Son of a Dark Wizard

The Dark Wizard Chronicles: Book One

Son of a Dark Wizard

by Sean Patrick Hannifin

Cover art by Jonas Akerlund

The Dark Wizard Chronicles: Book One

Son of a Dark Wizard

Copyright © 2015 by Sean Patrick Hannifin

Published: January 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this
publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied
in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from
the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s
imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons or wizards, living
or dead, or actual events or magical prophecies is purely
coincidental.

I want to offer a big thank you to my Mom and
Dad. Their unending support was essential for having the time and
the motivation to work on what many others might consider a
frivolous endeavor.

Also, a huge thank you to my friend Scott
Pelath, who read my first drafts of each chapter and offered pages
and pages of thoughtful notes and insights into what was working
and what wasn’t. First readers with such attention to detail who
are so willing to donate their time are not easy to come by. I feel
very fortunate to have had Scott’s help with this, and the book is
better for it.

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

The first thing Mordock noticed that night
was the owl, the way its silhouette careened through the streaks of
cold gray rain. He’d never seen an owl so big, and it was odd to
find one roaming the north.

The second thing the old man noticed was the
river raging below, the way it shook the narrow wooden bridge
beneath his feet as it swallowed the muck and garbage spilling in
from the dark city’s cobblestone streets. He’d never heard water
roar so loudly.

The third thing Mordock noticed was the fire,
flecks of light on a distant mountain, flickering like a candle’s
flame. The high towers of the Wizard King’s castle were
burning.

A hand clutched the old man’s shoulder.
“Mordock?”

Mordock turned to face the one he’d been
waiting for. Oakren was tall, bald, and sported a thin gray beard.
He nodded and held out a long staff. It was made of a thick twisted
length of black iron. At its top, strands of iron curled in wide
spirals like branches of a dead tree, forming the bars of a
spherical cage. There was no light inside.

So it was true. The most powerful wizard who
had ever lived was gone. Vonlock was dead.

Mordock had thought he would be happy to
learn the news. Long had he dreamed of taking Vonlock’s position as
Head of the Nyrish Council. He took the lightless staff from
Oakren, clutching it so tightly that his fingers went white. If
someone had the power to kill Vonlock . . .

“Who did this?” Mordock asked.

Oakren’s voice quivered. “We must hold
council.”

* * *

The clocks were chiming the hour of two in
the morning by the time the wizards of the Council of the Nyrish
Moon had gathered. They were the eight most powerful wizards from
across the twelve kingdoms, some young, most old, some kings, some
dreaming of becoming kings. They sat along the sides of a long
black marble table with drinks in silver chalices before them. The
chair at the head of the table was vacant now. Vonlock’s lightless
staff sat perched at its side.

Mordock spoke first.

“As I’m certain you’ve heard by now, Vonlock
was killed tonight. Oakren snuck into his castle as soon as we
heard rumor of an attack. He brought back Vonlock’s staff and—”

“And I insisted for an immediate call to
council,” Oakren said, rising to his feet. His face was bulky like
stone, complementing his gravelly voice. “The one who killed
Vonlock has the power to kill us all. He can rid the world of the
Nyrish power forever.” Oakren leaned forward, pressing his hands on
the table. He spoke slowly. “I fear it may be time for us to
disband. At least for a decade or so.”

Some of the wizards scoffed.

“How’d he do it?” one of them asked. “How’d
he kill Vonlock?”

“I don’t know,” Oakren said.

“Then how can you say—”

“It’s
who
killed him that worries me,”
Oakren said.

“And who is that?”

“I don’t know his name,” Oakren said. “But I
think all the twelve kingdoms will know his name soon enough.”

“Why?” a young wizard at the far end of the
table asked.

“Have you heard of the Candlewood Prophecy?”
Oakren asked, sipping wine from his chalice.

The young wizard chuckled. “Prophecy
nonsense?”

Oakren slammed his chalice on the table.
“Have you heard of it?”

The young wizard slowly shook his head.

“It was before his time,” Mordock said. He
spoke gently, as if trying to calm everyone. “But why do you think
this is the fulfillment of some old prophecy?”

“Because,” Oakren said, turning to Mordock,
“the one who killed Vonlock was a
boy
. Eleven years old,
twelve at the most. He was commanding a group of Zolen soldiers
like a king.”

“What does it matter?” one the old wizards
said. “It doesn’t necessarily mean—”

“You can’t just hire Zolen soldiers. They’re
not mercenaries. They would not follow a
boy
into the castle
of the most powerful Wizard King who has ever lived unless they
believed in him. Unless they believed in a
prophecy
. Unless
they believed he was
chosen
.”

“Are you saying,” Mordock said, once again
speaking gently, “that Vonlock was killed by . . .
the
Chosen One
?”

Oakren nodded at the lightless staff beside
the empty chair. “No one else could have defeated Vonlock.”

“This is absurd!” the young wizard at the end
of the table said. “Do you really expect us to believe—”

“I don’t care what you believe!” Oakren
shouted. “I know what I saw and I know Vonlock is dead! Prophecy or
no prophecy, I will not—”

“Wait!” An old wizard waved his hands about.
“Wait, wait, wait! The Candlewood Prophecy concerns only the
Candlewood family of wizards. Even
if
the prophecy is true,
even
if
the boy who killed Vonlock is the Chosen One, even
if
the prophecy has just been fulfilled, why should
we
worry about it? We’re not of the Candlewood family. Only
Vonlock was.”

“So,” Oakren said, “if you found the Chosen
One at the gates of your castle, would you invite him in for
tea?”

“What?”

“He’s the
Chosen One
!” Oakren growled.
“Who here would not fear to stand before the Chosen One, regardless
of the details of his prophecy?”

There was silence.

Oakren nodded. “Therefore I say we should
disband.”

“If this boy is truly a threat,” a wizard
with a big bushy mustache said, “disbanding would only make us
weaker.”

Mordock nodded. “We’re stronger as a
council.”

“We’re leaderless,” Oakren said. “We’re weak.
We have never before managed without Vonlock.”

“Well,” Mordock said, standing from his seat
and inching toward Vonlock’s vacant chair, “in that case,
temporarily, perhaps I could . . .”

“Don’t you dare,” Oakren said.

“This is no time to fight for Head of
Council!” an old wizard said.

“Exactly,” Mordock said, “so just
temporarily . . .” He took another small step toward
the head of the table.

Oakren formed a small orb of blue fire above
the palm of his hand. “I am not playing games with you,
Mordock.”

“Trial!” the young wizard at the end of the
table said. “I call for a trial to decide the next Head of
Council.”

The wizard with the big bushy mustache rushed
to a desk along the side of the room and took some paper, some ink,
and a quill pen. “I will write a contract to be bound by the Nyrish
power.”

“Wait!” an old wizard said. “The Chosen One
just
killed
the most powerful wizard in the world, and we’re
preparing a trial of succession?”

“It’s trial or disband,” Oakren said.

“We
cannot
disband,” the
bushy-mustached wizard said, dipping his pen in ink and scribbling
onto a blank scroll.

“Who wishes to compete?” the young wizard
said. “Put a hand on the table.” He put his own hand forward.

Mordock grimaced, but put his hand on the
table.

Oakren smiled, sliding a hand onto the table
as well. “Is this it?” he asked, looking around. “Only three?”

“Come sign your names,” the bushy-mustached
wizard said. He pinched his fingers together. “And a drop to make
it binding.”

The three wizards signed their names and left
a dab of their own blood on the contract.

“Now then,” Mordock said, “to decide
tasks . . . I propose we—”

Crash!

Mordock jumped backward as a large raven flew
through the room and landed on the back of Vonlock’s empty
chair.

“Is that a bird?”

“A raven?”

“Where’d it come from?”

“Crashed through the window.”

“Impossible.”

“Flew right through the glass.”

“It’s true. Look.”

“Look! The staff!”

“It’s not lightless anymore!”

“Vonlock is alive?!”

“No, look! The flame is green!”

“Impossible.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Look! Something on the bird’s leg!”

“A note?”

“Who’s bird is this?”

“What’s going on?”

“Look at the note!”

“Take it!”

“Read it!”

“All right, all right,” Oakren said,
carefully sliding the tiny scroll from the string tied around the
raven’s leg. “Let me see.” He took a small monocle from his pocket
and pushed it over his eye, then unrolled the scroll. He brought it
close to his face, squinting and murmuring to himself. Then, after
a short silence, he looked up, eyes wide. “He’s been listening. He
wishes to compete.”

“Who?”

“Who?”

“Who?”

Oakren gestured to the staff, a green flame
now glowing within its spherical cage. “Vonlock’s heir.”

“You mean . . .” Mordock
said.

Oakren nodded.

The bushy-mustached wizard looked confused.
“So
he
survived? How?”

“I don’t know,” Oakren said, “but council law
says Vonlock’s heir is automatically a member of the council.”

“But . . .
But . . .” Mordock said. “He can’t be older than
thirteen . . .”

“Doesn’t matter,” Oakren said. “As a member
of the council, he must be allowed to compete.”

“It’s true,” the bushy-mustached wizard
nodded.

“This is ridiculous,” Mordock said.

“I’m sorry,” the young wizard said, “but
who
are we talking about?”

“His heir,” Oakren said. “Vonlock’s
heir.”

“Vonlock’s heir?” the young wizard repeated.
“Who’s Vonlock’s heir?”

An old wizard put his face in his hands. “We
should have disbanded.”

“It’s too late for that,” Oakren said.

“Have you ever met the boy?” Mordock
asked.

“I know, he’s a bit . . .”

“I’m sure he’s still listening,” the
bushy-mustached wizard said.

“Anyway, we signed already,” Oakren said. “We
are bound by blood to compete.”

“I think we just dug our own graves,” the
bushy-mustached wizard said.

The room sat in silence. The only sound was
the night winds whistling through the broken window.

“Maybe not,” Mordock said quietly, a thin
smile creeping across his lips. “We still haven’t set the
tasks.”

Oakren squinted at him, sliding his monocle
back into his pocket. “What are you proposing?” he whispered.

“We’ll give him an impossible task.”

“Ah,” Oakren’s eyes went wide. He gestured at
Vonlock’s empty chair. “Pit him against . . . ?”