The Red Citadel and the Sorcerer's Power Read online

  The Red Citadel

  and the

  Sorcerer’s Power

  By Craig Halloran

  The Red Citadel

  and the Sorcerer’s Power

  By Craig Halloran

  Copyright © 2018 by Craig Halloran

  Amazon Edition

  TWO-TEN BOOK PRESS

  P.O. Box 4215, Charleston, WV 25364

  ISBN eBook: 978-1-946218-49-0

  ISBN Paperback: 978-1-720503-81-1

  ISBN Hardback: 978-1-946218-50-6

  www.craighalloran.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recorded, photocopied, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Publisher's Note

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  MAP OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS

  THE SORCERER’S CURSE – PART 1

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  THE SORCERER’S POWER – PART 2

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  THE SORCERER’S COMMAND - PART 3

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  THE SORCERER’S TRICK – PART 4

  CHAPTER 60

  CHAPTER 61

  CHAPTER 62

  CHAPTER 63

  CHAPTER 64

  CHAPTER 65

  CHAPTER 66

  CHAPTER 67

  CHAPTER 68

  CHAPTER 69

  CHAPTER 70

  CHAPTER 71

  CHAPTER 72

  CHAPTER 73

  CHAPTER 74

  CHAPTER 75

  CHAPTER 76

  CHAPTER 77

  CHAPTER 78

  THE SORCERER’S WAR – PART 5

  CHAPTER 79

  CHAPTER 80

  CHAPTER 81

  CHAPTER 82

  CHAPTER 83

  CHAPTER 84

  CHAPTER 85

  CHAPTER 86

  CHAPTER 87

  CHAPTER 88

  CHAPTER 89

  CHAPTER 90

  CHAPTER 91

  CHAPTER 92

  CHAPTER 93

  CHAPTER 94

  CHAPTER 95

  CHAPTER 96

  CHAPTER 97

  CHAPTER 98

  CHAPTER 99

  CHAPTER 100

  CHAPTER 101

  CHAPTER 102 (Epilogue)

  FROM THE AUTHOR

  OTHER BOOKS AND AUTHOR INFO

  MAP OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS

  THE SORCERER’S CURSE – PART 1

  CHAPTER 1

  Tarley’s Tavern sat high on the hill, up and away from the small town of Marcen. The rickety building had stood, braced against the highland winds, for hundreds of years. Over the course of history, some of the realm’s greatest heroes had passed through Tarley’s. Some guzzled ale, many told tall tales, and others sat quietly, wanting nothing more than to be left alone. More recently, the life within the tavern was of a more common sort. Rough-skinned farmers, ornery tradesmen, merchants, and restless men and women went there seeking a little excitement to alleviate the quiet of the farm town.

  The builders of the durable and weathered establishment were long gone, and new faces had taken their place over the years. Now, within the walls, the tavern’s current owner, Tuberlous, threw another log on the fire. The embers crackled, and a warm glow permeated the room. Nobody noticed. Instead, the dwellers drank, gambled, and cursed. The barmaids posed on the laps of lavishly clad merchants. Pipe smoke and the smell of cherry tobacco made for a dreamy atmosphere. Within the haze, the discreet sulked in the corners while others went on without an ounce of shame about their business. Every once in a while, joking, jesting, and wild, victorious cheers rang out.

  In the rear of the tavern, a lone spiral staircase led up to a balcony that overlooked the tavern floor. Stiff winds made the wooden rafters in the vaulted ceiling groan. The candlelit iron chandeliers quavered time and again. On that balcony, a man sat behind a small desk, pouring wine out of a clay carafe. He wore garish robes, with a large collar, that were long overdue for cleaning. The unique garb was laced with intricate patterns and lavish colors. His head was bald, face slender, gray-black eyebrows peaked. Every move he made was purposeful and fluid. His name was Finster. Long ago, he had been a magus of the highest order. Now, he drank. He drank a lot.

  A farmer entered the tavern with his cloth hat clutched in his hand. A cold breeze followed him, causing some unpleasant mutterings from the dwellers. With effort, he pushed the door shut, turned, and looked up. He caught Finster’s penetrating stare. Rolling his long fingers, Finster beckoned the man upward. Head down, the farmer shuffled through the crowd and slowly climbed up the stairs.

  “Oh, hurry up, will you?” Finster said in the voice of an impatient schoolmaster. “I haven’t got all night, commoner.” He looked over the rail. “No, wait a moment.”

  The farmer stopped.

  “Tuberlous!” Finster shouted down at the barkeeper. “Are you blind? I have a customer!”

  Tuberlous slid out from behind the bar with his belly bouncing underneath his greasy smock. He faced the farmer with his hand out. “That’ll be a copper, Varney.”

  The farmer handed the barkeep the coin and headed upstairs.

  “My rent is paid today!” Finster shouted to the barkeep. “Let that take the grief from your puffy lips.” The farmer walked along the balcony, glancing over the rail once before taking a seat on the wooden stool in front of Finster’s desk. Finster leaned forward. “Varney, is it?”

  The man nodded. His eyes attached to the bookshelf filled with many leather tomes, potions, vials, and other trinkets. His grubby hands wiped the sweat on his lip. “Hello.”

  “Aren’t you the chatty one? Hmmm, let me try to figure out what it is you need.” Closing his bright eyes, Finster touched the side of his oblong head. “Let’s see.
You need a special seed for your crops—ah, no, that’s not it. Oh, wait, I see it now—you need a special seed for your wife.” He opened his eyes. “Yes, your wife’s crops need fertilization. You have no sons to help you with labor. Lucky for you, I have just the thing for that.” He reached for his shelf.

  “No, that’s not it. I have sons. Many.” The farmer’s eyes slid to the people below them.

  Finster slapped the table. “No one is listening to you! Out with it, then. What do you need? Your secrets are safe with me. What we speak of is fully anonymous.” He hiccupped. “Excuse me. I have a strange illness.” He took a swig of wine. “Ah, I’m cured. Now, where were we?”

  “I need something to help me and, er, the wife, say, find the passion again?”

  “So I was on course.” Finster leaned forward with his elbow on the table. “Tell me, Varney, about this wife of yours. Is she ample?” He winked at the farmer. “You know, bosomy?”

  “I don’t see how that is helpful.”

  “It makes all the difference, farmer. Don’t you come up here and insult me about how to go about my business. Is she ample or not? Come now. I need details.”

  “She’s rather full chested.”

  Leaning back in his chair and toying with the hairs on his chin, Finster said, “Interesting. Very interesting, Varney, seeing how I know that your wife is as flat chested as a twelve-year-old boy. So you desire to fool around, eh? Well, it’s not my business.”

  “You said you’d be discreet.”

  “And I will be. If anyone inquires, just say you wanted my advice about the harvest. That’s what everyone says.” He reached into his shelves and grabbed a glass vial. “Ground mandrake, but remember, ‘Lust is blind but not your neighbors.’”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He slid the small bottle over the table. “This is what you want. It’ll be three silvers.”

  Varney’s dirty fingers picked at the inside of a small pouch. He slid over three coins.

  With his finger, Finster touched two of the three coins. They rose from the table. He stacked one coin on top of the other. “See? A little trick, for free, in case you doubted my powers as a wizard.”

  Varney tucked the vial in his sheepskin vest. “You’ll be discreet, right?”

  “And dare draw the wrath of a farmer like you? Of course I will.”

  Giving Finster a funny look, Varney got up and started to walk away.

  “Do you see that strapping young fellow down there at the bar? Brawny, with sandy locks.”

  “Yes, why?”

  “That’s Plowboy Roy, just so you know. So don’t be ashamed about your secret nuptials.”

  Varney shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

  “Young Roy has been plowing your wife’s fields for quite some time.”

  “You lie!”

  “No, she’s paid a visit to me as well. Perhaps it’s time that the two of you have a long, open, honest, and pathetic conversation.”

  Clutching his cap and with anguish building in his voice, Varney said, “Why did you have to tell me that? I thought you were discreet.”

  “Oh, yes. I forgot to mention—that costs extra.” He flicked a silver down toward the bar. It landed inside a glass with a clink. “Tuberlous! More wine! Lots of it.”

  Without warning, the front door of the tavern burst open. Many soldiers, well armed and dressed head to toe in leather armor, filed through the startled crowd. The hard eyes of the men scoured the room. One of them pointed up at Finster. He was a tall man in a dark leather tunic who stood out among the rest. Something sinister lurked in his dark eyes. He called up to Finster in a gravelly, authoritative voice, “You, sir, are a wanted man.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Hands on the rail, serene in expression, Finster replied, “I beg your pardon, Commander, but I believe you are mistaken. I’m not guilty of any crime that I am aware of. I’m a lone sage, a mere novice of elixirs working toward the betterment of the community and myself. Eh, perhaps you are searching for those grave robbers that have been trolling about. We’ve seen strange folk heading west, two days gone by now.”

  “Is that so?” The commander nodded to a pair of soldiers, who moved to the bottom of the spiral stairwell. He took off his chainmail gauntlets, dropped them on the table, and unrolled a scroll. He tilted his head, eyes squinting. “I have a drawing that fits your description. I’m certain it is you.”

  “I have very keen eyes,” Finster said, craning his neck. “May I see it?” The commander showed the picture. Finster’s brow lifted. It was an exact image of himself, take away a decade or two. “I don’t see the resemblance in the slightest. You’ve mistaken my identity.”

  “Is that so?” The commander showed the image to the barkeep. “What do you think, man?”

  Tuberlous’s crinkled brow burst into beads of sweat. His eyes flitted to Finster for a moment then back at the picture. He swallowed. “I can’t say for certain.”

  “See, you’re mistaken—common soldier—eh, what do you call yourself?”

  “Crawley. Commander Crawley of Mendes, the ruling kingdom. Pursuer of villains, liars, murderers, and the like.”

  “It’s so hard to tell one from another these days. As a matter of fact, many I’ve come across have borne a remarkable resemblance to you. Scruffy, rough-handed men that tend to spit a little too much when they talk.” He rubbed his throat. “No offense. Tuberlous! I’m getting dry again. Tell you what, Crawley. Will you let me buy you a drink?”

  Tuberlous poured a mug of ale from a keg tap. Crawley glared at him. The barkeep set the mug down, wiped his hands on the rag and said, “I think I smell something burning in the back.” He vanished through a small door behind the bar.

  “See what you’ve done, Crawfish, you’ve frightened the only bartender for leagues.” Finster slammed his hands on the rails. “Outrageous. Don’t you know how hard it is to train a man to pull a cork out of a bottle and not ruin the bouquet? But, I’ll forgive, and believe me when I say, I am not who you think I am. You’re mistaken.”

  “Lying is a crime,” Crawley said. “Resisting arrest is an offence. Bribery, well, that makes me really nasty.”

  “A man of passion. Good for you. Crawfish, can you tell me the name of the man you are looking for? Perhaps I can offer some assistance.” He tapped his chest and belched. “Pardon me. I see many new faces. I’ve a bit of a reputation. The other day, for example—”

  “Shut up, you old doddering crone!”

  One of the tavern dwellers tried to slip out. A soldier stuffed him back in his seat. Crawley unrolled another scroll with his meaty fingers. “You want a name? How does this sound? The Whistling Cauldron, Pine Bender, Master of the Inanimate, the Silver Snake, Guardian of the Mystic Forge, Iron Keeper, the Secret Slayer, Rodent of Whispers…”

  He lists many I’ve forgotten about. Those were the days. Young, powerful, deadly, and delightful. So amazing.

  “… the Metal Scourge, and finally, Finster the Magus of the Ninth Order.” Crawley rolled up the scroll. “Do you still deny that is you?”

  “Those are just legends. Old stories and tall tales that women tell their whiny children to get them to sleep after a meal.” He drummed his fingers on the railing. “Besides, I can’t imagine a man such as yourself trifling with the man whose legend you just described. It extends beyond the borders of reason.” Finster’s brows knitted ever so slightly. “That would be suicide.”

  The soldiers eyed their commander. Sharp steel scraped out of sheaths. Men cranked the lines back on their light crossbows and took aim at Finster.

  Without a blink, Crawley said, “Don’t underestimate a man you know little to nothing about, old magus. It could be fatal.”

  Finster saw the iron resolve in the commander’s eyes. Crawley wasn’t a foolish youth, but a veteran, with marks to show for it—a true fighter skilled at slaying, judging by the heavy steel on his hips and rank on his arms.

  Toying with his lips, t
he magus said, “I haven’t been to Mendes in decades. Do you care to tell me what I’m allegedly charged with?”

  “As of now, just treason.”

  “Treason? I stand accused in the low kingdom. Seems really thin. Treason can be fatal.”

  “There will be a trial.”

  “I’m well aware of how those trials go. They are death sentences ofttimes. I don’t have any intention of turning myself in. I’d be better off committing suicide.”

  “I don’t want you to do that. You’re wanted alive. Come on down, Finster. Make it easy. You never know what will happen. After all, you might be innocent, heh-heh.” Crawley stepped right beneath him. “I’ve been doing this a long time. Never failed to get the man, woman, or wizard I pursued. Don’t test me.”

  Impudent, curly-headed brute! How dare he? I’m a master—well, former master—of the ninth order! Finster gave the men in the room further study. Greasy and durable, this entourage from Mendes, if that was where they were really from, wasn’t your ordinary ilk. They were hunters, true killers who struck in the dark of the night. Cutthroats. Oh, how I hate men that can only use brawn rather than brains to negotiate. Weak-minded fools. I’ll turn their brains into pig food. “Crawley, I’m sorry to say that you’ve given me no choice other than to defend myself and my place of business.”

  Tuberlous returned. He dabbed his forehead with a rag and started rubbing the bar.

  “Look around, Finster. I’ve brought in my lot of wizards, lost some good men—well, some good, bad men—and trust me when I say I won’t have any problem with you. You’re washed up. Weak. Pathetic. Not even a reflection of the days of old. Don’t be a fool. Come to Mendes, and see what the judge has to say.”

  He’s lying. Why would Mendes want me? Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked at Crawley. “I can’t abandon my arcane abode. I like it here.”

  “It was hard enough to find your little alchemy stand. I’m not going back empty-handed.” Without taking his eyes off of Finster, he backed into the bar. With a tap of his hand, the barkeeper poured him an ale. He drank it then said, “You’d better come down here before I finish this.”

  “I suppose I can’t bring any belongings.”