Tournament of Witches Read online

  Tournament of Witches

  Jack Massa

  Published by

  Triskelion Books

  http://www.triskelionbooks.com

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual sorcerers, pirates, or witches, is purely coincidental.

  Tournament of Witches

  Copyright © 2020 by Jack Massa

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any means now known or hereinafter invented, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  EBook published July 2020.

  Cover Design by Shaun Stevens, https://www.flintlockcovers.com/

  Table of Contents

  Preface

  Part One On the South Polar Sea

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Part Two To Randoon of the Onyx Gates

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Part Three In Minhang the Beautiful

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Part Four At the Tournament of Witches

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Epilogue Before the Tournament of Warriors

  Glimnodd Calendar, Map, and Glossary

  Author’s Note

  Preface

  Tournament of Witches is Book 3 of The Glimnodd Cycle. It continues the story begun in Cloak of the Two Winds and continued in A Mirror Against All Mishap. The author has attempted to provide enough of the backstory in the opening chapters that you can begin reading here with pleasure. For information on the world of Glimnodd, including a Glossary and access to a map, see the Afterword.

  Cast of Characters

  Amlina - Wandering witch from Larthang, a nation of great witches. Victorious in acquiring the Cloak of the Two Winds, now seeking to recover from what the adventure cost her.

  Eben - One of Amlina’s Iruk warriors, sharp-witted and mercurial, with a certain poetical bent. Squandering his loot on a life of ease; enjoying it less and less.

  Eben’s mates, members of his klarn:

  Glyssa (f), brave and loving. Trained by Amlina in the magical arts.

  Lonn (m), the klarn leader, strong, passionate, stoical. In love with Glyssa.

  Draven (m), Lonn’s cousin, brave and optimistic. In love with Amlina.

  Karrol (f), brawny, decisive, outspoken. No longer sure where she belongs.

  Brinda (f), Karrol’s sister, quiet and reserved.

  Kizier - Scholar and friend to Amlina. Ruminating over his past life as a sentient sea-fern.

  Buroof - A talking book, once a human. Three thousand years old and full of knowledge.

  Beryl Quan de Lang - Amlina’s great enemy. Now a ghost that haunts her.

  Belach - Iruk shaman and sometime mentor to Glyssa.

  Witches of Larthang

  Drusdegarde - Archimage of the West. Supreme witch of the Golden Land.

  Trippany - Bee-winged lady of the drell people. Envoy from the Archimage.

  Clorodice, Keeper of the Keys - Powerful and strict. Adherent of the austere Thread of Virtue faction.

  Arkasha - Clorodice’s subaltern and member of her circle.

  Elani Vo T’ang - Clorodice’s favored apprentice.

  Melevarry, Mage of Randoon -Chief witch of the port city.

  The Seven Witches in the Tournament and their Sponsors

  Amlina, sponsored by Melevarry.

  Elani Vo T’ang, sponsored by Clorodice.

  Shen Tra Lo, sponsored by Kanshi, Keeper of the Forge.

  Von Lui-Tong, sponsored by the Mage of Long Mountain.

  Tolanga of Gon Fu, sponsored by Wicksa, Keeper of Swords.

  Liska Quenn sponsored by the Mage of Hanjapore.

  Ulleena Tuvari, sponsored by Crandora, Keeper of the Books.

  Larthangan Military and Court

  Duke Trem-Dou-Pheng - Supreme Commander of the Larthangan Forces. Leader of the militarist faction, the Iron Bloc.

  Shay-Ni Pheng - Admiral of the Larthangan Navy and the Duke’s nephew. Unhappy with his current assignment.

  The Tuan (Me Lo Lee) - Supreme Ruler of Larthang. A nine-year-old boy with access to the memories and knowledge of his 154 dynastic predecessors.

  Prince Spegis Besu Keli - drell ambassador to the Court. Cousin to Trippany.

  Ting Fo - gentleman tutor and interpreter for the Iruks at the Court.

  Part One

  On the

  South Polar Sea

  One

  Cold wind tickled his eyelids. Eben blinked, painfully waking. Squinting into the gray dawn, he recognized the worn brick wall of an alley, smeared with frost. Rime and icy winds were normal enough in Fleevanport at the end of Third Winter. Waking from a drunken sleep in an alley was also, regrettably, typical for him these days.

  Not typical was the sparkling woman floating over him in the air, her vibrating insect-wings blowing a cold breeze on his face. Eben shut his eyes and rubbed the back of his head. At least the drunken dreams were growing more interesting. Groaning, he reached inside his fur over shirt, fingers groping for his purse.

  Gone. Robbed again, no doubt by some doxy he had stupidly followed from a tavern. How often had he fallen for that ploy these past two seasons—roaming the waterfront, drinking too much, squandering his hard-won loot? At least this time the thief had left his fur cape and hunting knife.

  Persistent humming made him open his eyes. Startled, he sat up and squinted hard.

  The gleaming lady still hung in the air, her wings a blur. Her slim body was dressed in gauzy garments that could have offered little protection from the cold. Black hair, bound by a gemmed silver band, a slim and angular face, coppery complexion, eyes that turned up at the corners—eyes like black onyx beads watching him.

  Vision or real, Eben thought her the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

  She floated down, dainty belled slippers settling on the cobblestone. Bending to peer at his face, she spoke in halting Low-Tathian.

  “You are … all right?”

  Stiff and aching, Eben struggled to his feet. He was small for an Iruk warrior. Even so, the top of the lady’s head just reached the level of his chin. He examined her wings, still now, blue-veined, translucent, rounded like bee wings sprouting from her back.

  “Oh, I am all right,” he said. “And how are you?”

  She smiled, revealing white pointy teeth.

  “And what are you?” he added.

  The wings fluttered and she rose into the air, stopping when her eyes were level with his.

  “I am named Trippany. Are you an Iruk?”

  “That is so, my pretty flying girl. But from what nation do you hail? For, assuming you are real and not some phantasm, I have never seen the like of you.”

  Her tone grew solemn an
d proud, the words coming like a speech she had rehearsed. “I am an envoy from the House of the Deepmind in Larthang.”

  That might make sense. Larthang was far away and strange, known as a land of great witches. Who could say they had not bred such creatures as this by their arts?

  “That is odd,” he said. “You do not look Larthangan.”

  Her mouth quirked in a half-smile. “My people are the drell. You know … how Larthangans look then?”

  Suddenly Eben realized this was leading into dangerous territory. He rubbed the back of his head. “Well, of course. Their trading ships sometimes sail these waters.”

  The lady seemed to sense his secretiveness—and was having none of it. “I seek the Cloak of the Two Winds,” she stated. “Do you know where it can be found?”

  Eben tilted back. He forced himself to show a puzzled frown. “Why no … How should I know such a thing?”

  Of course, he did know. The Cloak was in the possession of the witch Amlina. She, along with three of Eben’s former mates, lived in hiding at a farmstead in the hills half a day’s journey from here.

  The lady floated a bit higher, glaring down at him now. He hoped she could not read his thoughts

  “I’ve heard tales of it,” Eben muttered casually. “A great thing of magic, is it not? Stories have reached this port that it was stolen some time back, taken from some mighty witch who was slain in the battle.”

  “Tales also reached Larthang,” the bee-lady said. “Some of them say the Cloak was stolen by a witch of Larthang, in league with warriors of the Iruk folk. Some tell how that same witch used the Cloak to scatter a Tathian fleet … at an island called Alone.”

  Eben shrugged, wondering if he should reach for his knife. He would hate to harm this lovely creature—but he was sworn not to reveal Amlina’s hideout. “You seem to know more about it than I do.”

  “I am not so sure.” The lady peered hard into his eyes. “You are Iruk. And you were heard boasting in a tavern last night that you had once seen a whole Tathian fleet blown away by magic.”

  Casually as he could, Eben slipped his hand toward the knife handle. “I don’t remember saying that. To be honest, I’ve been told I can be a terrible liar when I’ve had too much to drink.”

  She eyed his hand on the knife hilt. “I see. Perhaps also you lie at other times?” She flew higher, floating out of reach. “So then, you cannot help me find the Cloak?”

  “I fear not.”

  “You … disappoint me. But I shall keep looking.”

  The angle of her wings changed, and she looped higher into the air. Light flashed, and Eben thrust up an arm to shield his eyes. When he looked again, the lady was gone.

  Eben wiped his forehead and heaved a deep breath. He glanced suspiciously up and down the alley.

  Had the winged lady been real? Certainly, the conversation was too prolonged for a simple drunken dream. But perhaps she was a vision, sent by some sorcerer or witch to interrogate him? Amlina had predicted that many deepshapers would seek the Cloak of the Two Winds once it became known that it was loose in the world. Eben vowed to be careful.

  He really should avoid so much drinking.

  

  Streams of light and shadow—some drifting slowly, others pouring in torrents, crashing in waves, spinning into whirlpools—so, in her meditation, Amlina the witch perceived the currents of the Deepmind, the realm below the surface of appearances.

  In her immediate vicinity she perceived dense curtains of power, sparkling on one side, utterly dark on the other. But the curtains were separating, rips appearing in their fabric.

  Once again, her concealments were coming undone.

  Daily now, they grew flimsier, harder to maintain. Of course, she had known this must happen sooner or later. One could not hide a source of power so great as the Cloak forever—no matter how carefully the designs of concealment were woven, no matter how much energy fed those designs.

  Amlina’s hands rose from her lap, fingers pointing and circling as her mind summoned power to repair the barriers. But even as she envisioned the fabric mending, the tattered weave thickening again, pain burned in her heart and throbbed behind her eyes.

  Too much power.

  That, of course, was her real problem—the dark power that seethed in her body, growing stronger, more insistent, no matter what measures she took to disperse it, to bleed it away.

  Bleed it away.

  Amlina opened her eyes, staring at the red lamps arranged around the room, the feathered desmets and glittering balls that hung suspended on threads. She sat cross-legged in her closet-bed, alone.

  Below the floor, she could faintly hear her friends in the great room downstairs—talking, the clatter of pots and dishes as they prepared breakfast. Draven, Glyssa, Lonn, Kizier—friends who had become her family. This farmhouse in the hills south of Fleevanport was such a peaceful place, belying the turmoil of the outer world, the fear and chaos that had filled Amlina’s life for so long—chaos that was closing in on her again.

  Half a year had passed since their arrival. At the start of First Winter they had sailed into the harbor of Fleevanport, their Gwales raiding ship a unique sight in these parts. That and the unusual crew had been more than enough to attract attention—scrutiny Amlina did her best to fend off with witchery. As soon as possible, they used some of their treasure to purchase this house in the hill country south of the town. Originally built as a hunting lodge by a Tathian merchant, it had become a farmstead and passed through the hands of several owners who tried breeding sheep and woolgoats—a difficult proposition in the frigid climate. Set on a wooded hill overlooking an inlet of the sea, the place made a perfect hideout for a renegade witch and her pirate companions.

  The first months had been peaceful, Amlina grateful for victory, able to rest at last. Together with her warrior crew, her klarn, she had defeated Beryl, the Archimage of the East, reclaimed the Cloak of the Two Winds, which Beryl had stolen long ago. Amlina planned to return the Cloak to Larthang. She only meant to linger in Fleevan a short time, long enough to recover her health. The great ensorcellment she had forged, the Mirror Against All Mishap, had taken its toll, left her weak and sick.

  At first, she seemed to be recovering, nourished by the peace of this place, by the presence of her friends, and by her love for one of them, Draven. That love had proven all she could have hoped for and more. So many nights she had fallen asleep beside him, satiated from lovemaking, warmed by his body, contentment filling her heart.

  But even as her strength returned, her energies lurched farther out of balance. The Mirror was forbidden magic, blood magic. By invoking it, Amlina had raised fearsome, dark power. She had thought that when the Mirror expired, the evil force would drain away.

  That hope had proven false. Instead, as her vitality was restored, hunger for more power grew. Food no longer satisfied her. Her coupling with Draven became by turns frantic and repellent. When she started imagining biting him, tasting his blood, she knew how deep the sickness ran.

  With the arrival of Second Winter and the ice-sailing season, Amlina had planned to depart for Larthang. But in all her treasured imaginings, she had returned in triumph, presenting the Cloak at the House of the Deepmind, victorious and honored. Instead she was now a broken, tainted thing. Were she to return in that condition, she would likely be an outcast still, reviled because of the evil magic that possessed her.

  So she had delayed longer, trying every method she could to overcome the sickness—meditations, purification rites, imbuing herself with light. She had consulted with the scholar Kizier and with Buroof, the talking book, who knew the magic of ages past.

  All the time she had studied and fretted, others were searching for the Cloak. The Iruks had reported stories from Fleevanport of war in the Tathian Isles. On their voyage here, Amlina’s party had used the Cloak to unleash a storm that blew away the fleet of Hagan, Prince-Ruler of Kadavel. With the disappearance of Hagan’s fleet, rival city-states had mo
ved to fill the void, seizing Kadavel’s lands and ships. In the midst of these skirmishes, the navy of Larthang had suddenly invaded the Island of Gon Fu—forcing the Tathians to abandon their differences in the face of a common foe.

  To all of the rulers of the Three Nations, the Cloak would be an enviable prize. As a weapon of war, it could freeze whole cities, scatter fleets. Increasingly, Amlina had sensed the minds of deepshapers searching—Tathian State Sorcerers, magician-priests from Near and Far Nyssan, witches of Larthang.

  As the pressure mounted and her concealments frayed, she still hesitated, indecisive, unsure. A few days ago she had invoked the Bowing to the Sky, the ultimate surrender to the Deepmind. But that ritual gave her no answer at all—except that she must wait and accept.

  It was the Bowing that originally told her to go forward with the blood magic. At least, that had been her interpretation of the message at the time. And that course had led her to defeat the Archimage and win the Cloak.

  But at what cost?

  Despondent, Amlina wondered if she had vanquished the bloodthirsty Queen of Tallyba only to become like her.

  “That is right, little Larthang, little fool.” Beryl’s voice crept into her mind.

  Amlina lurched out of bed, clutching her skull with both hands. The voice came often to torment her. Was it the product of her imagination, or the Archimage’s actual ghost? She did not know.

  “You are not real,” she said. “You are dead and have no power over me.”

  “I have no power, it is true,” the voice answered. “But the blood magic, that has power, power you cannot deny. The cravings grow and grow. Sooner or later they will overwhelm your paltry qualms and then … your lover, your friends, victims you lure from the town, it will not matter.”

  “No,” Amlina whispered through closed teeth. “I will not become like you.”

  “You were always like me. You just refuse to see yourself.”

  That much might be true. Amlina had often thought herself lacking in self-awareness, blinded by ambition, an exaggerated sense of her own importance and power. Ambition had brought her to this…

  “There is no other way to still the cravings,” Beryl taunted her.