not underestimate her prowess…on the battlefield or anywhere else.”

  “Do you speak of your last evening in Tiadd?” Rictor arched a brow. “Are you still pining for her?”

  “Ryanni?” Brogan asked, knowing she was who Rictor meant. I wonder if I will ever meet her equal.

  The prince turned toward the table. “After the big man’s defeat, he pursued the woman for two years. Steadfast as a Murguard sentinel, she denied him repeatedly. Only after my Trial, the day before we were to depart Tiadd and return to Illustan, did she allow him a taste of what he desired.”

  Theodin leaned on the table, eyes alight with curiosity. “Tell us, Brogan. What are Kyranni women like in the bedroom? Do they bite as the stories say? Or is it worse than that?”

  Brogan shook his head, waving the man off. “I’m not one to kiss and tell.” If Ryanni ever found out, she would kill me. “You’ll have to dig elsewhere for your stories. It took me two years of assailing her battlements before my siege was a success, but this woman remains far more than a mere conquest.”

  The barmaid stopped beside the table, positioning herself between Brogan and Rictor. Her top was cut low in the front for Pallanese standards, exposing the slightest hint of her cleavage. With one hand twirling her blonde locks and the other resting on her hip, she asked, “Another round?”

  “Yes. Of course!” Rictor grinned, clapping a hand on Brogan’s shoulder. “Our young lieutenant here is eager to drown his fellow soldiers in ale!”

  The announcement was met with enthusiastic shouts, grins, and empty mugs for the barmaid to collect.

  The smile remained on Brogan’s face. It felt good to be home and among his brethren once again. He missed Ryanni, but he attributed it to young love, a tryst he would look back upon fondly while another future awaited. She had a different destiny than his own, two soldiers from different worlds.

  While likely not her equal, I will meet another someday, he thought. Until then, I must focus on what I have and make the most of my lot in life.

  2

  Accused

  T ension filled the throne room, a score of Gleam Guard soldiers ready with swords and loaded crossbows. It was unlike anything Brogan had ever seen. I thought this trial would be boring. Instead, it feels like war is about to break out. He kept his hand near the hilt of his longsword, his eyes shifting between Rictor and the accused.

  Standing before the dais, on the lowest level of a multi-tiered room surrounded by steps carved into stone, was Balcor Serranan. His curled, auburn locks and trimmed beard framed a handsome face, offset by intense green eyes, the man’s stare giving Brogan a chill whenever it landed upon him. Balcor wore robes of dark green with a sash of gold, the colors his family had adopted centuries earlier. As High Wizard of Norstan, he was known as a firm but fair ruler…until recently.

  “Nonetheless, sire,” Balcor said, his palms turned up in appeal. “These allegations are false. I assure you, nothing sinister occurs within Norstan Keep or anywhere else under my jurisdiction.”

  Dressed in glimmering, frost blue robes tied with a purple sash, Wizard Lord Raskor Ueordlin leaned forward on his throne, his face stern behind his brown goatee. Upon his head was the crown of Pallanar, simple in design, made of silver with a sparkling amethyst beneath a peak at the front. Another, smaller throne sat empty beside his own upon the dais at the fore of the room.

  “If it were a single report, I would dismiss it as heresy.” Raskor’s frosty blue eyes narrowed. “Three separate families have come forth, Balcor. Three. All claim you have unlawfully sacrificed one of their kin in pursuit of your dark arts.”

  Balcor glanced toward the men seated to one side of the dais, wizards ranging from their mid-thirties to late seventies, all dressed in dark gray robes with pale blue sashes. The Illustan Wizards Council, known for their wisdom and had served as advisors to Pallanese rulers for centuries.

  With his focus on the wizards, Balcor explained. “Those two men and that woman were prisoners found guilty of crimes fitting execution. Criminals all, they felt the blade of my executioner’s axe, nothing more.”

  Raskor glanced toward Rictor, who sat opposite the Council, flanked by Brogan and Captain Fenton, head of the Gleam Guard, both of whom stood armed and ready. “What say you, son?”


  The trial was also a test of sorts for Rictor, his first official hearing since his return from Tiadd. The prince had only been fourteen years old when he left Illustan, too young to formally attend court. During that span, not only had Rictor trained in the arts of magic, but had studied laws and politics to an excessive degree, displaying an ability to remain pragmatic and cool under pressure.

  “It seems like a simple case of conflicting statements, Father.” The prince rose to his feet while facing Balcor. “Three parties claim ill against High Wizard Balcor. He steadfastly refutes those claims.” Rictor shook his head as he turned toward his father. “Neither can be proven true or false within this court.”

  “So, we remain at an impasse,” Raskor said, his gaze affixed on Rictor.

  Brogan frowned as the prince strode forward and positioned himself between Balcor and the dais. You are supposed to remain close to me, Rictor. How can I protect you when you leave yourself exposed?

  Facing the Council, Rictor said, “The claims against High Wizard Balcor can be confirmed or absolved in only one place – Norstan Keep. There, we will either find evidence of blood magic, and Balcor’s guilt, or he will be exonerated.”

  Wizard Leordan, the newly appointed leader of the Council, stroked his graying beard and narrowed his eyes at Rictor. “What proof do you speak of? What do we know of blood magic?”

  Rictor smiled. “All of you are master wizards, graduates of the University, well-versed in the constructs of magic and their uses. However, only royalty is exposed to certain knowledge, courses restricted from all others. One such course exposes the known secrets behind sorcery, or what you call blood magic.” The faces of various Council members grew pale. Rictor waved his hands, shaking his head. “Don’t worry. The knowledge shared does not detail how to apply this forbidden magic, but rather how to identify the telling signs of sorcery, so we rulers may stamp it out should it ever materialize within our borders.”