Wizardoms- Eye of Obscurance Read online

  The instruction given to her had been clear – appear in the Heart of the mountain when the moon claimed the sky. The Heart was a special place, used for the Trial and little else.

  Sensing magic ahead, she slowed. The corridor had an arched frame, narrowing it to half the width. She detected an energy, angry and violent, demanding she turn back. It seeped into her body with a feeling so excruciating, she gagged and fought the urge to vomit. She almost turned away, then recalled what her mentor had told her.

  Be steadfast, Narine. You only get one chance.

  Resorting to her magic, she drew it in and held it close. As always, the power gave her a rush, a sense of invincibility. A large part of her training had been to ensure she understood the truth – none, save a wizard lord, were invincible. Magic was like a drug. It made you believe things beyond the truth, twisting perception. While intoxicating, holding magic too often would eventually burn out even the most talented of wizards. If it weren’t the case, the entire wizard class would constantly draw on their magic, drinking it in.

  Her palm held out before her, Narine moved closer to the doorway. The angry evilness pushed back in throbbing pulses. Visualizing a construct of protection, she formed a shield, wrapping it about her body. It was a complex spell that required complete concentration. When she took a step, the pressure increased, growing worse as she advanced until it threatened to crush her. Gritting her teeth and holding the shield in place, she pushed on, resolute.

  Suddenly, she was through the doorway. The pressure released immediately, the wrongness gone. She dismissed her magic, leaving nothing but the dullness of an ordinary, magicless existence.

  Ahead, another doorway waited, this one a closed wooden door, ten feet tall and foreboding. Metal studs gleaming in the torchlight offset the dark red finish. Although lacking the repulsive magic of the archway, the door projected a similar, ominous threat.

  A pause and a deep breath allowed her to draw upon her courage and push against the door. Its weight fought her momentarily before giving way. The view of the room beyond caused her breath to catch.

  The rock walls were hundreds of feet apart, rounded, smooth, and formed a dome that gave Narine the impression of standing inside a giant egg. Swirls and striations of orange, green, purple, and gold marked the walls and ceiling. At the top, far above, was a single, circular window. A moonbeam, far more striking than any she had ever seen, shone through the window. It seemed as if the moonlight had, somehow, been magnified, the pipe of light so distinct, she imagined she could climb it to the dome’s apex. Where the moonbeam met the floor, it created a perfect circle interlaced by lines that formed an eight-pointed star. At each point of the star was the symbol of a wizardom. Among them, she spotted her own – the profile of a snarling dog’s head.

  To the side of the chamber, a group of people waited, clustered together in quiet conversation. All wore black robes, secured by the gold sashes of master wizards. One noticed her enter and approached.

  “Your timing is good, Narine,” said Master Hildama. The woman’s gray hair appeared white in the moonlight. Her voice fell to a hushed tone. “You have proven your expertise in all six major constructs and numerous derivatives, but this test is less about magic and more about inner strength. Believe in yourself, follow your intuition, and keep your emotions in check.”

  Narine nodded with a weak smile. The woman had been her mentor for much of her stay at Tiadd. She knew Hildama wished her to succeed, suggesting Narine apply for the Trial three times before she finally gave in. Narine wished she had the same faith in herself.

  “We will soon be ready to begin,” Hildama said.

  Narine looked toward the circle of light in the center of the cavern. “What am I to do?”

  “You will stand in the center of the octagram. When the ceremony begins, you must be prepared for anything. Survival will require every bit of your courage. Although what you see during the Trial is not real, it is quite deadly. You must remain cognizant of both aspects. Think of it as a nightmare that can kill you. If you keep that in mind, you will be fine.”

  Narine swallowed, but the lump in her throat remained. “That does not sound reassuring.”

  Hildama smiled. “Assurance is wasted on the Trial. Those who have the means to survive do so. Those who don’t…”

  “Hildama,” a man said. “It is time.”

  The woman put a hand on Narine’s shoulder, her gaze intense. “You are stronger than you know.” She then turned and joined the others, leaving Narine alone.

  Best to get on with it. You committed to this, Narine. There is no turning back.

  She clenched her fists at her sides and walked toward the light. When she drew near, the moonbeam seemed even brighter than before. She half-expected to smack into something solid, squinting as she stepped into the light. Other than the brightness, it turned out to be harmless…at least for now.

  Narine stopped in the octagram of intersecting lines, resisting the urge to look toward the moon. The light was intense, casting a distinct shadow at her feet, so she feared looking up might blind her for what was to come. She needed her faculties more than ever this night.

  The masters appeared in the surrounding gloom, spreading around the circle of light. As one, they stepped into the moonbeam, one person positioned at each point of the star. The churning in Narine’s stomach returned, more intense than ever. Her heart raced, as if she had run for miles. Sweat ran down her ribs. She suddenly feared she had made a mistake.

  The wizards raised their arms out to their sides, each extending their palms toward their nearest neighbors. A hum of power surged, the wizards glowing as threads of white magic burst from their hands, the power connecting them in a circle of swirling energy. It flowed faster as the hum became a roar. The tornado of light grew increasingly more intense, completely obscuring the robed figures. Narine gasped when she was lifted off her feet. The world bent and fell away, leaving her floating in the ether.

  The swirling light slowed and began to fade. As she settled to the floor, her surroundings took shape. The wizards were gone, the cave replaced by her childhood bedroom in Fastella.

  A fire burned in the hearth, dimly lighting the otherwise dark room. It was night, and when she looked down, she saw she was dressed in a robe. Confused, Narine glanced around and wondered how she had been transported and what she was to do.

  A knock at the door made her jump, forcing a gasp past her lips while her hand pressed against her chest. She could feel the thump of her racing heart against her palm.

  Collecting herself, she asked, “Who is it?”

  “Eldalain.”

  She frowned. It was uncommon for her half-brother to visit her, especially at night. They had never been close. He was twenty years her elder and was often away from the palace on some mission for their father. Worse, she was frightened of him – his grim expression and dark eyes, cold and calculating.

  Crossing the room, she unlocked the door and opened it.

  Eldalain stood alone in the corridor, appearing exactly how she remembered him, although it had been eight years since they had last spoken. His robes were purple, as always, his sash silver. Tall and thin, his hair and eyes were dark, like her father’s. His beard was trimmed short, his lips drawn in a thin line.

  “May I come in?”

  She peered down the corridor. It was dark and empty.

  “Yes. Of course.” She stepped aside and allowed him past before closing the door.

  Eldalain stopped before the fire, staring into it.

  “What is this about?” Narine asked.

  “Power, Narine,” Eldalain said. “Everything is about power. Position. Command. Money. Magic. All of it.”

  She blinked, confused. “Has something happened?”

  “Yes.” He turned toward her, his glare frightening. In response, Narine drew in her magic and her skin began to glow. Eldalain snarled, “Hold on to your power. Would you challenge me?”

  Narine shook her
head. “No. I have no desire to rule.”

  “Liar!” he shouted, his body flashing alight with magic. “You went to Tiadd with the desire to grow strong enough to kill me so you can ascend unchallenged.”

  “Why would you say such a thing?” she retorted. “When have I ever expressed any hatred toward you? What makes you believe I want to take the throne?”

  “Everyone wishes they could become lord! Everyone!” He flicked his hand toward the fire and magic burst out, snuffing the flames so only their two glowing bodies lit the room. “The power of a god, the immortality, the unequaled wealth, the ability to rule an entire kingdom with impunity… Everyone desires these things. However, history has shown that such power does not belong in the hands of a woman.”

  The overwhelming madness emanating from him made her fear what he might do next. She prepared herself, forming a construct in her mind. The moment he lifted his hand, she unleashed the construct of protection, forming a shield. Lightning crashed against it, the energy bouncing off and scattering in sparks, sizzling through the room and setting furniture ablaze. With everything she had, Narine smashed the shield into him, knocking him backward and over the sofa before he tumbled to the floor. She spun around and ran out the door. When she emerged, she stopped, confused.

  The corridor was gone, replaced by her father’s immense throne room. Sconces on the pillars along the perimeter glowed with a purple hue, as did the throne across the massive room, her father slouched in it. The man had never shown her warmth, but he also had never attacked her. Desperate for help, she ran toward him, down the long aisle and between rows of empty benches.

  As she neared the dais at the front, she slowed, then stopped, gaping in horror.

  Her father’s eyes were burnt out, the empty sockets blackened. His mouth hung open, head tilted and unmoving. Laughter from behind sent a chill down her spine. She spun to find her brother stalking toward her with purple-hued energy constructs framing his fists, his presence radiant with the magic he held.

  His magic should be white.

  “Father is dead. I now hold his power,” Eldalain said, as if reading her mind.

  Narine had never been close to her father. Although he had always been distant, he had never treated her poorly. Others feared him, and for good reason. Quick to anger and ready to issue a harsh penance, the man displayed little to no compassion. She sometimes wondered if living for centuries and watching numerous wives and many of his offspring pass had hardened him, leaving him reluctant to love too much. Despite his faults, she had never wished him dead.

  Eldalain, on the other hand…

  Her brother lashed his hand out and a wave of violet lightning flashed toward her. Rather than attempt to block it, Narine drove a hard wedge of compressed air beneath her feet, launching herself into the air. Eldalain’s magic struck the throne, blasting it and their father’s corpse to pieces. Narine fell toward the floor, quickly creating another upward blast of air to slow her descent. The burst of wind blew her robe open, and she landed on her hands and knees.

  Eldalain strode toward her with glowing eyes and an evil grin. Narine scrambled to her feet and ran. Blasts of power just missed her in explosions of stone and wood, destroying anything they touched.

  She reached the side door and emerged into the citadel temple, stumbling on a narrow runway fifteen feet above the floor. In the back of her mind, she knew the temple and throne room did not reside beside each other, but the disconnection from reality was buried beneath her fear.

  The massive temple dome was empty, save for one person standing on the circular dais at the end of the runway. A beam of moonlight shone down through the only window in the domed roof, illuminating the dais. The light made it easy for Narine to identify the person.

  “Adyn!” Narine shouted as she ran toward her friend, who stood in the hub of the stone altars encircling the dais.

  “What is it?” Adyn asked as Narine drew close. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s my brother,” Narine said, panting. “He has killed my father and intends to kill me. He has gone mad.”

  Adyn’s face became a scowl of determination. She drew her sword and dagger and turned toward the runway. Eldalain walked through the open door and continued down the runway, glowing with the power he held.

  “You cannot escape me, Narine.” His tone was menacing.

  “Leave her alone!” Adyn shouted in defiance.

  Eldalain shook his head. “I cannot. She is a threat and must be eliminated.”

  He brought his hands together, forming a ball of purple-hued fire. Spinning the fireball in his hands as he drew them apart, it grew in size until it was three feet in diameter. His hands thrust forward, the fireball launching toward the two women. Adyn dove in one direction, Narine the other. The fireball struck an altar and the stone exploded, sending debris and fire everywhere.

  Narine climbed to her feet, seeing Adyn already standing, her sword ready. The bodyguard darted forward and launched her dagger, dropping to the floor when a blast of lightning came at her. It struck another altar, cracking it in half. The blade buried in Eldalain’s shoulder, and he staggered backward.

  Adyn rose to her feet and charged, her blade ready. Just as she was about to strike, he swept his arm in front of him, raw energy blasting her backward. She landed on her back twenty feet away and did not move.

  Eldalain pulled the dagger from his shoulder and tossed it aside. Magic sizzled around the wound as it healed.

  “You cannot kill me, little sister.” His eyes were alight with madness. “I now hold the power of Gheald.”

  He stalked toward her, his stride confident. Her mind raced as she considered what to do, how she could fight him. His power dwarfed hers, and he could heal himself, something she could not do.

  In the back of her mind, Hildama’s words replayed.

  While what you see during the Trial is not real, it is quite deadly. You must remain cognizant of both aspects.

  Drawing in her magic, Narine blasted a surge of air at Eldalain. It struck him, lifted him off his feet, and sent him over the edge of the runway. At the same time, Narine convinced herself there was no temple floor below like there was in the real world. Here, she imagined it as an endless pit with no bottom.

  Eldalain’s scream came from somewhere far below, fading until he was too distant to hear.

  Narine ran to Adyn’s side. The side of her head was bloody, her hair matted. Closing her eyes, she put her hand on Adyn’s forehead and opened her senses. There was a pulse, albeit weak. Desperate, she wove a construct of repair and began to overlay the magic on Adyn’s wound, using the strength of Adyn’s own body to feed the healing process. Adyn’s eyes flashed open as she cried out in pain before falling limp.

  Narine pressed her fingers against her friend’s neck, no longer detecting a pulse. Tears blurred her vision.

  “No. Please, Adyn. Don’t be dead.” Her voice sounded hollow in the bottomless room.

  In a cold, unloving world, Adyn had been Narine’s salvation. They had grown up together and had shared everything. Their relationship was the one thing Narine valued most, the one thing she would defend to her last breath. With Adyn gone, Narine was as empty as the bottomless temple. Her senses were dulled by the loss, her ability to reason buried beneath a mountain of anguish.

  As if caught in a trance, Narine stood and walked to the edge of the dais. If I jump, will I die? She didn’t want to live without Adyn. She couldn’t live alone, couldn’t live without the love of the orphan girl who had treated her as a sister. Narine raised her foot, hovering it over the abyss. How has it come to this?

  She gasped when she recalled the Trial, hastily drawing her foot back to the dais.

  Gathering her resolve, she crossed the runway and left her dead friend behind. She reached the door, opened it, and stepped out.

  The room flashed with bright light, forcing Narine to cover her eyes with her arm. She lowered it hesitantly and found the light tolerable. Silhouette
s in wizard robes surrounded her. One of them stepped forward.

  “Are you all right, Narine?” Hildama asked.

  “What happened?” Narine was confused, overwhelmed by her ordeal.

  “You survived,” Hildama said with a smile. “Congratulations. You are officially a master wizardess.”

  11

  Exile

  Rawkobon Kragmor was filled with fear, his breath coming in rapid gasps. A firm grip on each of his thick arms pulled him along the tunnel, one he had never seen before. In fact, they had taken him higher in the mountain than he had ever been, through ancient, dormant shafts. The higher they went, the more frightened he became.

  A massive wheel of stone blocked the tunnel ahead. The guards escorting him stopped, jerking him to a halt. Lawchief Honnekon, son of Dorrekon, walked toward the stone wheel before turning toward Rawkobon. The lawchief’s hair, red with gray streaks, ran past his shoulders, mirroring the thick beard that covered his barrel chest.

  Honnekon’s face was drawn in a frown, but his eyes were filled with pity. “Rawkobon, son of Bawkobon, you have been found guilty of greed and selfishness, placing your own desires ahead of the clan. Per the high court’s ruling, you are forever exiled from Ghen Aeldor.” Honnekon closed his eyes for a moment, as if fighting his own emotions. “Do you have any final words?”

  Rawkobon had said all he could to change the minds of the leaders. He had begged, pleaded, sworn to never again allow his desires to lead him astray. Never did he deny the accusations, for the truth had been clear. He had violated the laws of Ghen Aeldor. When the eyes of the elders had softened, he thought to avoid the worst punishment. Rawkobon’s father then spoke against his own son, dashing his hopes as he denounced him and declared him a servant of Urvadan. Rawkobon knew little of the dark god. The desires that drove him to break the law were far more personal.