Renegade Wizards (19 page)

“Pfeatherfall.”

Both Ladonna and Tythonnia gasped as they stepped from the edge of the shaft. There was a difference between an absolute faith in the arcane and the unspoken laws that ruled mind, body, and nature. Their hearts felt as though they dropped faster than the rest of them, but Par-Salian calmly held the hands of both of them during their long, lazy drop to the level below. Their feet touched the floor, and Par-Salian cast the second spell before either of them lost their nerve.

“Pfeatherfall.”

Again they meandered downward to the wood platform of
the ground. Tythonnia was unsteady on her feet, her knees wobbly and unable to take her weight. Ladonna, on the other hand, was laughing nervously, heady excitement and fear mixed together.

After needing a moment to recover, Tythonnia did her part.

“Tak’kelihatan.”

She turned Ladonna invisible with a touch, while Par-Salian mumbled the words to render himself unseen.

“Tak’kelihatan.”
Tythonnia repeated the spell and turned invisible as well. She strode down the north ramp and into the courtyard between the battlements and the tower. She walked up to the steel gates, up to the counterweight pull ring. No guards could be seen, either on the grounds or on the battlements. Likelier, she thought, the knights would be outside, or perhaps they thought they’d already escaped. Regardless, it was a small force of knights, not enough to maintain watch everywhere.

Tythonnia waited until she heard Ladonna and Par-Salian arrive next to her.

“Ready?” Par-Salian whispered.

They replied in the affirmative and put their combined weight into tugging on the pull ring. All they needed was a foot or two, enough to slip through. The gate, however, was heavy and required every bit of weight they could muster to budge it an inch. It creaked open, loud enough to sound like thunder. Another jump dragged the large iron ring down, and the double steel gates spread open a little wider.

“It’s enough,” Par-Salian said. “Go, go.”

They ran for the gate and peered through. They could see the mountain pass rising up on either side and the two knights staring nervously up the ramp. Tythonnia tried to slip through, as it was agreed that she would be the first, and was almost stuck in the pinch of the door. She tried not to grunt as someone pushed her through; her flesh stung, but
she was grateful for the escape. She could hear the rustle of cloth as Par-Salian or Ladonna came through next.

Thankfully, the two knights were just far enough away to hear nothing. Instead, they eyed the double gate warily until the brown-haired, walrus-mustached Solamnic said, “Summon the captain and them hunters. I’ll stay ’ere and make sure nothin’ gets through.”

The other knight nodded and ran to the keep just as a couple more knights were running up to the ramp.

“Hurry,” Par-Salian said with a hiss of a whisper.

Carefully, quickly, Tythonnia moved down the ramp on an arc away from the knight who was pointing his sword at the door. She held Ladonna’s hand lightly, enough to guide them along and stay in contact.

“Come on then, Mr. Door,” the knight said nervously. “No need to be opening like that on yer own. Just ain’t natural. How about ya close yerself up again and we can go on then, nice and peaceful, eh? No fuss.”

Down the ramp and onto the soft, lush green of the plains, Tythonnia was grateful to put the tower behind her. That side of the pass was empty of caravans and camps, though the grass was flattened in places. Since the knights were behind them, Tythonnia moved faster. After another moment, they were along the mountain walls of the Westgate Pass and behind a fold in the skirt of the cliff. They were out of sight of the keep and in near darkness.

Three times, Tythonnia grasped a tuft of horse hair, her hands moving into interlocking gestures and mouthing the words,
“Stahaliun emersa.”

Three times, the script of rune vanished from her thoughts, like a word almost remembered and out of tongue’s reach. Three times, the air shimmered dimly as a brown horse fifteen hands high with golden eyes and a mane the color of the darkness between stars seemed to emerge from somewhere unseen. The horses were equipped with bit and bridle, their
bodies lean and made for the run. Par-Salian, Tythonnia, and Ladonna quickly mounted their steeds.

All but Ladonna were happy to put the Tower behind them. She cast a wistful glance back, a wish unspoken to return someday and explore the tower at her leisure.

Tower’s Epilogue

T
he 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.