Black Mage Cursed (Tournament of Mages Book 3) by Cleave Bourbon (top 10 best books of all time TXT) 📗

a competent assistant who can handle things temporarily this time around.” Marlee beamed. “Besides, the dryads are here to help you too should you need them.”

“I will make you proud.” She said.

“Well. I should hope so, but if all goes well, you should not have anything to make me proud of as it were.” He winked at Marlee. “You remember what I told you if you should need me?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Good. He rummaged through some of his belongings near his favorite chair. I might need my reading glasses and pipe.” He tucked the two items away in the robes of his pocket.

“You are leaving now?” Marlee asked.

“No time like the present. The journey is long and I want to get there and back as soon as I can.”

“Are any of the mages near where you are traveling. You can use one of them to travel to.”

“No, I am afraid I will have to do this one by foot. None of the mages are off to the south that I know of at this hour.” He put his finger to his nose. “Wait a moment. Where is the Black Mage?”

“Last I checked, she was in Emlestra in the kingdom of Craessa.”

“Yes… Yes, that will do. I can go to her. She is about halfway to my destination. I will gather my provisions and use the orb in the Arsenal. Good call apprentice.” Marlee smiled triumphantly.

If he was on tournament business, Ephaltus could travel to just about anywhere in the six kingdoms, via the portal spell, but on this personal quest, he was going to have to take the long way just like anybody else. The gods did not want any unnecessary arcane magic floating around in the kingdoms. When Ephaltus arrived in Emlestra, the first thing he noticed was the Black Mage, who had changed her appearance for the better, was hand in hand with a young man. He scowled to himself and wondered why Marlee had not mentioned the man to her. Romantic interludes might be problematic and thwart the efforts of the Tourney Master with the preparations for the tournament. He would have to talk with his apprentice upon his return. He was loath to do anything about it now. He was on a mission. His best bet to get to the Broken Lands quickly was to join a caravan heading to the river in the west. He could then take a boat down the river to the small port at the southernmost coast of Craessa. From there, the island to the ruins he sought could be reached by ship. Perhaps he could pay a captain to drop him off after the ship was underway to the Southern Kingdoms. He watched as Thessa kissed the man she was with, making him cringe. “By the gods, I need to put a stop to this.” He gathered himself up and proceeded toward Thessa with his staff in hand. He did not wish to be seen, so he used his spell discreetly to un-pants the young man. When the trousers were done leaving the man standing in his undergarments, Thessa backed away from him as he scooped up his trousers from his knees and hastily tied them back on. All the while, people around them were laughing and pointing. Thessa looked his way, but Ephaltus turned to avoid her gaze as quickly as he could. She didn’t seem to see him as she followed the humiliated man into the alleyway. Ephaltus know the incident would not keep them apart, but it might make Thessa question who she is seen with in public.

After disrupting Thessa’s romantic interlude, Ephaltus went to the trade office to inquire about a caravan route. After talking with the trade master, he found that the only caravan route headed south was one going to the southern port city of Crysinnia. He knew it would be slower than by boat, but the port city was closer to the ruins of Dusanti, the island where he was ultimately headed. He paid the trade master his fare plus a fair tip, and the man gave him his rite of passage papers for the caravan master. He would also have to give the caravan master some money to ensure he rode the route comfortably. Travel by caravan was expensive, but far safer than traveling alone. Southern Craessa was notorious for bandits due to the trade routes and the island hideouts of the Broken Lands.

Ephaltus handed off his one bag to the driver of an open goods wagon and climbed aboard, sitting on top of some wooden crates containing jars of pickled this or that.

“Excuse me, driver, but have you driven this route many times?”

“Oh, yes. Have been on road many times.” The man said with a thick southern Eastialind accent.

“How long is the route?”

“Excuse?”

“How long until we reach Crysinnia?”

“Oh, many days. We stop on way to deliver goods. Maybe take month.”

“Splendid.” Ephaltus said sarcastically.

“What you expect? This caravan not speedy horse. You should take horse next time.”

“Friend, where I’m going a horse would not be practical. There will be no place to stable it or take care of it.”

“Then sit tight one month.”

Ephaltus leaned back against another wood crate and settled in for the long ride south. “I wonder if the gods would even notice if I used the portal spell?”

“What say you?”

“Nothing, sir. Travel on.”

A week into the trip and Ephaltus had poured over the parchments and clues that lead to the ruins in the Broken Lands more times than he would care to count. It was on the eighth day that he pinpointed what he speculated was the right island and the right spot to look on the island. All throughout the second week, he rode along stoically as the driver and the other wagons in the caravan stopped at one village after another, dwindling the remaining crates down until at last the only crates left on his wagon were for the city of Crysinnia.

It was during the third