A Sorcerer Rises Read online

  Song of Sorcery

  Book One

  By

  Guy Antibes

  Table of Contents

  Map of Tossa

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Excerpt from A Sorcerer Imprisoned

  Copyright Page

  Author’s Note

  A Bit About Guy

  Books by Guy Antibes

  Copyright ©2017 Guy Antibes. All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the permission of the author.

  ~

  This is a work of fiction. There are no real locations used in the book, the people, settings and specific places are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblances to actual persons, locations, or places are purely coincidental.

  Published by CasiePress LLC in Salt Lake City, UT, October 2017.

  www.casiepress.com

  Cover & Book Design: Kenneth Cassell

  ~

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ~

  I wrote a short story some years ago that featured a magical theater. I used that story as the inspiration for the Song of Sorcery series. This first book tells of a young man, not treated particularly well for his first thirteen years. He is given another chance, and this series is about how Hendrico Valian takes advantage of that.

  I know only a few words of Italian and French. I garbled up names sounding mostly Italian. If I inadvertently gave someone a name that means something objectionable, please forgive me and put it to literary license, if nothing else.

  First books in a series have to carry more weight since they initiate all the action that follows. I hope you enjoy this book and the entire series. I try to be a little creative when developing a magic system for a new series. This one requires the sorcerer to create a resonance within their bodies that draw in power to be used for the sorcerer’s magic. I hope it all makes sense to you and adds to your enjoyment of the books.

  I’d like to thank Bev and Judy, my editor, for helping me produce this first book.

  — Guy Antibes

  The City of Tossa

  A Sorcerer Rises takes place in the city of Tossa within the country of Paranty. To help follow along with the action, I’ve included a map of key places.

  (Contact Guy for a clearer map at www.guyantibes.com)

  Chapter One

  ~

  T hirteen-year-old Hendrico Valian admired the candied fruit behind the counter. He had only a few coins in his pocket, but enough to purchase what his taste buds desired.

  “Can you give me a discount, Karian?” Hendrico asked.

  “Ricky, I always give you something off,” the shop’s owner said.

  The boy pulled out the coins in his pocket and held out his hand. “Take what it will cost,” he said, closing his eyes, not wanting to know if he’d be paying all he had with him for the treat. He hadn’t been able to afford any sweets in days.

  Ricky heard the sounds of horses and carriages in the street increase as the door opened behind him.

  “There you are, you good-for-nothing.”

  Karian quickly put a handful of candy in Ricky’s palm without withdrawing any coins. “It’s time for you to go. Enjoy.”

  Ricky looked up at his friend and beamed. “I will!” He jammed his treasure in his dirty pocket and turned to confront his grandfather, Gobble Bangatelli. “What is it this time?” Ricky asked.

  Gobble threw an angry glare at Karian and grabbed Ricky by the shoulders, leading him roughly outside. The old man looked down both sides of the street before putting his face right in front of Ricky’s nose. “I have a job. There is a trinket being sold in the market that someone wants. It’s up to you to retrieve it.”

  “Can’t you find me a decent apprenticeship or something?” Ricky whined. “I don’t like going out on jobs. You know that.”

  “But you are special,” Gobble said. “I only got one grandkid, and that’s you. Ricky doesn’t want Old Gobble to starve, does he?”

  Gobble never looked like he had starved a day in his life, even though Ricky had gone without food enough times. He had helped a farmer unload his cart in the market the previous day, and the proceeds from that work were meant to pay for the candied fruits. But Gobble was his only relative, so Ricky had to do what he said.

  Ricky sighed. “What is it?”

  “It’s a jug, a special jug from Vorria. It is made to hold liquids hot for extended periods of time. There are only a few in Paranty, and none exist in our beloved city of Tossa.”

  “Show me the way,’ Ricky said, resigned to demean himself, yet again. While other children learned their numbers and letters, Gobble taught Ricky how to steal without being caught. Ricky would rather know how to read, but he had no means to do so. His grandfather always said he couldn’t read, so he never saw the need for his grandson to learn.

  They threaded their way across the cobbles on the busy street, evading carriages, carts, horses, and horse droppings. Gobble grabbed Ricky’s hand and squeezed it hard like he usually did. Ricky forced himself not to cry out. Doing so would only get a slap from Gobble. They walked through a couple of alleys, threading themselves through the streets of upper Tossa before they emerged into the Farmer’s Market.

  Ricky never had figured out why it was called that. Only a third of the market sold produce of any kind. He learned that years ago the city had torn down a few blocks of tenements to expand the square. He looked out at the vast array of tents and the temporary shacks that made up the place. The city council had placed black cobbles outlining the stalls when they reconfigured the market, making orderly rows.

  He often wished for less organization when he had to escape from stealing. Gobble generally put him up to jobs thieving in the marketplace since he was smaller and more evasive. Ricky suspected that his grandfather had other illegal pursuits, but he had never seen the fruits of those endeavors.

  “Next row, two stalls down. It’s a copper cylinder with engraved decorations sitting on a blue velvet cloth.”

  Ricky rolled his eyes. He’d have to steal in plain sight of everyone. It’s a wonder he hadn’t been caught yet. He shivered at the thought of being sent to the dreaded Applia Juvenile Home. That was where the city council sent boys they judged to be criminals. It had a dark, dark reputation as a place where boys were tortured more than fed.

  He shuddered as he strolled past. His grandfather hadn’t told him of the glass case that surrounded the urn, or the vase, or whatever it was. The thing did look expensive.

  Gobble grabbed Ricky close to him as they turned into the next aisle. “Do it now, before the crowds begin to
dwindle.”

  His grandfather didn’t have to tell him that. “I’ll bring it to the boat,” Ricky said.

  “No. I’ll take it on North Street by the feed store.” Gobble gave his upper arm a painful squeeze and slipped through the crowds. He wouldn’t even be close when Ricky took the strange vessel.

  The crowds had thinned for a little bit when Ricky walked past the first time. The glass case was just set over his target so he would knock it over and snatch the urn, then disappear through the stall directly across the aisle, slipping underneath a simple railing and into the crowds on the far side. With his unique technique, it would be easy to get away.

  The crowd thickened, giving Ricky a bit of cover. He slid between two couples with their arms filled with bags and packages. Just as before he approached the urn, he bumped into a fancy-dressed woman, who frowned as she looked at him. Ricky hoped he had kept his head down, but he wouldn’t stop now.

  Then before he stepped towards the urn, he shouted from the top of his stomach and concentrated on time stopping. He knew he only had a couple of moments, so he knocked the case over. It slowly tilted back, revealing the urn. Ricky quickly grabbed it and slipped across the aisle and through the stall opposite.

  He turned to look at the woman, who gazed at him quizzically. Why was she looking at him just before he stopped time? Ricky didn’t pause to wonder as he took a position in front of three women on the next aisle over when time began to work again. He took a short pause to regain his strength like he usually did. He turned down another lane, hiding the urn in his shirt. His flight continued as Ricky spotted Gobble standing on the other side of North Street.

  Ricky looked both ways and ran across, just behind a cart filled with produce drawn by a huge plow horse.

  Gobble peered over Ricky’s shoulder. “Good, no pursuit this way. Come with me.” He led Ricky past a tavern and down an alley. “Give it to me.”

  The urn felt oddly heavy. “What’s so important about this?” Ricky said.

  “Never you mind.” Gobble said. He shook his head, exasperated, and said, “Like I said, it keeps things hot and cold. There are two urns fastened together, but the Vorrians have done something else to keep liquids warm or cold. This is going to a metalworker’s factory to pry the secrets from it.”

  Ricky furrowed his brow. His grandfather’s explanation didn’t seem right. “Why doesn’t the metalworker just buy it legally?”

  Gobble grinned. “Why pay full price when you can get it for half?”

  “And you get the half?” Ricky wondered if it was time to talk about getting some kind of commission for taking all the risk.

  “Oh, not me. I’m merely a middleman.” Gobble’s eyes narrowed as he gazed at his grandson.

  “And what am I?”

  An angry look matched Gobble’s eyes. “You are getting too old and too big for your short pants, Hendrico.” Gobble only called Ricky by his formal name when he became furious with him.

  Ricky watched Gobble stalk off, leaving him standing by himself at the edge of the road. He knew enough to keep walking. He wondered where his grandfather was headed, but Ricky wandered north to the river, his hand touching the candied fruit in his pocket. He would eat it out of Gobble’s sight in his special place.

  The stench of the river, his destination, always hit Ricky before he could see it. He could see how some could be repelled by the odor, but it only took a few moments before he couldn’t smell it at all. Ricky had spent his whole life surrounded by the reek of Shantyboat Town. He looked across from the river’s south shore. Small boats lined the stone banks of the town.

  Ricky found his own tiny vessel tied up with a length of worn rope. It had taken him two months to repair the little skiff after he stopped one of his neighbors from cutting it up into firewood in exchange for Ricky cutting down a cord of wood from the forest still lining the north side of the river.

  If scrounging paid actual coin, Ricky would be a rich man, he thought, as he began to row across the river to Shantyboat Town. Over two hundred shanty boats huddled together on the other side, away from the Tossan constables and the Duke’s guard.

  Most of the residents had been down on their luck or minor criminals of one sort or another, like Gobble. Occasionally, the city constables would come over and grab a resident for some crime, but no one ever made a move to eradicate the community. A little passivity on the part of the residents had kept Shantyboat Town intact.

  Ricky rowed upriver from the boat he shared with Gobble and slipped through one of the few water lanes in the town. For the most part, the shanty boats were just tied to each other, connected by planks. His special place was anchored by itself along with fifteen other boats, whose owners didn’t want to mix with the other residents. An unwritten rule stated that none of them would reveal the identities of the others, and so it was that Ricky’s tiny shantyboat, restored from a fire that had killed its former owners, turned into the boy’s home away from Gobble’s abusive shantyboat. Boards of different shapes and sizes, colors, and textures turned his shanty walls into a patchwork.

  He tied up his skiff and untied the elaborate knot that was his attempt at keeping casual intruders out. If anyone wanted to invade his private place, they could kick in the thin boards of the walls to gain entry. The interior was a bit different from the shabby exterior. Ricky had accumulated furniture, rugs, pots, pans, a protected brazier for cooking, and even a bed, although he had had to invade the forest for mattress stuffing. Pine needles gave off a scent that permeated the inside.

  Ricky was tempted to cook dinner on the brazier, but after his theft today, Gobble might be spending the night on the boat and would demand a meal. His grandfather knew nothing of his shantyboat, and he wanted to keep it that way.

  He took the handful of candied fruit out of his pocket, placing them in an old battered tin that he had carefully washed and dried to keep from rusting. Most of his coins went back into his little stash. He put a few in his pocket since Gobble would figure out he had managed to earn some money to buy candied fruit and then confiscate all the coins Ricky possessed as soon as he showed up on their shantyboat.

  Ricky’s stomach rumbled. He looked at the candies, knowing they could not substitute for a real meal. He looked up at the darkening sky. Rain might drench the little town, and he would have to make a run through the shantyboats to get back to Gobble’s place before the downpour. He checked both his windows and duplicated the elaborate knot on both his door and on the tie-down for his boat. If he showed his boat to Gobble, his grandfather would think nothing of confiscating that, too.

  He left his private place and rowed to the north shore, tying up his little skiff and climbing up a root to get to the bank. He walked for half-an-hour and found that a rabbit hadn’t escaped from one of his snares. He took out the little knife that Gobble had given him, the only evidence he possessed of the father he couldn’t remember, and cleaned the rabbit. On his way back to the boat he collected some wild vegetables and herbs to cook along with his rabbit on Gobble’s boat.

  ~

  Although his grandfather’s shantyboat was three times the size of Ricky’s little vessel, Gobble kept little food aboard. Ricky answered a knock at the door.

  “Water,” the voice said.

  Ricky recognized the voice. Drinking raw river water was a sure way to get sick. Water had to be strained, boiled and strained again to be safely used. He looked at the few coins in his pocket.

  “I can buy this much,” Ricky said, holding out his hand. “Maybe two gallons?”

  “Two gallons it is,” the man said. He tapped his toe as Ricky brought three pots that would hold the water.

  Ricky watched him fill the pots. The Water Seller gave him a bit more than what he paid for.

  “I’ll help you later this week. Is that okay?” Ricky said.

  The Water Seller smiled. “Of course it is. Show up at my boat in three days.” He nodded and lugged a water cart over the short railing onto the plank that
led to another shantyboat.

  Ricky had finished dressing the rabbit and tossed the rabbit skin into an empty barrel. After dinner, he’d do what he could to preserve the skin. They were always worth a few coins.

  He waited for one of the pots to boil. In the meantime, Ricky ate one candied fruit that he hadn’t put in the tin and retrieved a hard lump of bread. He just finished gnawing it and put the rabbit in the pot along with the herbs and vegetables when Gobble rushed in.

  “There he is,” his grandfather said, pointing to Ricky.

  “Of course, I’m here,” Ricky said, feeling a bit confused about Gobble’s comment.

  His confusion evaporated when three constables jumped on the boat, making it rock on the water, and rushed inside. Ricky rushed past his grandfather to get out a side door, but Gobble grabbed his shirt. “Not so fast, you scamp.”

  The boy’s shoulder’s dropped. “You turned me in?”

  “For the reward, lad,” one of the constables said. “A handsome bounty considering the likes of you. It looks like you’ve earned a trip to the Juvenile Home in Applia, your new residence.”

  “He put me up to it!” Ricky said, pointing to Gobble, who ignored his grandson.

  Gobble sniffed and lifted the pot lid. “This needs a lot more salt,” he said to himself, ignoring his grandson’s pleas as the constables fought to drag a struggling Ricky out of the shantyboat.

  Ricky felt the clicking of manacles on his wrists held behind him. He gave up fighting. The men were all much bigger than he. His wiry thirteen-year-old body couldn’t throw off their tight grips, and his special trick wouldn’t work when they clutched him so tightly.

  ~~~

  Chapter Two

  ~

  R icky kicked at the wall. The thin mattress in his cell barely kept him from feeling the spaces between the slats on the narrow pallet. He didn’t mind the cold, damp cell. He lived in a cold, damp shantyboat. The smells were different, and that upset his stomach a bit.