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

by Brock Deskins

  Zeb stepped near the winged woman. “Do you know where they took another man, a southerner like me?”

  Hati nodded her head. “The horror chamber; where he does his mutilations. I saw him strapped to a table near the one I was on.”

  “Can you show us where it is? I need to find him. I have to know before we just leave him behind.”

  “I—I don’t know. I was unconscious when I was taken from—that place. Maybe, if we can find the passage I was brought down when I was first brought to this place,” Hati answered unsurely.

  The rescuers and former prisoners moved swiftly down the dimly lit passages. They encountered a few more ragmen, but they were alone or in small groups without any cohesive actions or directions from their master and easily dispatched. The cavern system was not exceptionally large and had few branches leading off large enough to have been used by the occupants. It did not take long for them to find the shaman’s laboratory.

  They found Ruben strapped to a stone slab inside the blood-spattered chamber. He turned his head to look at them as they entered.

  “Toron, Zeb, is that you?” he croaked in a dry, raspy voice.

  “It’s us, Ruben,” Zeb assured his brave oarsman. “We’ve come to get you out of here.”

  “Did ya kill that filthy bastard of a hobbi?”

  “Not quite, lad, but we whipped him pretty good,” Zeb replied.

  Hati’s eyes widened in horror. “He’s not dead?”

  “He’s gone, Hati, you don’t have to be afraid of him anymore. He ain’t comin’ back,” Modi assured her as she trembled in his arms.

  “No, he’s in my head! He can control me; make me do whatever he wants. You have to bind me, quickly.”

  Modi looked at the young woman worriedly but pulled out some cords from his bag as his men went about smashing everything in the laboratory. The smell of rotted blood mixed with the caustic odors of the strange liquids contained in the glass jars, beakers, and barrels burned the eyes and sickened the stomach. Zeb found a few books stacked upon a shelf and began packing them into his rucksack.

  Modi looked over at him as he finished binding Hati’s hands. “What in the world do you want with those vile tomes?”

  “I have a friend that might just be interested in them. The best way to defeat an enemy is to learn as much about them as you can. I figure these books contain a great deal of information on what that necromancer was doing here. Besides, if that creature is in the young lady’s head, my friends may just need them to get him out.”

  “You think they can fix me?” Hati asked hopefully.

  “Might be. If anyone can, I’d place my money on them,” Zeb replied.

  “I never took you to be a man that associated himself with wizards,” Modi grumbled warily.

  Toron replied to the battle jarl’s concern. “I have no love for spell casters, the same as most of my people, but the one in question has proven himself an honorable warrior and has earned the trust and respect of many of us here.”

  “If they know someone who could help me, Modi, I must take the chance,” Hati pleaded.

  “We will discuss this later,” Modi replied somberly. “We need to get out of here. We are too few and too wounded to try to take on that group that left out of here this morning.”

  No one argued the battle jarl’s point and hastily left the cavern behind. They made their way as swiftly across the snow-covered ground as they were able. Their travel was slowed by the number of warriors that needed help walking or were carried on quickly improvised litters made of stripped saplings and wool blankets.

  Many of the brave warriors begged to be left behind so they would not slow the others but their demands were immediately refused by Zeb, Modi, and the other men.

  “We’ve lost too many men to these beasts and that depraved hobbi. I’ll not lose anymore without a fight. Either we all get out or none of us will. Either way, you’ll die with an axe in your hand so don’t look so glum,” Modi said, his way of cheering up his men.

  The battered party force-marched the whole day before they spotted the first of their pursuers. It was the four-legged ragers they saw first, but they did not race ahead to engage the band, only getting close enough to keep an eye on their prey.

  “I wonder what they’re waitin’ for,” Zeb asked, “for us to drop dead of exhaustion first?”

  “Zagrat does not want to lose anymore of his creations,” Hati replied, almost trancelike. “He knows your ship is a few days travel from here and his zombies will be able to catch you before you reach it. We have to rest eventually, they don’t.”

  “You can hear him?” Modi asked.

  “Yes, in my head. I think he has forgotten about me, but it will only be a matter of time before he remembers. He will order me to resist, to fight, and I will not be able to refuse. I will be a puppet with him as the puppet master. He is hurt, tired, and afraid. Not just of you and your warriors but for what his master will do to him when he learns of this setback.”

  “Gods, he was bad enough. Who is his master?”

  “I do not know but he is terrified and in awe of him. He is a creature of great power—dark power.”

  “We’ll need to keep moving,” Zeb said. “I know your men are strong, Modi, and so are mine. We won’t stop nor rest and just hope we can make it to my ship before they catch us.”

  The band of fighters forced themselves beyond the point of exhaustion, marching through the night without pause. Their bodies ceased aching hours ago, replaced by a feeling of total numbness. The sun was well over the horizon by the time many of them even realized it had risen. Even if they could continue at this rate and not stop to rest, they were still a full day from the bay and the waiting ship.

  “We aren’t gonna make it, Zeb,” Modi said, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

  “We gotta keep pushing on. It’s our only chance no matter how slight it might be,” Zeb replied, his head in a daze.

  “No, look behind us. It’s over. Get your men ready to defend themselves and send some of these abominations to the abyss where they belong.”

  Zeb slowly turned around and saw that the host of ragmen where just a few hundred yard behind them and gaining. The ragers were stamping their feet in agitation as the zombies marched relentlessly just behind them.

  Zeb let out a whoosh of breath. “Get ready to fight, men! This is our last battle and it’ll be our finest hour!”

  The men with the litters set them down and slid their weapons out, facing the approaching army. There must have been nearly a hundred of them coming over a slight rise, ready to charge into the humans and the lone minotaur who waited for their deaths at the bottom of the slight depression. The wounded warriors that had been borne upon the litters rolled off and stood, several holding themselves up only by using their weapon or a litter pole as a crutch. They would get one good swing in before they toppled over and the ragmen cut them down.

  The ragers began to speed up into a trot, unable to restrain their fury any longer, wanting desperately to kill these men who mocked their own lives with their unaltered perfection. The men set themselves for the charge, lifting their weapons a little higher as the monstrosities bore down upon them.

  Thick quarrels suddenly sprouted from the charging ragers’ bodies, a few dropping heavily into the snow, headshot by the stout, steel broadheads.

  Zeb and the others glanced over their shoulders at the sound of screaming men and pounding feet coming over the top of the rise behind them. Zeb’s eyes widened and a grin split his face as he saw Balor leading the charge of what must have been nearly every man aboard the Shark.

  The exhausted men fell in behind Balor’s unexpected relief force as they charged past and crashed into the ranks of the leading ragmen. The initial clash stopped the ragmen’s charge in its tracks, but the humans were horribly outnumbered and many of the men were quickly succumbing to their exhaustion. The ragmen began driving them back and inflicting a heavy toll.

  Zeb’s previou
s excitement turned dour as he realized that Balor’s appearance only meant that they would not die quite as quickly and nearly his entire crew would be lost. The screams of wounded and dying men filled the air as steel met flesh and flesh and bone crushed the life out of the humans.

  Another thrumming filled the air, deeper than that made by their heavy crossbows. Long black shafts began sprouting from the bodies of the ragmen. Green fire flared inside the wounds caused by the black shafts as the creatures instantly underwent some kind of spontaneous combustion.

  Zeb and some of the other warriors looked toward the source of the noise that was repeating so fast it almost sounded like a band of minstrels strumming a rapid staccato on huge lutes. A dozen cloaked and hooded figures stood atop the ridge of the shallow bowl where man battled unnatural beasts, firing longbows nearly as tall as the wielders at a rate that defied possibility.

  Every arrow found its mark and where it struck green fire jetted out from the wound as the creature was consumed by the internal flames. Several constructs fell and died under the rain of arrows every second. In less than a minute, their numbers were cut in half. The ragmen became disoriented and seemed to lack guidance, making it easier for the warriors to defend themselves and slay the abominable creations with their axes and swords.

  The few remaining ragers tried to flee, but even as they sped away, an arrow found its way into the creatures’ backs, dropping them instantly. Some of the stag-based ragers made it nearly three hundred yards, certain to have reached safety before a lethal shaft unerringly found its mark, slaying it just as quickly and easily as the others.

  The humans bandaged their wounded as best they could as the strange figures walked lightly across the surface of the snow down to them. As they drew near, Zeb swore they were a bunch of youngsters, fare of skin, slight of build, none over five and a half feet tall. Their huge longbows topped some of their heads when unstrung. How the fragile-looking people managed to draw the powerful weapons at all, much less with the inhuman speed and accuracy that they did, was beyond him.

  What he could make out under the heavy hoods were sharp, angular faces, bereft of any trace of facial hair with bright, almond-shaped eyes that were just a little too large for their long, slender faces.

  He was further surprised when the apparent speaker or leader of the small band approached Toron first.

  “Honorable minotaur,” the figure spoke in a soft, lilting, and obviously feminine voice. “It has been a very long time since my people have met one of yours face to face. We are pleased with such a rare happenstance.”

  Toron simply ducked his big, horned head in reply. The figure then turned and looked between Zeb and the big Eislander, Modi.

  “It appears there are two disparate groups that have found themselves allied against a common foe. Three now,” the childlike figure said.

  It was the Eislander that spoke first. “I am Modi, Battle Jarl chosen to lead the fight against the monstrous creations that have been preying upon my people.”

  “Upon others as well, brave battle jarl. I am Coranalathana, Corana, for ease of use,” she smiled, revealing a set of perfect white teeth.

  “I’m Zeb, ship captain of the southern men you see here. We came here to hunt and fish when we were attacked by these creatures. We would have been destroyed if it hadn’t been for Modi and his warriors. We’d all been destroyed again if it hadn’t been for you and your friends, for which me and my men are most grateful.”

  Corana inclined her head at Zeb’s words. “It is good to see that the humans have gained enough wisdom to set aside their differences when faced by a common foe. Such has not always been the case. I would be most grateful if you are able to tell us more of what you know of these creatures, and most importantly, the one who creates and controls them so that we may complete our own mission and return home.”

  “Their leader was a hobgoblin. A shaman or necromancer of some sort,” Zeb said. “Toron and Modi took him down but he used his magic and got away. He was set up in a cave a hard day’s travel back the way we came. We tore up his laboratory as best we could before we left. The young lady over there says she can hear him in her mind when he’s issuing commands. She says if he realizes she is still about he can control her.”

  Corana took several graceful steps toward the bound woman, her huge wings covered by the blanket Modi fastened around her since most of her clothing had been stripped off during her transformation. It also made his men slightly more comfortable not seeing the wings.

  “You are their captive?” she asked Hati.

  “No, I asked Modi to bind me so I would not hurt any of them or be forced to return to that disgusting creature,” Hati replied.

  “From what I understand of Eislander prejudice and superstition, I am surprised the battle jarl is going through so much trouble,” Corana said with a sly lilt to her voice.

  Modi spoke up. “She is the daughter of a very good friend of mine. He returned from an exploration and trade trip to the far north. Not only did he return with furs and ivory, but a new wife as well. Hati’s mother died of a fever when she was not even nine. I tried to help him look after her. It was hard for her growing up and now I fear—I just don’t know what to do.”

  Corana examined the brand on Hati’s forehead. “You have been marked with a rune of possession. I would surmise that the necromancer wears the master rune upon his flesh.”

  “Can you remove it? Can you fix her?” Modi asked anxiously.

  A look of remorse flashed across the elf’s face. “I am sorry, I cannot. Though my people boast some of the most skillful wizards in the land, none are with us on this mission. This undertaking was given to my fellow rangers and me. The best thing is for her to keep calm and avoid powerful emotions or thoughts that may attract his attention if he has truly forgotten about her.

  “We must continue our mission now. I pray we can find this necromancer before he can reorganize and renew his unnatural experiments. I will leave you all with some salves to treat the injuries of your wounded.”

  Corana and some of the other elves pulled several beautifully crafted glass jars out of their small packs and gave them to Modi and the others with the instructions to rub the salve onto their cuts and worst bruises.

  “Wait,” Zeb called just before the elves departed. “The girl mentioned something about the shaman being very afraid of his master. I’m afraid that the hobgoblin may be the most pressing concern but not the greatest.”

  Corana’s face looked pensive. “That is very distressing to hear. All the more reason for us to make haste then. Fare thee well, humans and minotaur.”

  Zeb and the others watched in awe as the elves bounded across the snow without the use of snowshoes, yet barely left a mark of their passage. It took them only seconds to dart gracefully over the edge of the depression and out of sight. This trip was going to make some mighty good tavern stories when he got back. Few people have actually seen the reclusive elves for several generations. Such an event, especially in their natural surroundings, was unheard of.

  The salves worked miraculously on their wounds, easing pain and closing cuts almost as quickly as one of Azerick’s healing potions. Despite their extreme weariness, they rested only about two hours before marching on toward the waiting ship. Modi and Zeb’s men finally reached the point of undeniable exhaustion barely an hour later and was forced to make camp.

  Balor had brought only the bare essentials so as not to be slowed down more than necessary, but it was enough to get everyone fed and enough blankets and bedrolls that they would not freeze. They were back into the strange nightly fog but the skies remained clear and thankfully dry.

  They rotated around the two small iron stoves that Balor’s relief force had brought. Zeb had abandoned their own sled and supplies back near the ragmen’s cave. He was surprised when the still bound Hati sidled over to where he sat next to Toron and Balor.

  “Sir, you said you knew a wizard who might be able to change me back and
free my mind from that horrible beast?”

  “Name’s Zeb, little miss, and yes, I know some folks that can do it, if anyone can,” Zeb replied.

  “They would do it though if they could? I do not have any money.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that, Hati. They’re real decent folks and will likely do it just for the sake of interest and kindness.”

  Hati looked thoughtful, though whether frightened or relieved he could not tell.

  The morning stillness was broken by the sound of Hati crying out and struggling against her bonds. She kicked her feet furiously as she rolled about the snow jerking on the leather cords that bound her hands to a belt around her waist. He hands were fastened to the belt at her front so that she would have an easier time walking.

  “Hati, what’s wrong, girl?” Modi barked in concern.

  The young woman panted as she fought her bonds and the restraining hands of a couple of Zeb’s men. None of the Eislanders were willing to touch her.

  “It’s Zagrat! He has found me and is ordering me to escape and return to him. He says to kill any of you I can if I get the chance, especially you and the minotaur.”

  Hati lay face down in the snow, breathing hard, and obviously fighting more than just the bonds around her wrists.

  “Strap her to the sled. We’ll have to transport her that way, at least until that caster gives up,” Modi ordered.

  The big oarsmen made a comfortable recliner on the sled and covered the winged woman with blankets before tying her down. Hati snarled, cursed, and gnashed her teeth in frustration and rage at not being able to perform her master’s wishes. Exhaustion finally took her nearly four hours later and she fell unconscious.

  “If she continues that all the way back home it’s going to kill her unless we just let her go,” Modi remarked as they marched on toward the ship.

  Zeb nodded. “I think Bones can keep her still for most the way. With any luck there will be a range limit on the curse and we can sail beyond it before long.”