Chapter 1

"First-degree wizards wear bright green cloaks. As he rises from first-degree to seventh, the color of his cloak changes to reflect his rank — green, auburn, blue, amber, cyan, lavender and yellow. A wizard who reaches the highest rank, eighth-degree, wears orange, white or red." (*)

— Nightfire, The Magical Tradition of Marrishland

Eda Stormgul walked the broken stone streets of Domus Palus, the capital and largest city of Marrishland. Swamp grass grew from cracks in the street, and to one side, a tree had managed to split the foundation of a building.

Even in the midst of high civilization, she mused, the swamp encroaches.

The wizard wore thigh high leather boots and pants tucked in at the top. Her shirt clung to her body in the summer heat, not made any cooler by the leather utility vest covering it or the thick cyan-colored cloak she wore. Heavy leather gloves hung from her belt, and the hilt and shorter blade of a marsord peeked through a slot in her cloak just above the knee.

Centuries old, crumbling stone buildings leaned in around her and the rest of her patrol. Eight lesser wizards followed her in loose formation, two cloaked in auburn and six in bright green. None of them carried a marsord, the rare, two-bladed weapon of the either very rich or very powerful. Eda counted herself among the former. She had no delusions about her power.

Overhead, stars littered the moonless. They were the souls of the greatest heroes, so her father used to tell her, guiding the Mar in death as they had in life. Most of the wizards living in Domus Palus, regarded it as superstitious nonsense only taken seriously by rural mundanes, but Eda believed it anyway.

Just as I believe Mar do not kill Mar?

The gaze of the stars felt accusing, now. Her boot caught on a crooked cobblestone, and she stumbled in the darkness. One of the green-cloaked wizards caught her before she fell. She thanked him and turned her attention from the stars to the path ahead.

A flash of white light, like a sudden flower opening, filled the square. Shielding their eyes, the wizards scattered.

This is what we have waited for, Eda thought, drawing her marsord as a form materialized. It was an effort to keep her hands from shaking.

A man crouched on the ground in the center of the square, his white cloak tight around him. His head was lowered as he recovered from teleportation sickness.

Eda gave a nod to her wizards, who each quickly drew a bottle of brown liquid and drank a sip. She poured a few drops of the bitter liquid down her throat and blinked her eyes a few times as the torutsen took effect.

All around, a sea of colored motes appeared — green, blue, auburn, amber, cyan, lavender, yellow and red — drifting lazily across the square like motes of dust caught in the sun. Near the wizards, it whirled as they gathered it with silent will. This was the myst, the source of magic, and though Eda knew it was always there, only torutsen allowed them to see it like this.

The man rose to his feet before she was ready, but some of the quicker greens sent brief sparks of fire to singe his clothing. As the auburns hollered for a direct attack, Eda shook her head.

He recovered too quickly, she thought, raising her marsord.

The first real flame erupted from the stone near the man and immediately went out. Other torches exploded against a shield he threw up absently even as he expanded the circle of white light surrounding him.

Eda joined the attack, attempting to use her rudimentary knowledge of counterspells to tear away his defenses.

The explosions and the steam drew six more auburns and two more greens. They were seventeen against one as the new wizards created a cocoon to entrap the man. He disappeared in a cloud of smoke and flame.

They pressed him until the first greens tired and broke off. Eda stepped away from the cocoon. The reinforcements would take care of the rest. She ordered her patrol to fall back.

"He must have suffocated by now," one of them said.

She nodded grimly.

At least his blood is not on my head.

"Where is that light coming from?" a green whispered.

The white light had not faltered.

"Back!" she shouted to the auburns.

Too late. A circle of green flame exploded from the cocoon, engulfing the six in a wall of fire that stopped just short of Eda and her patrol.

When her vision cleared, the man was already moving toward her with incredible speed.

He parried her first strike with his arm as the greens in the square picked at his back with sparks and rashes — all the attacks they could manage, right now. Eda didn't get to see what happened next because the man's fist connected with her jaw, knocking her back onto the uneven stones.

By the time she lifted her head, he had already turned, her marsord in his hand — one white-garbed wizard against ten greens, now howling as they charged with knives. He lowered the marsord and raised his left hand as though such an act would stop them.

She shouted at them to stop, but they couldn't hear her.

The wall of flame they ran through was white hot and feet thick. Their screams turned from rage to agony, and they writhed on the ground.

She reached for the myst through a wall of lavender motes that appeared before her. The motes of green and blue passed through the barrier in an insignificant trickle. The white pressed her marsord pressed against her throat.

"Do you yield?" he demanded, his clean-shaven face vaguely familiar. His head whipped up as someone groaned in the square.

She swallowed. "Yes."

He glanced at her two auburns, who were healing the wounded. In a few more minutes, someone might be able to fight.

"Tell your comrades to do the same."

"Obey him," Eda called to them.

The auburns nodded and continued their healing.

He helped her to her feet and handed her back her marsord as though giving a bowl of soup to a guest. Then he helped the auburns heal the injured. She followed him. Fire seldom burned deep, and Mar magic was best at healing surface wounds. Two of the greens had died, their faces seared to the bone below. She turned away from the spectacle.

"What is your name?" he asked her when they had finished. "And what do you mean, attacking a fellow Mar?"

She cleared her throat and met his green eyes.

"Eda Stormgul," she said. "The Mardux has ordered us to kill all eighth-degree wizards entering Domus Palus, until his power has been secured." (*)

"Who is the Mardux?" His eyes were distant, calculating.

"Weard Ozur Betrun held the Chair this morning, though others may have challenged him and won. We have been too busy to watch the duels. It is a large city to patrol."

His head turned, his green eyes meeting hers but not seeing her.

"What happened to Mardux Rorik Beurtlin?"

"He died shortly after dawn. The rumor says his wife did it. She assumed the Chair, but Ozur Betrun challenged her and won. Then he gave us the orders."

The eyes came back into focus, soft and understanding.

"Your liege has wronged you and your comrades, Weard Stormgul," he said in a gentle voice. "He sought to eliminate his rivals unfairly and risked your lives unnecessarily."

His voice hardened. "There will be no more random magical battles in Domus Palus,, Weard Stormgul. You are to order all those of your rank or less to disregard any further such commands, be they from another wizard or from the Chair itself. Such directions are in violation of the spirit of Bera's Unwritten Laws."

Eda stared at the man as though for the first time. "You wear the white! You must be from Nightfire's Academy."

"I am indeed a graduate from Nightfire's Academy, but not all who wear the white are Nightfire's students."

"I will obey you, Weard ...?"

"Takraf. Weard Sven Takraf."

"Weard Sven Takraf. I, too, studied at Nightfire's Academy."

He lowered his eyes. "I remember you from Rustiford," he said softly.

She nodded.

"There is too much to be done."

"Remember me when you have finished."

"I will."

SYNOPSIS  |  CHAPTER 1  |  CHAPTER 2  |  CHAPTER 3

Copyright 2005-2007 Eric Zawadzki and Matthew Schick. All Rights Reserved.
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