War of Wizards Read Online Free

sure. The conjurers say it has turned her body against her. She suffers pains—tries to hide them, but all the palace knows.”
    Darik had been enjoying the warmth of the late-season sun, but now it seemed as though the air had gone chill. He remembered the horror of seeing Whelan’s brother, King Daniel, possessed by the wight of his dead wife. That had been an attack from King Toth, the dark wizard, as he tried to weaken the Free Kingdoms in advance of the war.
    But Kallia Saffa, the khalifa of Balsalom, was carrying the seed of the dark wizard himself in her womb. How much greater danger did she face? Could she even survive giving birth to such a thing?
    The two men had passed beyond the spice markets, skirted the edge of the former Slaves Quarter, and were now among the handsome stone houses of the Merchants Quarter, with their blue shutters and their ornate doors trimmed with brass. Here and there, Darik spotted evidence of the fires and destruction that had savaged Balsalom when the dark wizard’s army sacked it under the command of the brutal Pasha Mol Khah.
    Darik had just caught his first glimpse of the slender, elegant towers of the palace when a distant horn sounded from the city walls. It was a single long note, followed by two short blasts. He recognized it as the call from the Great Gates, the largest and most heavily fortified entrance into the city.
    Captain Rouhani pulled up short on his horse and cocked his head, and Darik stopped as well. There was silence for a moment, and then came a single long trumpet blast that lasted for several seconds.
    Rouhani drew a sharp breath. “The Harvester take me. Already?”
    “What is it? What does that mean?”
    “It’s the enemy. We’re under attack. I must take you to the palace at once. You must help the khalifa. We need her.”
    “What am I supposed to do?” Darik asked helplessly. “I can’t . . . I don’t . . .”
    “By the Brothers, Darik of Balsalom, do what must be done. Use your wizardry and heal her!”
     
     

Chapter Three
    Markal studied Whelan by the light of the torches blazing inside the tent. Maps lay spread before the king, who stared at them with unfocused eyes. A small leather bundle sat on one side of the table next to plumes, bottles of ink, wax, and the king’s seal. The bundle was about the size and shape of a small cat, although that wasn’t what it contained. It was this bundle that kept distracting Whelan. Its arrival had punctured the king’s confidence, which had been building over the past few days as they won a series of small battles against the enemy.
    The latest maps were encouraging. Advance scouts had brought them a few hours earlier, and if they hadn’t also brought the bundle, Whelan’s confidence would have grown greater still. The maps showed the entrenchments thrown up around Veyre, the defensive encampments in the hills outside the city, the position and condition of the castles and other fortifications guarding the Tothian Way.
    Careful estimates suggested that the Veyrians had no more than fifteen thousand men, perhaps as few as twelve thousand, to blunt the combined army of Balsalomians and Eriscobans pressing eastward. Then there was whatever force Toth had within the city itself, perhaps another ten or fifteen thousand men. Against that, Whelan boasted a main army of twenty-eight thousand men, with two additional forces each numbering eight thousand men.
    “It isn’t men with sword and spear who concern me,” Whelan said at last, his voice low and heavy. “Our army is well matched in that regard. It’s these other . . .”
    The wizard guessed that Whelan had been on the verge of commenting about the giants, the ravagers, the possibility of a dragon in the sky, but the man’s voice trailed off as he eyed the bundle again. His hand reached for his waist, as if expecting to find his sword strapped to his side. But of course, he had unstrapped the big, two-handed weapon before sitting at the