Wizard's Stone

By Kenneth McDonald

Valen Wolvren has done well for himself. At twenty-five he has everything he wants: wealth, love, and the prestige of leading one of the most famous mercenary companies on the continent. That prestige is only likely to grow as Valen’s Wolves return from the North having defeated a notorious warlord and the wizard behind his bid for power.

But Valen’s life is about to become much more complicated. The young mercenary lord is about to find out that magic, especially the corrupting potency of soul magic practiced by the late wizard Marzul, can remain deadly and strike out from beyond the grave. To finish the job of defeating this foe Valen must travel to the one place where he swore he would never return—his home city of Nal Vedaris. There he learns that fame and skill alone are not enough to overcome an artifact with the power to turn friend against friend and sow chaos and destruction in its wake.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenneth McDonald
• Release date: May 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310865114

Kenneth McDonald

I am a retired education consultant who worked for state government in the area of curriculum. I have also taught American and world history at a number of colleges and universities in California, Georgia, and South Carolina. I started writing fiction in graduate school and never stopped. In 2010 I self-published the novella "The Labyrinth," which has had over 100,000 downloads. Since then, I have published more than fifty fantasy and science fiction books on Smashwords. My doctorate is in European history, and I live with my wife in northern California.

Book preview

Wizard’s Stone

Book Three in the Soul Weapons Series

Kenneth McDonald

[e-mail]

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 by Kenneth McDonald

Cover Credit: The cover image is adapted from the painting Storm in the Mountains by Albert Bierstadt (~1870). The image is in the public domain.

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Works by Kenneth McDonald

The Ogre at the Crossroads

Powerless

Soul Weapons

Wizard’s Shield

Soul of the Sword

Wizard’s Stone

The Colors of Fate

Black Shadows Gather

Green Hearts Weep

Red Vengeance Rising

Faded Yellow Dreams

Blazing White Stars

Shiny Golden Schemes

The Mages of Sacreth

The Labyrinth

Of Spells and Demons

Grimm’s War

Grimm’s Loss

Grimm’s Love

The Godswar Trilogy

Paths of the Chosen

Choice of the Fallen

Fall of Creation

Daran’s Journey

Heart of a Hero

Soul of a Coward

Will of a Warrior

Courage of a Champion

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Chapter 1

Valen Wolvren was in a fine mood as he made his way through the crowded streets of Tamorin. The northern city was in the grip of a winter that had arrived early, but the young mercenary was not daunted by the cold gusts of wind or the mud that slicked the cobbled streets. The people he passed wore heavy coats or fur-lined cloaks that they pulled close around their bodies against the chill. Valen himself wore only a light coat over his shirt of mail links, and the wind kept tugging at his cloak, causing it to spill out into the air behind him. But he hardly felt the cold.

He was twenty-five years old, at his physical peak, independent and reasonably wealthy.

And in love.

Tamorin was a city of about twenty thousand, small by the standards of the more temperate regions to the south where the old Empire had had it core. But by the standards of the North, its sparsely-settled neighbor where no king or duke or baron held sway, it was the height of civilization. The city was a collection of dark tones and dirt. Its streets were lined with hard-scrabble buildings that looked like they had been hastily built. It had a population to match, men and women and even children who were dour and serious. But to Valen’s eyes he could only compare the bustle and activity that surrounded him, even on such a cold and dreary day, to the roughness and isolation of the North. He had just returned from a rough stretch of nearly a month spent in those lands, a vast expanse that locals here called simply, beyond the river. It had been a difficult journey for the Wolves, though they’d completed their mission successfully. They had sundered the bandit army of the warlord Halen Ganzer and his allies and collected their pay from Lord Alember for a job well and thoroughly done. The whole business had ended up being a bit more complex than they’d expected, but even when they’d found themselves confronting a hostile wizard and a strange magical artifact they’d managed to win through.

The streets got a bit cleaner and the buildings fancier as Valen made his way into the Market District. The dark outline of the Ebon Gate rose up in the distance, briefly visible as he crossed a broad avenue. He had to dodge several wagons that seemed inclined to simply run over anyone who didn’t get out of the way, but in his current mood he only offered a grin and a wave instead of the curses that the drivers might have earned in other circumstances. Those few that took notice of him at all saw only a lean but muscled figure, the bulge of armor clearly visible under his coat, a sword and dagger with well-worn hilts riding on his hips. His green eyes could be penetrating when he wanted them to be, but they were always animated and alert, scanning for threats out of reflex. His beard was neatly trimmed, and his hair was just long enough to be a bit rakish in style. His only other ornament was a small silver pin in the shape of a wolf’s head, though he wore it on his coat rather than on his cloak where it might have attracted more attention. Valen wasn’t one to seek out attention, but in Tamorin he was well known, especially in the Market District. More than one person that he passed nodded in greeting or tapped his hat in a gesture of respect.

Valen Wolvren was the Lord Wolf, and he was in a good mood.

He noticed a distinctive figure waiting for him on the far corner. Ianos was hard to miss even if one didn’t consider the distinctive gray robe that he wore. He was almost twice Valen’s age, and while he lacked the calm intensity of the Wolf the soul priest nevertheless carried his own aura of collected presence.

Ianos, Valen said by way of greeting. The priest fell in beside the young warrior as he made his way down the street, each subtly adjusting his stride to accommodate the other. Glad to see you back. How goes things at the monastery?

Quiet and unchanged, as ever. It was good to have some time… to collect myself.

Valen nodded in understanding. It had been a couple of rough weeks in the North, especially for Ianos. Soul priests’ gifts were a curse as well as a boon, and while Valen was still sometimes troubled by the violence that came with his chosen path in life, it impacted Ianos in an entirely different and far more intense manner. He also knew that soul priests found cities unpleasant. Their sensitivity to the thoughts and emotions of others made conglomerations of people like Tamorin an exercise in intensity.

Funny you happening to find me, Valen said.

You’re hard to miss, the priest replied. You glow like a bonfire. Everything going well with Kerinn, I assume?

Well enough, Valen said, but his attempt to be coy failed as a wide grin split his face.

Good for you, Ianos said. And Rolan and Surah?

They’re well. Relaxing. As much as Surah ever relaxes, that is. They’ve been enjoying the hospitality of the Reveler and spending Lord Alember’s money.

Money that they earned.

Naturally. Though we can’t all be as generous with our funds as you, my friend. How many orphanages have you built, now?

You exaggerate.

Not by much. I’m not the only Wolf with a reputation.

Ianos smiled, but he quickly grew serious. Has there been any more news from the Collegium about Marzul’s records?

Valen’s expression soured at the mention of the wizard’s name. The man had almost cost several of them their lives before they’d finally taken him down. Kerinn is actually meeting with them again today. They’ve been taking their time in their investigation, you know how wizards are. What about your own superiors?

They are concerned. These ‘soul weapons’ that he created… they are an abomination, Valen. If there are more of them out in the world…

You don’t have to convince me. But now it’s somebody else’s problem. We took Marzul out, somebody else can clean up the mess he left behind.

Ianos grunted something noncommittal. They turned onto a side street and the familiar outline of the Wanton Reveler, the sprawling two-story inn that hosted the Wolves when they stayed in Tamorin, came into view ahead. The street was lined with shops that matched the quality of the inn, and well-dressed pedestrians were visible everywhere, conducting the commerce that was the soul of any city.

No, Valen thought, pausing a moment to scan the crowd. It was the people that were the soul of a city, giving it its unique feel. He’d visited dozens of them since he’d taken over the Wolves, and each felt different. He hadn’t been back to his home city of Nal Vedaris in years but he still compared each new destination to that reference point. Tamorin was like an adventurous cousin, not truly dangerous but with a bit of an edge. It still liked to think of itself as a frontier city, but having just come back from the real frontier Valen couldn’t quite describe it in those terms.

Ianos, standing beside him, probably felt the soul of the city in a different, more direct way, Valen thought. Do you have another job lined up yet? the priest asked.

No, Valen said. The question surprised him; it was his habit to have something in the works whenever a job came to an end, to establish a transition from one mission to the next, from one city to another. He didn’t much like the sensation of drifting, of not having a focus or a sense of purpose to guide his actions.

And yet that’s exactly what he’d been doing these last few weeks.

Life doesn’t always have to be constant crisis and action, Ianos said.

They were crossing the street toward the front of the inn when the soul priest abruptly stopped and raised a hand to his forehead. Valen looked over and saw him grimacing, and dropped a hand to the hilt of his sword. What is it? he asked, already scanning the crowd for any sign of danger.

But the priest didn’t get a chance to respond. The mystery was resolved a moment later as one of the expensive plate-glass windows of the Reveler exploded outward and a bruised and bloody figure flew through a storm of shards to land heavily on the cobbled street. His face was a gory mess, and he stumbled as he tried to get up, groaning something incoherent. From above him the familiar sounds of a tavern brawl issued from the now-empty window.

The two Wolves were already moving. By unspoken agreement Ianos went to tend the injured man while Valen ran to the front door and went inside.

The common room of the Reveler was a familiar sanctuary. This was no low tavern with wooden benches and stained tables over a sawdust-covered floor. Ombert ran one of the fanciest places in Tamorin, an inn that rivaled some of the best in the bigger southern cities. But the place was rapidly becoming a wreck.

The fight was centered on the space in front of the bar, itself a magnificent slab of mahogany that almost seemed to glow from the polish applied to its surface. Most of the customers were trying to flee rather than trying to join the fight, and as Valen stood in the entry several of them ran past him out the door. They were dressed several levels up from his own quality clothes, and more than a few rings, necklaces, and other jewels sparkled as the bystanders beat their hasty retreat.

The battle taking place in the room was utterly incongruous in those surroundings, but the combatants were absolutely familiar. Rolan and Surah were being pressed by several armored men who wore matching brown coats with narrow yellow stripes stitched into the arms. Nobody had drawn any of the numerous weapons they carried, so this was clearly a friendly brawl, but it clearly wasn’t going to end until one side was like the man who’d gone through the window. Even as he watched another man went down as Surah slammed a kneecap into his gut, following that with a cross to the head that drove him mercilessly to the ground.

The woman archer stood a full head taller than Rolan, who was almost completely obscured behind the men who were trying to bear him down. Valen might have been worried if it had been anyone else, but he knew how hard it was to take down the Dwarf. Even as the thought flashed through his head one of the attackers was lifted into the air; he flipped over before coming down solidly onto one of Ombert’s tables. The table, fortunately, was durable enough that it merely shuddered rather than collapsing like normal furniture, but several pieces of no-doubt expensive stemware went flying, crashing as they struck the hardwood floor.

One of the soldiers with the yellow sleeves stumbled back out of the fight, blood smeared along one side of his jaw. He focused on another table and grabbed a bottle there. Valen didn’t have to see the label to know it was probably a vintage that cost as much as the soldier’s monthly salary. He sighed and stepped forward, grabbing the man’s arm before he could launch his missile at one of the embattled Wolves. The soldier’s eyes widened in recognition, and he immediately swept his other arm around in a wild attack.

Valen intercepted the strike with his forearm, and released his grip on the soldier to deliver a jab to his face that cracked his nose and knocked him back into the table. The blow wasn’t a knockout strike, but Valen didn’t give him a chance to recover. The soldier tried to hit him with the bottle as he came in to finish him, but the Wolf snapped his head aside and the missile narrowly missed him. He felt a flash of regret as he heard it shatter behind him—it had been more than half-full—and took it out on his opponent as he delivered a solid cross to the jaw that knocked the man sprawling against the table until he slid down into a heap on the floor.

A loud crash filled the room as one of the combatants—Valen couldn’t make out exactly who in the melee—smashed a chair against the forward edge of the bar. Fragments of it made it over and led to several subsidiary explosions as bottles of liquor were dislodged from their shelves to shatter on the floor. Surah staggered back, blood visible from a split lip. A man followed after her, but before he could hit her again a body flew into him, knocking both men to the floor. They rose quickly, obviously with plenty of fight left in them. They were joined by a third companion who picked up another chair. Rolan, himself bleeding from a small gash across his brow, reached over to help steady Surah, but she pushed him off and with a snarl turned back to face their opponents. Well, you bitches, is that all you got?

The soldiers in the yellow-striped jackets charged. Valen rushed forward to join the melee.

He didn’t realize that he was grinning like a madman.

* * * * *

Chapter 2

Kerinn was not thinking about romantic attachments as she sat in the wood-paneled waiting room in the chapterhouse of the Collegium in Tamorin. The place was not suited to such distractions, even leaving aside the nervousness that always accompanied a visit of this sort. She had been interviewed several times by one of the elders in charge here, an old acquaintance named Laurens who she’d first met briefly during her days at the Academy. Days that were not so long ago, she thought. She sometimes had to remind herself that she was a full wizard, that she’d passed the Collegium’s tests and earned her place within that brotherhood.

The term made her lips twitch slightly. Things were changing, slowly. She herself was proof of that, but the reality was that the Collegium’s membership still tended male, with perhaps eight of ten of its accredited wizards being of that gender. She had deplored the political side of her chosen profession right from the start, but she was coming to realize that there was no separating it from the rest. From everything else it meant to be one of the few who commanded the power of magic.

Her eyes flicked to the window. It was a solid pane of glass fringed by soft velvet curtains. The view was spectacular. Tamorin was spread out before her, set off beautifully by the hills behind and the mountains in the distance, the latter already crusted with caps of white. The chapterhouse was four stories tall, and of course the anteroom where she waited was at the top. Important things gravitated upward for some reason, that seemed to be a fundamental rule. She thought back to the stir at the Academy when Dean Lang had ordered his office moved to the bottom floor of the Old Tower, where he could get to it without having to climb endless steps or use the rickety old lift. The memory brought a smile to her face.

The smile evaporated instantly as the other door, the door, opened. It was Jelen, Laurens’s assistant and a well-regarded wizard in his own right. They’re ready for you, he said.

Kerinn rose, unconsciously smoothing the front of her robe before she followed him.

The inner office was unexpectedly large, almost like a small auditorium, complete to a raised dais that extended along most of the far wall. Laurens was not at his desk, instead seated on a couch at one end of that dais, a look of focused concentration on his face.

The reason for his intensity was immediately obvious. Kerinn blinked with surprise as she recognized the two translucent figures whose outlines were projected within the hollow radiance of the imaging stone. She’d seen this magic used before—most recently in the tower of the rogue wizard Marzul—but hadn’t expected to see it employed here. She hadn’t even known that the chapterhouse here even had a stone.

Wizard Kerinn, one of the projections said, drawing her attention back into the moment. She shuffled forward quickly, bowing in the ritual greeting. Wizard Chesson, she said to the wizard who had spoken. Wizard Shou.

Both wizards nodded in acknowledgement, and Kerinn quickly came forward to take the backless chair that was set out for her at the edge of the imaging stone’s aura. Jelen closed the door behind her but remained in front of it, taking up a warding position as if to keep her from trying to flee. Kerinn’s skin tingled slightly as the magic brushed it, and she closed her eyes briefly as the room around her grew briefly fuzzy. When she opened them again the two wizards had taken on more distinction; now it was Laurens’s office that was vague.

Women might be a minority within the Collegium, but Kerinn couldn’t think of any wizard who could challenge Chesson in a contest of gravitas. There were some who said she was over a hundred years old; not to her face, of course. Her skin hung in