Wizardoms- Eye of Obscurance Read online

  “I… I…,” Rawkobon stammered, fumbling for the words before deciding on the truth. “I did what my heart asked of me, Lawchief. My only regret is getting caught.”

  “So, you finally admit that your heart is corrupted.”

  “I told you before. I know nothing of the Dark One. I kept the gemstone for myself. It… It spoke to me.”

  The man blinked. “Spoke to you? What nonsense is this?”

  Rawkobon turned away in shame. “I did not wish to covet it, but the gem held a power over me. I… I cannot explain.”

  The lawchief grunted and turned away. He approached the stone wheel and held his hand against the metal plate embedded within it. Rather than rolling, the wheel of stone rotated inward, pivoting on a hidden pivot. Light seeped through the entrance, bright, blue, and terrifying. Rawkobon squinted at it and resisted, doing his best to dig his heels in while his escorts dragged him toward the opening. As one, they gave him a final shove. He stumbled and landed on his hands and knees, scraping his palms and bruising a kneecap. A pack of supplies landed beside him.

  Frantic, he stood and turned as the stone door closed. “No!”

  He ran to it and felt around with his hands, finding nothing of note – not a trigger, not a handle, not a panel. Beyond the doorway, he sensed the hollowness of the tunnel and the movement of the retreating party until they faded away. He pressed his palms against the cold, hard surface, prepared to dig through it, then stopped, his fingertips embedded into the stone. Leaning forward, he closed his eyes and rested his head against the stone wheel. He stood in that position for a long time, torn between his fears of the outside world and the reaction of the clan should he break his exile.

  Defeated, Rawkobon leaned back against the stone door and slid down to sit on the cave floor. He raised his arm and covered his eyes to avoid looking at the frightening light emanating from the entrance. Tears of shame tracked down his face.

  Time passed, perhaps an hour, perhaps two. Rawkobon was not sure. He gathered the pack, opened it, and drank from the water tube stored inside it, draining half before realizing he needed to find more water to refill it. Regardless of what else might kill him, he would certainly die if he could not find water within the next day or two. With that in mind, he forced himself toward the bright, blue-tinted light.

  He peered through the opening, gazing upon the outside world for the first time. Based on what he knew of history, he might be only the second of his clan to walk on the surface in eight centuries. The other exile had occurred just five years earlier.

  Have you survived, Algoron? Are you out here somewhere, or have you passed from this world?

  After the man had been found guilty of breaking the most sacred law in Ghen Aeldor, his family had never again mentioned Algoron. Until the past year, when the gems had begun to speak to him, Rawkobon never understood why Algoron had done it. Now, he knew too well. It was not a choice, but more of a compulsion. Rawkobon’s weakness had taken him down the same path as his banished uncle.

  He gasped. His family would speak of him no longer, just as they had forgotten Algoron. The realization cut Rawkobon to the core, but he wasn’t sure what hurt worse – the shame he had brought upon his family or them abandoning him for the clan.

  Mustering courage, Rawkobon stepped outside the cave.

  A tree-covered slope and valley lay below him. Until now, he had only seen trees of this magnitude depicted in the ancient drawings marking the oldest caverns of Ghen Aeldor. Compared to these, the trees growing in the Caverns of Life were tiny, the largest barely exceeding twenty feet in height.

  Terror had him panting. Although he stood still, his pulse hammered in his ears. He clenched his eyes shut, but could not feel the weight of a mountain above him. Instead, he sensed…nothing. For the first time in his life, no stone ceiling contained his surroundings. The very thought chilled him.

  He forced his eyes open and looked up. He staggered backward on a gasp and clutched his chest. The sky was so vast, covered by tiny, glowing lights. The distance to those lights was so, so far. He gripped a rock beside him, his hand sinking into it, as something firm to keep him grounded. His worst fear was falling up into the empty sky.

  Yet nothing else was pulled upward. His feet still clung to the ground, his hat to his head. As he came to realize he would not float off into the endless heavens, he slowly removed his hand from the rock and noticed a bright light coming from just beyond the mountain peak above him. Determined, he eased forward, drawn by the need to see the source of the light.

  Stepping with care, he climbed down the hillside and circled along the shadow-covered ground. When he reached the edge of the shadow, he gasped.

  A pale, round ball of impossible brightness shone upon him. This must be the sun I’ve heard about, he thought. It is even brighter than I had feared.

  Turning away from the light, he began climbing down the mountain. He did not know where to go, but water ran downhill, so he would find it somewhere in the valley below.

  The hours trickled by as Rawkobon walked through the forest. Finally coming across a stream, he drank as much as he could, then filled his water jug. The water was cold, the bite of it stinging his throat and making his head hurt.

  Not knowing which way to go, he turned toward the light in the sky and followed it in the hopes it would prevent him from walking in circles. He passed through clusters of needle-covered trees, through thick grass and underbrush, steadily moving downhill.

  A howl arose in the night, the call echoed by others. The sound brought the terror in Rawkobon’s heart to life again. Whatever had made the sound was somewhere on the hillside above him. Driven by fear, he ran.

  Through trees, under branches, and over fallen trunks, he rushed through the shadow-filled forest. The howls turned to barks and growls, growing closer and closer. Turning to look over his shoulder, he saw animals darting between the trees. His heart raced, his breath coming in rapid, urgent gasps as he raced through the forest. The trees parted at a clearing. Straight ahead was a sheer wall of rock, the top of which stood high above him, blotting out the light in the sky. The cliff face extended in both directions as far as he could see.

  Rawkobon turned to face his pursuers while backing toward the wall. The first animal stopped at the edge of the wood, lifted his nose to the sky, and howled. The beast was large and covered in gray fur, its yellow eyes filled with hunger. Other beasts emerged from the trees, teeth bared, growling, pacing. The number went from three to seven to twelve as they formed a half-circle around Rawkobon, trapping him.

  His back collided with the rocky wall. Moving slowly, he turned and dug fingers into the rock. With a burst, he jumped up and began climbing. His fingers thrust into the rock with each reach, sending shards spraying down. The beasts lunged forward, emitting high-pitched barks. The lead animal jumped up, narrowly missing Rawkobon’s foot when he jerked it upward. He looked up and continued his climb as the beasts circled below, barking and howling in frustration. Rawkobon was strong, young, and fit, yet the wall was over a hundred feet high, and he had eaten nothing in many hours. His shoulders and arms grew tired, but he continued to climb. He had no choice, having to either reach the top or fall prey to the pack of beasts below.

  Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he reached the top of the cliff and swung his legs up, collapsing upon the moss-covered rock, panting. His arms felt dead, his fingers raw and torn.

  After some time, he sat upright and noticed a bright light on the horizon, well below the glowing orb in the sky. He frowned, watching it grow brighter and brighter until he was forced to raise his arm to block the light. From his pack, he drew a sheet of cloth. It was thin enough to see through, so he tied it around his head with the cloth draped over his eyes.

  The light at the horizon suddenly bloomed into a bright ball of fire. It was terrifying and so bright. Sensing heat from the ball of fire, he realized his mistake. The other orb in the sky had been the moon the entire time.

&nbs
p; Rawkobon woke, blinked, and squinted at the amber-hued light at the cave entrance. He had sensed the cave shortly after leaving the top of the cliff. Rather than fight the harsh light of the sun, he had decided to rest for the day. His sleep had been fitful, haunted by a string of nightmares, the worst of which had him falling up into the sky, unable to stop himself. He had woken covered in sweat, his heart racing. The memory of it lingered, and it had taken a long time for sleep to reclaim him.

  This time, he woke without the lasting panic of a nightmare. With the cloth still covering his eyes, he walked in a hunched position toward the cave entrance, careful not to hit his head on the uneven, low ceiling.

  He stepped out and held his hand up to shield his eyes from the sliver of the sun peering over the treetops. Through the film of the cloth, he gazed upon the surrounding hills and noticed a gap in the trees. A brown strip ran through the gap, and he was struck by a mixture of excitement and panic. If it was a road, he might find someone to help him. He also might find someone who wished him harm.

  Minutes passed as he stared at the gap, but he saw nothing. You cannot survive alone, he told himself. You don’t know this land or how to feed yourself. You must trust somebody.

  Having talked himself into it, he began working his way down the hill. Luckily, the trees enveloped him and blocked the setting sun. The shadows provided a cool welcome, offering a sense of comfort, as did the canopy overhead blocking the sky from view. Soon, the road reappeared through a gap in the trees. He stopped and waited, listening.

  More time passed, and his surroundings grew darker. He tentatively removed the cloth. It was still bright enough to make him squint, but not painfully so.

  Finally, he pushed his way through the underbrush and stepped onto the road. Not knowing which way to go, he chose to follow the moon as he did the prior evening. The road climbed a hillside, snaking back and forth as it led toward a low point between two peaks.

  An hour later, the last hint of sunlight was gone and only the distant white dots and the moon lit the sky. By then, the roadway began to level, and Rawkobon wondered what he would find on the other side of the pass.

  He rounded a bend and froze. A hundred feet ahead, a cluster of armed men blocked the road, staring at him. A man in the middle took a step forward and crossed his arms. The look on his scarred face frightened him.

  In Ghen Aeldor, Rawkobon was among the tallest in the clan, so he was not used to others standing taller than him. In this case, every one of the men on the road towered over him, some standing more than a head taller. Yet their builds were leaner than what he was used to, making them appear as thin giants. The man who had stepped forward was the tallest of the lot.

  “What do we have here?” the man said. “I believe we have caught ourselves a squirrel.”

  Rawkobon took a step backward. Two of the men raised bows, arrows nocked, and took aim.

  “I wouldn’t attempt to run if I were you,” the leader said. “If you take one more step, you’ll find yourself with a few more holes than you need.”

  “What… What do you want?” Rawkobon stammered.

  “Huh?” one of the men said. “What kind of accent is that?”

  “Hush.” The leader spoke over his shoulder before turning back toward Rawkobon. “Just give us your gold and silver. We’ll take our share, then you can be on your way.”

  Rawkobon swallowed hard. “I have no gold or silver.”

  “Tsk, tsk. You can’t lie to Harden and expect to get away with it.”

  “My words are true. I swear to Vandasal.”

  “I don’t know who this Vandasal is, but you aren’t leaving until we search you.”

  Rawkobon instinctively backed away. He heard a twang, followed by pain searing through his arm as it jerked backward. He looked down and saw an arrow sticking from it.

  “I warned you, little man,” Harden said as he and the others advanced. “Take another step and you might end up dead.”

  Rawkobon stood still as the tall, thin men circled him. Most held swords, many pitted with rust. He shook his head, thinking how Weaponsmith Durgan would chastise these men for their weapons appearing in such a state.

  Harden tore the pack off Rawkobon’s shoulder, causing him to wince as he involuntarily flexed the other arm where the arrow was buried. The man sifted through the pack, then threw it on the road in disgust.

  “Nothing.” Harden squatted and patted down Rawkobon’s front and sides before standing and frowning at him. “Since you don’t have anything of value, we are taking you with us. Perhaps we can find someone in Starmuth who believes you are worth something.” He turned away. “Bind him and bring him back to camp. When we get there, remove the arrow and stitch him up. He’s no good to us dead.”

  12

  The Feathered Cap

  The traveling menagerie crawled across Farrowen. At the cusp of autumn, the days were mild, the evenings cool. On the second day, they came to a fork and turned northeast. At camp that evening, Rhoa sought out Neil and Niles, also known as the Bandego Brothers. It had been weeks since she had last trained with the juggling duo.

  After an hour of working with them, the two men left her sweaty, yet filled with a sense of accomplishment. Neither Neil nor Niles would say so, but Rhoa had become quite skilled over the years, and her juggling now rivaled their own.

  There were points during the third, fourth, and fifth days when Rhoa was able to spot the sea in the distance, beyond the rolling hills. On those evenings, she joined her fellow acrobats for training. They focused on strength one night, balance the next, and tumbling the evening after that.

  On the sixth day, the wagon train reached another fork and turned east. The view until then had been monotonous, nothing but farmer’s fields and grassy plains to look upon. The scenery finally changed as they climbed a rise into the foothills.

  Trees appeared along the roadside, scattered at first, thickening as the wagon train approached the mountains dividing Farrowen from Ghealdor. Their already plodding pace slowed further as the horses and oxen were forced to pull their loads up the winding road. It was a painfully tedious climb. Rhoa, Pippa, and Rhett walked much of it, tossing stones off the downhill side of the road as entertainment.

  The sun was low in the sky when they reached the top. There, they pulled into a protective alcove where high cliff walls blocked the wind from three sides and set up camp for the night.

  Jace pulled his horse to a stop and climbed down. Hand against his lower back, he grunted as he stretched out sore muscles. It had been over a year since he had ridden outside the city. After three consecutive days on horseback, his thighs, rear, and back ached. Sleeping on the ground the previous evening did nothing to improve the situation.

  “I hate sleeping on the ground,” he muttered to himself as he scanned for tracks, cursing the stones that paved the roadway. “Only in Farrowen…. Whoever decided to pave these roads has made this job much more difficult.”

  The fork in the road required him to make a decision – turn west or continue on to Lionne. He stood and shuffled to the west fork before crouching to search for tracks.

  Both directions were well-traveled, and the menagerie could have gone either way. His gaze swept the mountains to the west for signs of movement. He found nothing but long shadows dancing along the edges of the roadway from the wind-stirred grass.

  A sigh slipped out. “I wish we had a tracker with us, Ginger.” Ginger was the name he had given the red-tinted horse. “If I head west and they did not go that route, I will end up in Ghealdor, passing them without any way to know. The north route will take me to Lionne. If they are there, I can find the girl and retrieve the item. If not, then I know they went on to Ghealdor and can catch them in Starmuth without having to backtrack.”

  The horse had no comment as he climbed into the saddle.

  “Still, I have a history in Lionne. Years have passed, so it may not be trouble, but it would be best to remain inconspicuous just to be sure.”


  Again, nothing from Ginger.

  Jace frowned. “You are not much help.” In response, the horse dipped its head and began to munch on the yellow grass. Jace chuckled. “I am hungry, too.” His stomach rumbled at the thought of food. “If we head to Lionne, food will be waiting. Better yet…” He grinned, “so will a bed.”

  Having convinced himself, he pulled on the reins and kicked the horse into motion. The sea in the distance waited, the city of Lionne nestled beside it.

  Driven by the promise of a hot meal, Jace encouraged Ginger to gallop the remaining miles, not slowing until he neared the city. Beyond the dark walls of Lionne, ships slipped in and out of the bay, their white sails filled by the ever-blowing sea breeze. Thin streaks of orange clouds stretched across the blue sky to the west as evening approached. Another structure stood across the river from the city – a walled complex that had not existed during his last visit.

  The new Thundercorps garrison had been built to train an influx of new soldiers. Apparently, the garrison outside of Shear had surpassed capacity five years earlier, so Malvorian funded the construction of another near Lionne. The merchants in Marquithe had been upset by the tax increase, some refusing to pay at first. Three public executions later, and the grumbling ceased entirely. Apparently, a few extra silvers each month paled in comparison to the threat of losing their heads.

  Jace drew the hood of his cloak over his head and rode toward the city at an easy walk. The walls of Lionne stood thirty feet tall, a tower standing directly over the entrance. The guards posted outside the gate watched as clusters of people on foot and a man driving an empty wagon entered the city. When Jace drew close, a guard with a blue cape stepped out and held his hand up.

  “Hold.”

  Jace swallowed a sigh and pulled the reins until Ginger stopped. In a friendly tone, he said, “Hello, good sir.”