Renegade Wizards

CHAPTER 14

Another few days spent in the camp, and Tythonnia rarely saw Ladonna and Par-Salian. Those two seemed off in their own world, though Tythonnia grudgingly admitted she, too, was preoccupied. Her days were spent hunting, but finding food was growing more difficult and the hunters discussed the use of magic to draw their kills to them. The fact was, they’d thinned the local wildlife too quickly. They needed new hunting grounds.

In the afternoons, Tythonnia gutted and cleaned her kills, while the evening was reserved for the company of Berthal. Sometimes they were alone and sometimes they mingled in the company of others who seemed to accept her far more readily than they did her compatriots. She was never happier.

That night was no different. It was spent with Berthal as he related stories of his youth. She also spoke with Mariyah, whose personality seemed to blossom more each day.

When the fire pit began cooling, people took their cue to retire to their tents. Once again, Berthal and Tythonnia walked back to her campsite while taking a meandering, scenic path. It was as though they were both forestalling ending the night early. And they spoke with a comfortable familiarity that made mundane conversation enchanting. Still, Tythonnia couldn’t help but feel there was something on Berthal’s mind. She suspected what it might be, but eventually, curiosity drove her to ask.

By way of answer, Berthal urged her away from the encampment, her hand in his. It wasn’t until the country dark claimed them in shadows that he finally turned to her. He appeared to be considering something then, without warning, leaned over and kissed her.

Tythonnia broke away from the kiss. Her lips tingled with the heat of it, but her mind pulled her in a dozen different directions.

“I’m sorry,” Berthal said, pulling back. “I’ve overstepped my bounds. I thought-”

“No, no,” Tythonnia said, suddenly wishing she could take her hesitation back. Neither could she bring herself to step back into the kiss. She wanted to be attracted to him. She was, in fact, and that jarred with everything she’d come to believe about herself. Had she not burned away her old self? Was she not trying to embrace who she really was for the sake of magic?

The test, she thought and grew even more confused.

She shook her head, as if that might somehow shake her free of her doubts, and almost growled in frustration. “I do like you,” she stammered, “I do. I do!”

“Then what’s the matter?” he asked.

Tythonnia suddenly felt terribly old, and that knocked the strength from her legs. She chose to sit down and was grateful when Berthal sat next to her. She leaned against him, and against every fear that screamed for her to shut her mouth, she told him about her test. It was a rare thing to divulge the intimate secrets of one’s test, for it always revealed a truth about who someone was, a truth so profound that it shook the one who passed the test to the core of his or her identity. That was why few people ever shared such secrets, for the absolute truth of an individual is something not easy to see or accept.

Berthal listened and did not react when Tythonnia told him she usually did not feel attracted to men. It might be that she was more attracted to women. It was a gray area she couldn’t define clearly yet. Her desires bullied her, pushed her emotions around, and left her helpless. She didn’t know what to think or where to turn.

At the same time, there was no question, she did find herself attracted to Berthal.

“Tythonnia,” Berthal said gently. He raised her chin with his finger until she was staring into those light green eyes that turned gold in the sun or around the campfire. “We all wear masks. What we say to people, how we act. Even the robes we wear: black, red, white, gray. They define who we are, or they can hide us. But they reveal more about us than people realize. Masks are a part of us, drawn up from whatever desires exist. That can be good, or it can be fatal.

“Don’t you realize the test rejects any loyalty except for magic? It forces you to burn away anything that might compete with your devotion to magic. That is not right. I believe you must embrace both the magic and your humanity, while the test wants to burn away anything that makes you human.”

Tythonnia shook her head.

“I understand that your emotions are in turmoil. The test would like you to deny them, live only for the magic.” Berthal took her hand. “Is that what you want? To lose something vital in exchange for hollow devotion? A false promise?”

“No,” Tythonnia said softly.

This time Tythonnia did not pull away. She let his kiss overtake her thoughts. She was happy to enjoy it.

The sky hedged the purple light of early dawn when Tythonnia finally returned to their campsite. She practically stumbled into her bedroll and would have fallen asleep with her boots on had Ladonna not sat up. Par-Salian was asleep and earned a nudge in the ribs from Ladonna.

“Where’ve you been?” Ladonna asked. She felt annoyed at having stayed up to keep tabs on Tythonnia. She was just as tired as Par-Salian and envied his ability to fall asleep so easily.

“Out, obviously,” Tythonnia grumbled. She was about to put her head down when Ladonna gently pulled her back up into a sitting position. Par-Salian rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“With Berthal?” Ladonna asked.

“The answer depends,” Tythonnia said. Her dirty-blonde hair was disheveled, and there was a rosy glow to her cheeks. A pleasant grin seemed etched on her face. “Where did you and Par-Salian go in the middle of the night?”

“Working,” Ladonna said then cursed herself when she inadvertently broke eye contact with Tythonnia. She wasn’t normally shy about anything, but her tryst with Par-Salian was enough to put her on the defensive. It’s only physical, she reminded herself, but for some reason, she had to repeat that to herself.

“Fine,” Tythonnia said. “I’ve been working too. Good night.”

“This is serious,” Par-Salian whispered. He sat closer to the two women. “We’re here on a mission, but we’ve been growing too close to these renegades. Me included.”

Tythonnia’s smile slipped but she continued listening.

“It’s hard being here, I know,” Par-Salian said. “And I cannot bear the thought that I might have to betray these people. These good people. But, Tythonnia, they’re misguided if they think they can topple the Wizards of High Sorcery. Berthal is leading them into suicide. Worse yet, there are children here. What happens if hunters descend upon them? What happens if the Wyldling magic spirals out of control? It’s too dangerous for the innocent ones.”

They were quiet a moment. Both Ladonna and Par-Salian were waiting for Tythonnia to react, to say anything that might validate their fears or trust in her. She, of them all, was in the greatest danger, and they needed to know she was still loyal to the wizards.

Tythonnia pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. “Why can’t this be easy?” she groaned.

“We have to report back to the orders, sooner or later,” Ladonna persisted.

“I know,” Tythonnia admitted. “But Berthal is charismatic and wonderful, though he’s too angry to see rationally.”

Par-Salian didn’t need to speak for Ladonna to see his relief. Ladonna was more surprised that she, too, felt relieved to hear Tythonnia utter those words. There was still a chance for them.

“There’s a complication,” Ladonna continued. “I wasn’t supposed to mention this to either of you, but Berthal stole some books from the Black Robes. Par-Salian and I have been searching for the books, but …”

“But,” Par-Salian said, “we now think we know where they are. Berthal’s robe is enchanted. It might contain secret pockets. Is there any way you could, ah … um …” Par-Salian couldn’t finish the thought.

“We need you to search his robes,” Ladonna said.

“You mean sleep with him?” Tythonnia said.

“Are we asking something you haven’t done already?” Ladonna asked.

Tythonnia looked away. “No,” she admitted. “But still, to sleep with him in order to betray him …?”

“We all sell something of ourselves for magic,” Ladonna replied, her voice growing cold again, professional. “It’s what makes us wizards. It’s why we were chosen.”

“I know it seems like a terrible thing we’re asking,” Par-Salian said. “But it’s the only way. Can you do it?”

“Yes,” Tythonnia whispered, “but I don’t have to like it.”

“I-”

“Shut up, Par-Salian,” Tythonnia said. “Stop trying to make yourself feel less guilty than you should.” She turned on to her side, her back to them. “Just be ready to use that medallion tomorrow night. We won’t be safe here anymore after that.”

The day was spent quietly, as though a hush had fallen across the camp. Kinsley and a few others were at the town of Dart, a few hours away, to buy provisions for the renegades. Others went about their business, trying to stay occupied with mending, caring for the children, cooking, washing, and hunting. But a pressure lingered in the air, a heaviness that weighed upon every thought and body.

Tythonnia hunted with Lorall, though they’d thinned their pickings. The scarcity of the hunt forced Tythonnia to mull over her plans for the evening and to regret every step of her betrayal. So she forced herself to hunt harder, run faster, push herself to her limits_anything not to think too hard, to reconsider her actions. She felt angry at the wizards for putting her through the mission, at the test for inflicting her with such a burden, at her companions for their part in the sordid play, and at Berthal for turning her questions into aching doubt.

No matter what Tythonnia did, however, she could not forestall the passage of the day. With a pair of hares to show for their hard work, Tythonnia and the quiet Lorall returned to the camp and gutted their kills as the sun began to dip. The children would have first pick at the food, and there was a rumor that one of the sorcerers could create a small feast for the others to share. It would be enough to stave off the growing hunger.

And these are the people the Wizards of High Sorcery fear as a threat, Tythonnia thought bitterly.

Instead of sitting around with her companions or the other sorcerers, Tythonnia headed for Berthal’s tent with her rations. He seemed taken aback to see her until Tythonnia stepped inside his tent, twisted the cord latch, and fell into his arms with a smothering kiss. Then he seemed pleasantly surprised. They never got around to eating dinner.

Tythonnia rested in Berthal’s arms and was comforted by the soft rumble of his snoring. She would have fallen asleep to it if her thoughts didn’t haunt her so. No matter what she did that night, she was bound to betray someone for whom she cared. She didn’t know what to do anymore. Her world had spun out of control.

You have strangers living inside you. Yassa’s words came back to her. And yet they know you better than you know yourself. For they have made a home of your heart. Let them guide you.

Tythonnia rested on her elbows and watched Berthal breathe. His chest rose and fell in the dim light, his body dark with hair. She glanced at his gray robes, lying there in a pile, waiting for her to search them. She could easily reach over to them and feel for hidden pockets, but she couldn’t bring herself to make the first move.

Stop fighting who you are and face the real turmoil that haunts you.

It had nothing to do with the betrayal of her companions, she realized as she sat up. It had to do with following what she truly believed. It all came down to one question, one question at the core of everything. Even though she survived the test itself, it was still asking her: Do you follow the dictates of the moons, or do you follow your own path?

And be damned for either answer you give.

Berthal stirred and Tythonnia felt his hand resting on the small of her naked back. She lay back down next to him and nuzzled his ear with her nose.

“What?” he whispered.

“We need to talk,” she whispered back.

The camp was quiet, the fire pit a sea of black sailed by ships of cooling embers. Snowbeard slept where he sat at its stone-lined edge. Tythonnia hurried through the camp, a bundle wrapped in cloth pressed against her chest. She looked here and there in worry, heading straight for her encampment.

When she arrived, Ladonna and Par-Salian, who were pretending to sleep, bolted upright. Their backpacks were ready, and they were fully clothed beneath their cloaks. Tythonnia spilled the bundle at their feet.

“Did you get them?” Ladonna asked, pulling at the cloth.

“Yes!” Tythonnia said. “But we have to-”

Someone shouted an alarm from the main camp.

Ladonna ignored the screams and growing commotion. She opened the bundle and revealed a book wrapped in leather, The Scarred Path of the Gem. “Where are the other two?” she demanded.

“With me,” Tythonnia said. She patted a pack hidden beneath her cloak, the one slung under her shoulder. “I was told to return the books to my order.”

“They belong to me!”

“They belong to the Wizards of High Sorcery. I’m doing what’s best for the whole society,” Tythonnia said. “We each get one … one for each order.”

“Sounds fair,” Par-Salian said.

Ladonna scowled and thought to argue the point further. Instead, she nodded to Par-Salian. People were emerging from their tents, trying to figure out what was happening. Par-Salian pulled out the sun and three moons medallion hidden in his shirt and concentrated. His eyes squeezed shut, his lips moved in silent incantation.

People were pointing at the three of them. Some began to run toward them; others fumbled for their pouches to launch spells to stop them. A couple were drawing upon wilder magic still and pulling energy from the air itself.

Before anyone could act, however, a disk of golden light appeared beneath the three wizards’ feet. Just before the disk rose above their heads, enveloping them, Tythonnia saw Berthal racing, his staff glowing as he was about to release a spell. Ladonna hissed as a ball of fire hurtled toward them.

Then they were gone.

The ground beneath their feet was no longer grass, but cold, gray flagstone. Behind them was a gate of silver and gold, the face of which was as precise and as delicate as butterfly wings. Beyond it was a foreboding forest choked on a thick mist. A tall wall separated them from the forest. Towering above them were two large towers made from black glass and etched with silver and black runes and two smaller towers, all measuring over two hundred feet in height.

“Home,” Ladonna breathed in grateful exultation.

They had arrived at the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth.

The flash of fire on the horizon and the shouts that carried across the plains were what finally gave away the camp’s position. The noise persisted, the sounds of agitated horses and men crying orders.

Dumas and Hort reached the camp within an hour. The darkness kept them hidden, and they stayed well beyond any campfire light. With the reins of their Blödegelds in hand, they watched quietly as men raced to pack their carts and their horses and women helped settle the panicked and sleep-deprived children. In a few places, sorcerers used magic to expedite their departure by conjuring invisible servants to carry heavy sacks and crates. The camp would be ready to move within the next hour.

“Renegades?” Hort asked.

“Likely. I don’t see our prey, though.”

“Me either. There’s too many of them. How many casters?”

“A dozen. Maybe more. We need help. Follow them,” Dumas said. “Leave a trail for me to find if they cover their tracks.”

“Where you going?” Hort asked. “We want the three renegades.”

“I’m going back to Palanthas to hire mercenaries,” Dumas said. “And if our renegades aren’t in that camp, then someone down there knows where they are.” With that, she patted Hort on the shoulder. “I’ll see you in a few days. Don’t lose them.”

He scowled and nodded curtly. He didn’t like that one bit, but after what the three renegades did to Thoma, Hort wasn’t going to question his companion anymore, no matter how strangely she acted. He wanted the renegades to pay. Even if it meant following the camp of mystic refugees down the funnel of the Blood Sea of Istar, he would avenge Thoma’s death.