Table of Contents
Pronunciation Guide
Beginning
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
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
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
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
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Wizard Dawning
Book One of the Battle Wizard Saga
by
C. M. Lance
Wizard Dawning
Book One of the Battle Wizard Saga
Copyright © 2012 C. M. Lance
eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorised reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission.
Cover Design by Kjersten Lance
Print Book Version : ISBN: 1466239514 / ISBN-13: 978-1466239517
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
I dedicate this effort to all the readers of Fantasy who by their participation, encourage writers to keep gathering their imaginings into stories that all can enjoy. On a personal note, this book is dedicated to my Family – Kjersten, Curt, and Brianna, but most of all to Kris.
Pronunciation Guide
Aðalbrandr – Ah´-dul-bronder
Andras – Ahn´-dras
Giselle – Ji-zel´ (not the German Gee´-zel-uh, Gee as in Geek)
Sigurd – Sig´-erd (as in Signal)
Thorval – Thor´-vul
Beginning
Late in the first quarter of the twenty-first century, the effect of climate change made magic stronger, strong enough to force it out of the shadows.
The weight burden on the earth's crust shifted as icecaps and glaciers melted, flowing from land to sea. Magma flow increased, altering magnetic flux. Earthquake and volcanic violence and frequency grew. The earth’s axis wobbled and shifted through a four-degree arc. Initially considered insignificant, except for minor changes in the length of the longest and shortest days; scientists didn’t account for changes to rivers of magical energy flowing through the earth.
Untrained people began to exhibit magic and witches ventured into the open to inform scientists about the changes and dangers. Ley flows, rivers of magical energy, increased significantly and some even shifted like rivers changing course. Comparing the strongest Ley lines to rivers, their currents surged from the trudging Mississippi to become the torrent of the Amazon.
Headlines read:
GLOBAL WARMING CAUSES SURGE IN MAGIC. Chicago Post V3.1
People with magic grow stronger, others discover new talents.
GOVERNMENTS REGULATE MAGIC. LA Tribune, 9.0.2
Access to Dark Magic grows easier.
Despite headlines from ten years ago, for most people, little changed in everyday life.
Chapter 1
Sig’s footsteps, crackling through the thin snow crust, broke the silence. No clouds floated in the brightening blue arc of sky stretched across the Minnesota prairie.
Static electricity sizzled in the air. The hair on Sig’s forearm stood up. How would his horse react to a zap on his big, velvety nose? Sig smiled at the vision, but up close, the response from a three-quarter-ton horse wouldn’t be funny to watch.
Just outside the barn, the hair on the back of his neck bristled, a familiar feeling, not caused by low humidity. An involuntary snarl shaped his lips. He rotated his head to the right. Behind the white rail fence of the farm across the road, the Watchers faced him… again. Arrayed in an uneven line, five stood motionless, holding or leaning on farm tools. In the early sun, a mist surrounded them.
The Watchers were never clear, never quite in focus no matter how much he strained to see. The headache that erupted whenever he looked at them began to flow like molten lava.
Sig stared at them anyway, until they turned and moved away one-by-one. The mist followed.
When they vanished from sight behind the farmhouse, he rubbed his aching temples and turned back to the barn. He still had to prepare Bjørn, his stallion, for Grampa’s visit.
He glanced back before he opened the barn door. They were gone, but a sensation like the scent of decaying meat lingered.
He asked Mom and Grandfather Edward, her father, about them. Mom shrugged and shook her head whenever he brought them up. Grandfather Edward said they looked like underfed Eastern Europeans, but kept to themselves, a good quality for farm help, according to him. Even better, he liked that they kept the farm across the road clean. It had fallen into disrepair under the previous owners.
When Sig opened the barn door, his horse poked his head over his stall door, huffed, and nodded his head. Sig laughed despite the pain in his head, remembered to touch metal to dissipate static charge, and reached up to rub Bjørn’s nose and scratch his ears. “I guess the Watchers don’t bother you, big fella.”
At eighteen hands, or six feet tall at the withers, he stood the same height as Sig.
Bjørn sniffed and pulled at Sig's down vest with his lips while Sig curried him and checked his hooves. Finally, Sig reached into his pocket and pulled out the slices of dried apple that Bjørn had been begging for. While Bjørn munched, Sig thought about Grampa Thor.
Properly, Sig should call him Great-grandfather Thorval, but he had insisted, “Your mother calls me Grampa Thor. It’s good enough for her, so that’s what you’ll call me. Great-grandfather sounds ancient. I’m not ready to keel over yet.”
He certainly didn’t seem ready. When Grampa last
came into town, he looked younger than his son, Grandfather Edward, did. That time he showed up for Dad’s funeral.
Today Great-grandfather Thorval arrived for Grandfather Edward’s funeral.
Chapter 2
It wasn’t a surprise to Sig when Grandfather Edward died. He looked old, he moved old, and he smelled old. For goodness sake, he was 89. It didn’t have the shock of Dad’s death.
Sig leaned his head against Bjørn’s back and recalled the events surrounding Dad’s death a year ago.
†††
Soon after the sold sign went up on the property across the road, the volunteer fire department extinguished a fire in the north hay field, before it spread to adjacent fields parched in the drought.
When done, they found the charred corpse of Martin Stromgard, Sig’s dad, at the edge of the field, near the old cemetery. Inexplicably, he had his shotgun with him. As the town’s banker, he conscientiously complied with hunting regulations and hunting season was closed.
The coroner concluded that lightning from a thunderstorm, miles away, killed him.
Sig sat quietly in the kitchen and listened while Captain Dahman explained the coroners report to his mother, Meredith, and Grandfather Edward. The captain called it a ‘bolt out of the blue’.
“A strike that far from a storm is rare, but not unheard of. It’s the only explanation for the scorched hole through Martin's chest. We’d like to close the case; it was an act of nature, Meredith.”
She looked at Captain Dahman with a furrowed brow. “I thought lightning went top to bottom or bottom to top, not through a person’s chest.”
“Check for crooks at Karstad’s funeral parlor. They charged full price for cremation. The lightning already did half their job,” Grandfather Edward complained.
Meredith closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled. She looked back to Captain Dahman.
“Without a witness; we don’t know what happened. Do you want the case left open?” He continued.
She shook her head. “No, I’d like closure.”
†††
Sig re-blanketed Bjørn while he remembered. Hunting or fishing didn’t hold interest for him since Dad died. Those had been their special times together. From him, Sig learned the ways of the land, to track, to read sign, to outthink a fish. Dad also taught him conservation, the importance of honesty, and his duty to be considerate to others. Lightning blasted a hole in Dad’s chest, and in Sig’s life.
Done for the time being, Sig patted Bjørn’s neck. He’d be back. Grampa Thor, the driving force behind Sig’s martial arts training, would want to see Sig put him through his paces. He called Dressage “schooling the Battle Horse”.
Mom should have breakfast ready now. His stomach growled in anticipation.
He stopped and looked across the road after he closed the barn door. The Watchers were out of sight, but he sensed their scrutiny.
Chapter 3
Mom studied the Wall Street Journal financial pages at the kitchen table. She looked over the paper when he entered and smiled her radiant smile at him.
“Good morning dear.”
“'Mornin’ Mom.” Sig nodded at the paper. “Find any hot new stocks today?”
“None so far. I’ll keep looking.”
Mom took over the finances after Dad’s funeral and demonstrated an uncanny knack for picking stocks. In less than a year, she doubled the insurance money and was on her way to doubling it again. It meant she could keep the farm and the horses she loved and rode expertly.
After Dad died, Sig dropped out of football and basketball and focused on individual competition. His teammates resented it. Expected to be the quarterback this year and their lead scorer in basketball, they felt that he let them down.
Friends who stuck through his moodiness all tended to show up around dinnertime. They didn't get anything like Mom’s cooking at home. Minnesota food tended towards shades of beige in color and flavor. She invested a gourmet touch in everything prepared in her kitchen.
After a second helping Sig asked, “What keeps Grampa traveling around the world?”
She put the paper down. “He say's that he’s an economic consultant, with a specialty in turbulent development and modification in third world nations.”
“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Sig said, with a perplexed expression.
She laughed sharply. “Grampa likes to go where there’s conflict and if there isn't any; I believe he starts some.”
“Where was he this time?”
“Darfur.”
“Hmm, he’ll find it there.” He looked pensive before he asked, “Do you think he’ll want to spar this time?”
“When has he not wanted to? He likes to check his investment after paying for all you martial arts training. I would have preferred help with carpool duty. There are carpools for football or hockey. Not for karate, kendo, or fencing.”
“I wonder which one he’ll want to do.”
“Steer him to fencing. He’ll be surprised you’re state champ after only two years.”
“My red belt in Karate didn’t keep him from kicking my butt last time.”
“Dear, that was almost a year ago. You’re bigger, faster, and a black belt now. You have a good chance to win this time.”
“Let’s hope so. I don’t think any of my friends get trounced by their great-grandfathers — or even their grandfathers.”
Sig paused, and then asked, “You know the … handymen… across the road. I haven’t seen them for a while, until today.”
His Mom looked up sharply. “The Watchers?”
He didn’t know she called them that too.
Her lips thinned and eyes narrowed. “I hate them. They were in dreams I had about your father burning — before he died.”
Another disturbing news flash. He didn’t mean to upset her.
“I probably never thanked you for all the rides you gave me to practices and meets. I’m sure you will be rewarded in heaven.” His mouth twitched in a smile as he continued toward the back door.
She grabbed a towel off the table and popped him on the butt with it before he got away.
He laughed over his shoulder, “A lot of good a black belt does me. I’m defenseless against a mother armed with a kitchen towel.”
Chapter 4
As Sig dumped trash into the bin out back, he heard the clatter of a diesel engine. He finished up and jogged around to the front. A vintage Ford dually sat in front of the house when he rounded the corner. The engine pinged as it cooled. Grampa must already be inside.
A suitcase lay in the back seat. Anticipation built as Sig grabbed it and climbed the stairs to the wraparound porch. Grampa had been a pillar of strength after Sig’s dad died – every action strong and sure.
Sig swept into the kitchen with a big smile and then stopped, the smile frozen on his lips but gone from his eyes. Grampa sat at the kitchen table. Mom stood behind him looking down with concern. He looked like his son, Grandfather Edward, before the end.
Strong white teeth had yellowed. Skin, always tanned and ruddy, now sagged and looked ashen. His hair had thinned. Only his eyes, the same Persian blue as Meredith and Sig’s, looked the same.
Instead of springing to his feet, he used the table to lever himself up and held out his hands. The fingers were crooked and lumpy. “Come here and give me a hug young man. You're not too old to hug are you?”
Sig shook off his immobility, stepped forward into Grampa’s embrace, and hugged back. The formerly robust frame felt slight. Over Grampa's shoulder, uncertainty reflected from Mom’s eyes.
Grampa sat back down and rubbed his chest. Mom handed him a large white mug with a tea bag string hanging out. He stopped rubbing his chest, reached out with both callused hands for the mug and smiled up at her. “Thank you Meredith. A nice hot cup of green tea is just the thing to warm
my bones.”
Sig blurted, “How are you feeling Grampa?”
Grampa Thor looked up at Meredith then at Sig. “Why does everybody keep asking me that? Can't a fellow grow old gracefully without being pestered?” A smile softened the cantankerous words. “I've been a little under the weather is all.” He waved his hand. “It'll pass, it'll pass. If you have to know, I’ve got a bit of a bug in my chest. Don’t worry about that and let’s catch up. How is fencing going?”
“Sig won the state championship this year – surprised a lot of people,” Mom interjected.
Grampa Thor looked impressed and nodded. “Very good. I thought you had it in you.”
“Can I fix you something? I made Huevos con Chorizo, your favorite.” Mom asked.
“Thank you Meredith, but just some toast, if you would. My stomach is a little sensitive.”
“You must be under the weather. You usually eat at least as much as Sig does.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll get some English muffins for you.”
“How long will you be able to stay with us this time?” Sig asked.
“A better question is how long can you put up with an old codger like me?”
Meredith set the muffins in front of him and said, “Grampa, stay as long as you'd like. Since you mentioned it, how old are you now?”
Grampa replied with a twinkle in his eye, “I feel every bit of 193 today, but what's a decade or two either way.”
Meredith laughed, but it sounded forced.
Grampa turned to Sig “Are you keeping up with your riding?”
“Come out and I’ll show Bjørn to you. I know he needs exercise.”
“Get him ready while I finish up this breakfast Meredith fixed me.” He gestured at the muffin. “I'll be out in a few minutes.”
Sig saddled Bjørn and rode him into the outdoor arena to warm him up and work off pent up energy. Even simulated battle moves on horseback are strenuous. It raised a sweat on both of them.