Renegade Wizards

CHAPTER 8

The torches set by the knights around the tower to illuminate the night also hemmed in their view. They couldn’t see beyond the ring of fire, not that they expected to need to-anyone fleeing would have to pass the Solamnics. The Journeyman, however, sat in the darkness beyond torchlight, nestled in a sheltered alcove of the mountain pass. Nobody could see him there, and it was unlikely anyone would stumble across him. He hid over a hundred feet deep into the Westgate Pass, hoping he hadn’t missed the three wizards.

It took a while to get through the blocked gate of the keep. The knights searched diligently for the three renegades, after much debate with the hunters, but to no avail. The knights refused to believe anyone could have found their way into the tower, a denial seemingly rooted in the Solamnics’ refusal to actually enter the spire, from what the Journeyman could overhear. There was a thin line between faith in something and a reverential fear of it.

The Journeyman knew better, however. He knew that Ladonna, Par-Salian, and Tythonnia were in the tower with a comfortable certainty, and he knew he should wait for them. With the mysterious arrival of the renegade hunters, the Journeyman suspected that Astathan’s protégés would need all the help they could get. Especially since they had lost their steeds.

So it was, in the deep hour of night, that a strange, metallic groan echoed lightly through the canyons and the Knights of Solamnia gathered around one of the giant steel double doors. The Journeyman waited patiently, however, until he saw three brief glimmers of light against the far canyon wall. It wasn’t strong enough for the knights to notice thanks to their own torches, but the Journeyman enjoyed the benefit of darkness. Then he saw them, the three companions riding away on conjured steeds.

The Journeyman smiled and waited to see if anyone gave pursuit. The knights didn’t seem to notice the three. The tower’s steel doors remained their focus. The Journeyman mounted his hay-colored Dairly and began trotting after Ladonna, Tythonnia, and Par-Salian at a respectable distance.

Dumas paced the office of the captain of the guards. Despite his imposing appearance, Hort sat back in his chair, resigned to being “guests” of the knights. Thus, he remained calm. They were not prisoners exactly, but neither were they entirely trusted to help the knights search. Had Dumas or the wizards not respected the Solamnics for their dedication to order, she and Hort might have already escaped. Such action, however, would have damaged an already tenuous relationship between the guardians of High Sorcery and the knightly orders. Still, sitting and waiting was almost too much to bear for Dumas. She needed to hunt the renegades down, to kill them. Only then would things be right again. She felt that with an odd certainty.

“They’ll slip past the guards,” Dumas grumbled.

“But not Thoma,” Hort said quietly. “We’re lucky these knights didn’t find him. If the renegades slip past, he’ll lead us to them. You’ll see.”

Dumas nodded. A fusillade of steps and the jostle of chain signaled the arrival of someone outside the captain’s office. The door burst open as a breathless female knight faced them. Hort rose in anticipation of action, and Dumas was also ready to move.

“Captain wants to see you,” the young knight said. “One of the steel doors opened on its own.”

Dumas’s jaw clenched. If the door opened, then the renegades were already gone, likely down the Westgate Pass. It was up to Thoma to keep pace with them until they could catch up.

Thoma kept his Blödegeld calm. It could smell the hunt and was hungry for the chase, but it would have to stay patient. Thoma could not handle three renegades alone, especially three of that proficiency. They were more skilled than they appeared, and that troubled the hunter. It wasn’t unheard of for wizards to go rogue, but rarely after the crucible of the test. The Test of High Sorcery was brutal beyond any measure of preparation, and it had a way of solidifying one’s ties with other wizards.

Renegade wizards of their skill weren’t unheard of, no, but to see three of them defect and travel in each other’s company … and from three different orders, much less? There were too many coincidences too ignore.

The fact that the three orders rarely interacted together?

The fact that three renegades happened to be in Solanthus at the last conclave, and chose then to defect?

The fact that instructions to give chase came so quickly?

The fact that they were told to kill the renegades, even though Highmage Astathan and Yasmine of the Delving would never condone the death of a renegade when conversion and redemption remained unexplored possibilities?

The fact that there was another mysterious rider on a Dairly following the three renegades?

No, it all seemed far too arranged, too pat. Something more was afoot, but to question the mission too deeply was to question Dumas herself. And Thoma trusted Dumas with his life, even when her story didn’t make sense. So he continued pursuing the three renegades and the man who followed them, hoping that by the time his compatriots caught up to him, he might have stumbled upon the right answers and the proper course of action.

Berthal brought up the rear of the column. Near one hundred people stretched out before him on the trail down the mountain: men, women, and children, many with magical skill or a belief in the cause. The sight of them made Berthal proud; they were willing to bleed and die for what they knew was right and true.

They were growing stronger every day, and there was rumor that another twenty followers were on their way to join them. It was growing harder to hide, though, and the Wizards of High Sorcery wouldn’t let his threat go unchallenged. They needed to prepare. It was with that realization that Berthal felt his heart grow heavier. He had to pull every favor he could from his spies in the orders. If there was ever a time he needed more help, it was at that moment. He had to choose his spies wisely and their tasks even more so.

Berthal paused and leaned on his thick staff. It gave enough to be comfortable, but never enough that he feared it might snap under his weight. He closed his eyes and filled his mind with Wyldling magic. His thoughts, like tentacles, raced out to locate the men and women awaiting word from him. He could sense their frustration, their anxiety.

Finally, his mind settled on four faces: two men and two women within the various orders, each strategically placed. Their attentions turned toward him, the link between them and Berthal was realized. Berthal thanked them for their willingness to sacrifice everything before he instructed each on what was to be done. Three of them were in no position to help at the moment. The fourth, an acolyte within the Order of the Black Robes, was ready to follow through on her instructions, however.