War of Wizards

War of Wizards

Copyright © 2015 by Michael Wallace

Cover Art by Glendon Haddix

Chapter One

“I don’t need you,” Sofiana said. “I can go alone.”

Darik could scarcely believe it. “After all these miles, you’d split up now? We’re almost there!”

“I never wanted to travel with you, don’t forget that. And don’t start in on my safety, how you promised my father and the wizard to keep me safe, or any of that rubbish. I’m tired of it.”

Darik had struggled to keep up with her for days now. The lentils were gone, the hard cheese too, and all that remained was a single round of flatbread dried to the consistency of baked camel dung. The ache in his belly felt resigned now, as if even his stomach knew there would be no relief and didn’t see much point in complaining.

The camel was better fed, having chomped regularly on the thorny brush that grew alongside the road where it passed between the hills. But it seemed to be as footsore as Darik. Not Sofiana. She kept a relentless pace.

They had been trudging up the Spice Road, passing southward-bound merchant caravans who told of refugees streaming toward the city. The city of Starnar had fallen, it was said, and apparently Ter was next. After that, Balsalom. Some wizardry, the merchants claimed.

That seemed to have hardened Sofiana’s resolve, and they had traveled deep into the evening. The moon hung big and full above the plain. A vast swath of stars stretched like a bowl over the land. There was enough light to see by, but not enough to illuminate the rock-strewn plain or penetrate the shadows in the dry ravines that ran like old scars across the hard-packed earth. Once, Darik had caught the smell of a fire on the breeze, and as the wind changed direction, he heard men laughing from a nearby camp. Could be anyone: thieves, merchants, a company of soldiers from the city. Darik was armed, and Sofiana had proven capable of defending herself, but prudence suggested caution. He had resolved to find a place to camp for the night, and this set her off.

“How about this, then?” Darik said. “The gates will be closed. They won’t let you in until morning anyway.”

“So I’ll wait outside the Gate of the Dead.”

“The Spice Gate. That’s the gate at the end of this road. The Gate of the Dead won’t be open at all.”

Sofiana waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever. There will be others waiting on the road to get in. Maybe I’ll learn something from them.”

“I’ve got the last piece of bread. How about we find a place, settle in for the night, and share it?”

“And I don’t need that, either. Dry as mud brick by now and tastes like it, too. I’ll find something in the encampment outside the gate.”

“Find something?” he said. “More like
steal
something, you mean. So you steal your supper, wait for morning, and they let you into the city. What then? You’re filthy from the road, you look like an urchin. If you go up to the palace gates telling them you know the khalifa, they’ll laugh at you. You’ll be stuck waiting for me anyway.”

The girl stomped her foot. “That isn’t fair!”

He smiled. One moment, Sofiana was like a soldier, ready to march fifty miles on an empty stomach—Darik had met Knights Temperate who had less fortitude—but the next moment, she was every bit a girl of thirteen, petulant and entitled.

The fight seemed to go out of her, and Darik coaxed her off the road. They’d reached the outermost of the Tombs of the Kings, still a few miles from the city. It was a good place to camp; superstition and fear of wights would keep away most brigands. They gathered brush and twigs, and Darik risked a small fire where it would be sheltered from view between a toppled obelisk and the crumbling wall of a mausoleum.

Sofiana grew restless again as soon as they’d gnawed the bread and rested their feet. Darik had wrapped himself in a blanket and leaned against the mausoleum, and now scowled at the girl’s back as she climbed atop the fallen obelisk and stared northeast, toward the city.

“Get down from there before someone sees us.”

“We’re so close. I can see it even in the dark. Don’t you feel better now, don’t you feel ready to go?”

“I feel better enough that camping in front of the Spice Gate seems like a dumb idea when we’re comfortable enough here.”

She climbed down. “You call this comfortable?”

“We’ll leave early,” he assured her. “With a little rest and a fresh start, we’ll reach the palace three, maybe four hours later than if we were to continue now and go all night.”

“Every hour matters,” she said. “My father might be outside the Dark Citadel right now, fighting King Toth hand-to-hand.”

“That’s ridiculous. You don’t know anything about it. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Balsalom is threatened—”

“Unsubstantiated rumors,” she grumbled.

“—and the worst thing that could happen to the king’s armies would be to have the Western Khalifates overrun to his rear. The best way to help Whelan is to help the khalifa.”

“You know what I think?” Sofiana asked. “I think you’re planning to keep me in the city because it’s out of danger.”

“That’s ridiculous. And it’s
not
out of danger, anyway.”

“You’ve been following me from Marrabat like you were my nursemaid. And now you’re going to get some vizier’s guards to follow me around. I’ve had enough of that.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” Darik warned. “If you try to leave, I’ll cast a spell that will turn your feet to iron.”

“You’re no kind of wizard. That spell would never work—I’ll resist it, watch me.”

“We’ll see.”

She clenched her fists and thrust out her chin. Darik shook his head. What had got into her?

“Please, sit down, get some rest,” he urged, once again determined not to argue with her no matter how much she wanted a fight. “We’ll both feel better tomorrow when we’re in the city, cleaned up and well fed.”

“I’m not staying in Balsalom, I warn you. I’m going east to find my father. And I don’t want you coming with me.”

“If that’s what you want, I won’t stop you.”

“Do you swear it?” she demanded.

“By the Brothers, I swear. Just promise you won’t cause me trouble between now and the city, and I’ll send you off to your father.”

Sofiana grunted, but sat down next to the camel. She glared at Darik for a long moment, then turned away and leaned her head against the animal’s neck. He studied her suspiciously, wondering if he should cast a spell on her anyway, make her tired, so her sleep would be deep.

A glimpse of movement caught his eye. He looked skyward in time to see a large shape moving across the moon before it disappeared into the darkness. His heart froze in his chest. The dragon. It must have roused itself from its desert lair where it had been nursing its wounds, and now it was flying toward Balsalom.

But then he heard a scream. Like an eagle’s, high and proud. It was a griffin. And a big griffin, from the looks of it. Possibly even a
golden
griffin.

Daria!
 

Darik sprang to his feet and had his hands cupped to his mouth to shout to her before he stopped himself. The animal had been moving so quickly, and had already been so distant, that it must be a mile away by now. There was no way Daria would hear him, perched on Talon’s back with the wind whistling about her face. His shouts would be lost to her, but they might be loud enough to attract attention from other quarters.

Daria was alive, thank the Brothers. He’d last seen her in Marrabat, flying off with Markal, out of the punishing desert heat, and toward the war. Since then, he’d worried about her constantly, imagined Veyrian archers firing thickets of arrows at her, imagined dragons bellowing fire to knock the griffin and his rider out of the sky. Daria was a brave, fearless warrior, but she flew alone through war-torn lands.

Darik settled back to the ground and picked up the blanket from where it had fallen. As the thrill of seeing Daria drifted away like the desert breeze, an aching loneliness took its place. So close. If only it had been daylight, if only Daria had known he was down here.

#

Darik woke in the morning, stiff, cold, and tired. He grabbed for his sword and dragged himself to his feet. The camel grumbled, and Darik gave the animal a sympathetic look.

“We’re almost there, then I swear you’ll get the finest food and the most comfortable bed of hay in the khalifa’s stables. Assuming Ninny doesn’t sneak you out in the middle of the night to make a run for Veyre.”

Darik said this last bit while looking around for the girl. He didn’t spot her. Wonderful. Where was she off to now? She wasn’t sleeping snuggled up against the camel where he’d left her last night, and she wasn’t investigating the mausoleum, which proved to be open ruins, the roof long since collapsed. He glanced at the saddlebag and let out a curse.

The girl’s dagger and crossbow were gone. So was her waterskin.

Chapter Two

The way Sofiana had been talking last night, Darik should have cast a tracking spell on her in case she ran off, but spotting the griffin had put such thoughts out of his mind. All this way across the desert, chasing the girl, keeping her in sight using every trick at his disposal, and he’d lost her at the last possible minute. A few more hours and he could have turned her over to the khalifa and been rid of her for good.

But Sofiana hadn’t taken the camel, so Darik figured it was only a matter of time before he found her. He got the reluctant beast up and moving again, riding it this time, and set off toward the nearest rise, which was topped by a ziggurat-shaped tomb, some fifty or sixty feet high, flanked by a pair of statues so eroded it was impossible to see if they were giants or men, gods or monsters. When he reached it, he hopped down from the camel and scrambled up the stone steps to the top platform.

The road stretched to the west, where a caravan of camels and their drivers trudged away from Balsalom. In the sharp light of dawn, he could see the small tent city piled up against the Spice Gate. An even larger encampment stretched along the Tothian Way as the road skirted the northern edge of the city. It was too distant to pick out figures or numbers, but there must be hundreds of people and animals. Refugees, on their way to Balsalom, only to be caught out after the gates closed for the night.

Closer at hand, he saw that he and Sofiana hadn’t been alone last night in the Tombs of the Kings. Smoke trailed into the air from a handful of cook fires. The nearest came from several men—probably either soldiers who’d deserted the army or thieves—no more than a few hundred feet distant. Armed men with horses. Darik paid them little attention, scanning instead for Sofiana. She was nowhere to be seen.

“Dammit. Where are you?”

There! A small figure, perhaps a half-mile distant, darting from tomb to tomb, and finally breaking into the open and trotting toward the city. Even at this distance, he could tell it was Sofiana by how she moved. The trek through the desert didn’t seem to have slowed her at all. He’d have admired her stamina, if only he weren’t so aggravated.

Darik hurried down from the ziggurat to find the camel skittish and pulling at the rope where he’d tied it to a scraggly clump of brush. As he reached to calm it, the sound of hooves caught his ear. Five men came riding around the corner of the tomb.

They were the men he’d spotted from up top. They must have seen him, too, and set out to investigate. Two of the five had light skin like Eriscobans, while the other three appeared to be from the khalifates. One of these three, a burly fellow with a curly beard and a cheek bulging with khat, eyed Darik with a squinty, calculating look. These men intended to rob him, Darik guessed, perhaps even kill him.

A year ago, the realization would have filled him with terror. But Darik had battled dragon wasps in the sky, faced wizards, and fought King Toth’s undead ravagers. He had trained with Markal and Whelan. He couldn’t even rouse himself at the thought of a good fight. These thieves were an irritation.

“Well now,” the leader said. He spat khat juice to the ground. “What have we here?”

Darik drew back his cloak to show his sword. “I am pressed for time. I suggest you find easier prey.”

The men tensed to see his sword, but didn’t back off.

“Don’t be a fool,” the leader said. “We are five, and you are one. Give us your beast and your purse, and we’ll let you be.”

“I am a Knight Temperate.” Darik climbed back up to the first ledge on the ziggurat tomb to gain the advantage of height. “I would advise you to forget whatever idiocy you are intending and leave me be.”

“Oh, a knight. You should have said so in the first place.” This was delivered sarcastically, and the men were drawing swords and scimitars, as if preparing to make good on their threat.

Darik pulled back his sleeve to expose his left hand. Magic with the left, the sword with the right. He drew a deep breath and gathered his concentration.

Now the leader of the brigands grinned through khat-stained teeth. “What is this, boy? Magic? I thought you said you were a knight.”