The Sorcerer's Vengeance (The Sorcerer's Path)

by Brock Deskins

  The smell of the cooking meat quickly woke the little dragon. “Oh that smells good!”

  “Would you like some?” Azerick asked despite knowing the answer already.

  “Oh yes, please.”

  Sandy’s appetite further reminded him of Wolf with the exception that she was fastidiously clean. She used the sand to scour away any remnants of grease and polished her brassy scales.

  She liked the fire and curled back up very close to it and fell asleep before Azerick leaned back against his saddle and fell back to sleep himself. When he woke, sunlight was just creeping into the cavern through the mouth of the cave. Sandy was still sleeping contentedly so Azerick took care to move slowly and quietly as he saddled Horse. He recast the campfire spell so it would continue to burn for several more hours. He wished he could make it burn forever but such was beyond his skills.

  Azerick laid the last smoked ham close to Sandy’s sleeping form and led Horse out of the cave and down the rocky slope to the sandy floor below. He needed to start moving south soon before he overshot Rapture. There were no real landmarks to orient from so he had to use his best guess. Rapture lay about three days south of the Bloodstone Mountains but it should not be hard to find. The land flattened out the further south one traveled so it should be visible from quite a distance. So long as he could get within a few hours of it, he should be able to spot it even at a good distance.

  About an hour out from the mountains, he chanced to glance back over his shoulder and saw a form in the distance following his trail and slowly gaining on him. It was a low-slung figure and moved with an unusual waddling gait. He had a hunch as to what it was and when the sun reflected brightly off her scales it confirmed his suspicion.

  Azerick sat atop Horse and waited for Sandy to catch up.

  “Sandy, what do you think you are doing?” Azerick asked as the little dragon trotted up to him.

  “Ollowin oo,” she said as she looked up at him, talking past the large ham clammed in her jaws.

  “Why are following me?”

  “I ont oo oh it oo.”

  “You cannot go with me, Sandy. I am sorry, but where I am going is going to be very dangerous. I do not even know if I am going to make it back,” Azerick told her.

  “Ah an’t ay i a a. Ah il ar oo ech.”

  “Please take the ham out of your mouth so I can understand what you are saying,” Azerick said, exasperated.

  Sandy sat back and held the ham in her paws. “I said, I can’t stay in the cave, I will starve to death.”

  Azerick had to remind himself that no matter how smart she seemed or how articulate she was, she was only two years old, maybe five or six in human years. A very smart five or six.

  “All right, Sandy, but when we get near the town you will have to hide and avoid all humans. There are a lot of bad people where I am going and they would not hesitate to hurt you although they are more likely to capture you and sell you.”

  “Anybody tries to touch me I’ll bite them and scratch them!” Sandy snarled, baring her small but sharp teeth.

  “Promise me you will dig deep and hide or you will have to wait for me at the cave and hope I make it back,” Azerick said sternly.

  “I promise,” Sandy replied, sulking.

  “What is it with me and attracting orphans, half-elves, wolves, and now a dragon?” Azerick muttered to himself.

  “Just naturally lucky I guess,” Sandy answered the rhetorical question.

  Azerick narrowed his eyes at Sandy as she looked up at him innocently with her big green eyes.

  “Mama always said I had the best hearing of any little dragon she had ever seen,” Sandy said sheepishly.

  “Eat your ham so we can get going, and you better keep up,” Azerick told her grumpily.

  Sandy bolted down the ham and easily trotted along next to horse, constantly chattering away about all the things her mama had told her, and asking a seemingly unending stream of questions. After about an hour of constant chatter, Azerick looked down at her.

  “You know, you remind me a lot of my apprentice.”

  “Oh, is she really pretty too?” Sandy asked without missing a beat.

  Whatever annoyance Azerick had been building up was gone in an instant as he laughed long and hard at Sandy’s honest reply.

  “I suppose she is,” Azerick laughed.

  It took Azerick’s mind a full second to comprehend what was happening. Sharp stabbing pain erupted in both his shoulders and the ground was rapidly falling away from him. Horse’s high-pitched shriek filled his ears as leathery wings flapped hard above him.

  “Mama!” Sandy cried out and dove beneath the sand.

  Azerick called his staff to hand and thrust the spear tip deep into the wyvern’s stomach. His wounded shoulders ached in protest at the exertion that was demanded of them, but fear and adrenalin forced them to obey. A rune flared brightly at Azerick’s mental command and lightning seared the wyvern’s vital organs.

  The sudden pain and resulting death caused the wyvern to release its grip on what it had mistakenly thought was prey. The distant ground rushed toward him but only for a second. An air and spirit rune flashed on the staff and Azerick’s uncontrolled plummet became a slow drift like the seed from a dandelion. Azerick was able to twist his body in mid flight so he could see the battle that raged below.

  Two wyverns were trying to make a meal out of Horse but were finding the terrified animal less than cooperative. Horse was bucking, spinning, and lashing out with his powerful rear hooves, screaming loudly in protest while the wyverns tried to attack him from opposite sides.

  Azerick was just close enough to send a blast of lightning into the back of the nearest wyvern, knocking it off its feet while he continued his lazy descent. Horse saw the wyvern fall, reared up on his powerful rear legs, brought his front hooves down, and beat a rapid tattoo on the injured wyvern’s narrow head.

  The second wyvern tried to bring its long, snake-like tail over its back like a scorpion and drive its stinger into the equine, but the appendage refused to respond. With a loud hiss, the wyvern whipped its head around and found Sandy hanging from the end of its tail just above the stinger. It tried to snake its head back and snap at the feisty little dragon but she skipped to the opposite side still worrying and shaking the wyvern’s tail in her powerful jaws.

  Horse lashed out with his hind legs and caught the wyvern square in its chest, shattering the light, hollow bones. He immediately followed up his attack with a second powerful kick just under the wyverns chin and upper chest when it snapped its head back around to face the more powerful opponent.

  Azerick sent a stream of magic bolts slamming into the wyvern’s side as Horse pummeled the creature with his forelegs, smashing it into the sand and seemingly dancing upon its head and neck long after it stopped moving.

  Azerick’s feet finally touched down and he ran toward Horse and Sandy to see if either of them was hurt. Blood ran down his back and chest from where the wyvern’s talons pierced his flesh. Horse had calmed down enough that his eyes were no longer rolling in terror and he pranced in an agitated circle around the two dead wyverns.

  Sandy was crouched a few feet from the head of one of the wyverns, her rump high in the air, swishing her tail like a cat just before she pounced upon the dead creature and sank her sharp teeth into the back of its neck, shaking it like terrier on a rat.

  Despite his pain, Azerick laughed when a nerve reflex made the wyvern’s tail to twitch, causing Sandy to call out for her mama in fright and disappear under the sand in a flash. Azerick slowed to a walk and retrieved one of his precious healing potions, quickly downing the bitter concoction. Fire spread through his body as the potion knitted his flesh closed and stopped the profuse bleeding.

  Sandy’s head popped above the sand several yards away from the twitching wyvern. Seeing that the creature was not coming back to life, she quickly regained her courage, burst out of the sand like a large fish leaping out of the water, and pounced ont
o the neck of the wyvern.

  She glanced up from gnawing on the wyvern’s neck as Azerick sat down heavily in the sand. The little dragon waddled over to where Azerick sat and saw the blood-soaked shirt.

  “You’re bleeding! You’re not going to die are you?” Sandy asked frightfully, almost on the verge of tears.

  Azerick gave her a reassuring smile and stroked her broad head. “No, little one, I will be fine. I’m just a little tired and sore right now.”

  Horse ceased his prancing and nuzzled the back of Azerick’s shoulder with his soft nose. Azerick stroked the velvety, rubbery proboscis and pulled out a couple of the sugar cubes he had bought at the bakery as a treat for him. Horse’s silly, flappy lips clopped together as he gratefully took the treats from Azerick’s palm. A thought crossed his mind and he reached back into his pocket and brought one out for Sandy as well.

  She sniffed it warily before her long, forked, purple tongue snaked out, wrapped around the morsel, and popped it into her mouth. Her sparkling green eyes widened in delight as the sweet, brown sugar cube melted in her mouth.

  “Is that horse food? It is soooo yummy!” Sandy exclaimed, darting her snout into the folds of Azerick’s cloak looking for more.

  Azerick laughingly pushed her head away and gave her another. When the second sugar cube dissolved, she ran her tongue all around the inside of her mouth to get every bit of lingering flavor.

  “Did you see me bite that big ugly wyvern on his tail?” Sandy asked excitedly. “He was going to sting Horse and I was like, rawr! And I chomped on his tail and he tried to bite me but I was way too fast for his old ugly head!”

  Azerick nodded. “I did, and I also heard you cry for mama and hide under the sand,” he teased.

  Sandy gasped in indignation. “That was a battle cry and I was not hiding. It is a tactic we sand dragons use to surprise our foes,” she haughtily informed the human who obviously knew nothing about how sand dragons fought.

  “Oh, my mistake, my mighty and fearsome little hunter!” Azerick said, holding his hands up in surrender and laughing.

  Sandy cocked her head, narrowed her eyes at Azerick, and looked at him suspiciously. “Are you mocking me?”

  Azerick had to hold his stomach as he rolled over onto the sand, laughing so hard it made his wounds hurt.

  “I would not dare to even dream of it,” he replied between loud guffaws.

  Sandy was unconvinced of his sincerity but the memory of the wonderful sugar cubes and the promise of more later kept her from begrudging the human for too long. She turned her back on him with a huff and resumed stalking her prey. She pounced back on the wyvern but was quickly distracted by a large lizard that poked its head out of its den to see if the danger had passed.

  Seeing live prey, Sandy bounded across the sand and snapped at the reptile, ending up with a big mouthful of sand for her trouble. The lizard darted back down its hole but Sandy followed it under the sand with a speed that amazed Azerick. She burst back up a few feet away from where she had gone under, hot on the heels of the fleeing lizard.

  “Be careful, Sandy, it might be a cousin of yours!” Azerick called over to her.

  She instantly forgot her prey and stalked deliberately over to where the human sat, grinning as if he had actually said something funny. She stuck her snout close to his face and fixed him with her gaze.

  “Those cold-blooded, primitive creatures are no relation to us majestic dragons,” Sandy informed him in slow and precisely clipped words.

  “I’m sorry, Sandy, I did not mean to insult you.”

  “Humph!” Sandy retorted and turned her back on him, pouting.

  “Would you like another sugar cube?” Azerick asked, trying to placate the proud little dragon.

  Sandy looked over her shoulder at him. “Yes I would, but it does not excuse you from insulting me and my entire race. It would be like me calling you a, a, well I don’t know what but something crude and primitive,” she said haughtily.

  “An ape?” Azerick said helpfully.

  “What’s an ape?”

  “An ape is a hairy, long-armed creature that swings from trees in the jungles of Lazuul that has some human facial characteristics,” Azerick explained.

  “Yes, you are an ape then. How do you like that—ape boy?” Sandy asked snottily.

  Azerick pulled another sugar cube from his pocket, chuckling at the dragon’s pique.

  “You really do remind me of my apprentice.”

  “Yes, yes, we have established that I am pretty but you cannot fatter me into forgiving you,” Sandy insisted.

  “I think you mean flatter, unless you get into a habit of eating too many sugar cubes.”

  Azerick sidled over and held the sugar cube out for her as she tried to think up a comeback for his latest remark. He jerked his hand back when she darted her head at his hand and snapped up the treat.

  “I bet you would not have been so afraid for your hand if I was just a lizard,” Sandy said snidely.

  “All right, you win! You are nothing like a pathetic, cold-blooded lizard. You are a beautiful, powerful, fearsome, and majestic dragon whose history goes back to the dawn of time. Please forgive me, oh beautiful one whose scales shine with the glory of the morning sun,” Azerick said sarcastically.

  “Well, I suppose and you did feed me so I will forgive you. We dragons are also very magnesium.”

  “I think you mean magnanimous.”

  “Can we go now? The wyverns are beginning to smell,” Sandy complained.

  CHAPTER 7

  Zagrat shuffled about the large chamber of the cave he called his laboratory, examining the bubbling, brewing, concoctions heating over oil burners and checking the sharpness of his tools that looked more like torture devices than surgical equipment.

  The floor was sticky and stank of rotted blood. No one ever cleaned up after the horrific experiments he conducted. A barrel of foul-smelling liquid contained the arms of various humans and creatures, sticking up out of the top like the handles of shovels at a general store. Another held legs, others heads. Torsos were too large to preserve at this facility, but when Varnath completed his goals he would be rewarded with his choice of any castle in the kingdom, except for Castle Stonemount of course. The capital was reserved for the lich lord’s throne.

  Perhaps Castle Brightridge. It was known to be the fairest of all the castles and sported a large population from which to collect his subjects. Southport had the luxury of being a port city though. Lots of transients to choose from. People were less likely to foment a revolt or vociferous protests if you left their own alone.

  “What do you think, Grogan?” the sadistic and completely insane hobgoblin shaman asked the huge golem.

  The golem did not answer, he never did. Zagrat never even bothered to equip him with a tongue when he had constructed him from the finest specimens he could acquire. It would not have mattered. Golems did not speak, did not even think. They simply obeyed and that was what pleased Zagrat most.

  The construct was a full eight feet tall, its limbs muscled to the point of obscenity. Not a single hair follicle marred its pink flesh. Hair did not survive well after all of the necessary preparations were done. The preserving agents he had concocted preserved the flesh most excellently but it was very harsh on the hair and the fluids needed to construct the true golem was by far the most caustic.

  Unfortunately, he needed minions that could think as well as obey so they could bring him fresh specimens. That was one reason why he created the ragmen. He did not have a name for them until one of his pets brought back one of the big blond humans and he had used the term while cursing the ambivalent shaman. Zagrat had liked the term and adopted it for his own.

  The shaman crossed the room where a lovely nude female lay strapped to the stone table, one of several that occupied the center of the chamber. “And how are you today, my pet?” the shaman asked in the common trade tongue.

  The petite, raven-haired woman cursed unintelligibly throu
gh the rolled cloth that gagged her. Zagrat liked to hear the screams of his subjects, but this woman’s ranting and caterwauling contained no fear or pleasant sobs for mercy, only an unending string of profanity and promises of the horrible things she would do to him if she ever got free. He eventually became tired of hearing it and gagged her.

  “I have something very special in mind for you, my dear. Your light, sleek, muscular body simply cries out for one of my special modifications. You will be my finest creation yet, except for Grogan of course.”

  Hati tried to shriek another curse at the pointy-eared, pug-nosed, scrawny hobgoblin but it came out as just another unintelligible gurgle. She satisfied herself with the rudest one-handed gestures she knew—and she knew several. Being half Eislander and half Thule living among the rather intolerant, larger, and fairer people, she learned quickly how to defend herself, verbally as well as physically. She was short, especially next to the gargantuan Eislanders, but she was quick and strong. Many of the big blond girls had learned the hard way that despite her small size, she fought like a demon and would win by any means possible. That also made her rather unpopular among the so-called honorable fighting people.

  “Grogan, we need the young female chained to the ceiling and floor, please make it so.”

  Hati renewed her ineffectual screaming. The stupid hobbi thought she was not afraid. She was in fact terrified, but her fiery spirit would never let the shaman know that. The moment the golem unpinned her shackles she lashed out, scratching and gouging the animated blob of flesh and bone with her nails, going for the eyes and face. She may as well have been scratching at the stone walls of the cavern. Her attacks did not even raise so much as a red welt on the creature’s pink skin.

  It handled her with the ease of an infant, picking her up, and holding her upright with one huge and incredibly powerful hand while reattaching the iron shackles that dangled from the ceiling. It then carefully attached her leg irons to iron rings secured to the stone floor. The golem frightened her despite the fact that it was always gentle in her handling, but that was because the shaman never told it to harm her. It would, on command, rip her arms off with the same emotionless detachment with which it gently strung her up.