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

by Brock Deskins

  “Yes, mistress,” Joshua said as he darted into the room.

  “Thank me, Joshua.”

  “Thank you, mistress,” the apprentice immediately responded.

  Shakrill turned in her chair and sneered at her apprentice. “Do you even know why you are thanking me?”

  “Because you told me to, mistress,” Joshua responded automatically, knowing that was the wrong answer but sometimes he could not contain his extreme dislike of his mistress and said foolish things.

  Shakrill looked at her apprentice dangerously. “If I thought for a moment that you were clever enough to be mocking me I would have you whipped. No, you little twit, I just saved your worthless life. You should be extraordinarily grateful.”

  “Then I thank you most gratefully, mistress,” he responded, feigning as much sincerity as he could.

  “That is better, Joshua. I had originally planned to use your body as the vessel to house the demon, Klaraxis, but that man you took down to the summoning room was kind enough to volunteer to take your place. Don’t worry too much though, Joshua, I am sure you will find another way to make yourself useful,” Shakrill told him without the slightest hint of remorse for nearly sacrificing him.

  “Take this potion down to him and make him take it if he is conscious and clean him up. If he is hungry get him food, if he is thirsty bring him some water or whatever he wishes. I want him healthy and presentable when Klaraxis arrives,” Shakrill ordered and handed him a stoppered vial.

  “Yes, mistress,” Joshua responded automatically.

  Joshua walked back down the stairs to the summoning room. He stopped off in the kitchens to grab a wineskin, bucket of water, and a clean rag. When he entered the room, he immediately saw that the sorcerer had indeed regained consciousness and was watching him as he entered.

  “Are you thirsty?” Joshua asked as he knelt down beside the prone sorcerer. “I brought some watered wine.”

  Azerick turned his head away. “You must think I am a fool if you believe I would drink anything you have for me.”

  “It’s just wine. I got it from the kitchen myself. I can take a drink first if you want, to show that it is not poisoned,” Joshua offered and poured a mouthful when the sorcerer looked his way.

  Joshua held the skin to Azerick’s mouth and let him drink as much as he wished until the sorcerer told him he had had enough.

  “My mistress wishes for you to drink this also,” Joshua said as he brought out the vial.

  Azerick arched his eyebrows at the young man. “Wine is one thing, strange potions are quite another.”

  “She said it is to help heal your injuries,” Joshua told him.

  “Do you believe everything your mistress tells you?”

  Joshua shook his head. “I only trust her to do what is in her own self interest and in this I believe her. She wants you healthy for her purposes.”

  “You do not sound as though you are overly fond of your mistress,” Azerick stated.

  The young man looked askance. “It would not be proper, or healthy, for me to speak negatively about her.”

  “What is it she plans to do with me?”

  Joshua shook his head. “I do not think it is my place to say. She gave me no instructions to tell you such things.”

  “Did she tell you not to tell me anything?” Azerick asked.

  “No, she did not.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Joshua.”

  “I am Azerick. Tell me, Joshua, if you were in my position and I told you what was going to happen to you, would you be frightened, distraught?”

  Joshua shuddered, knowing that he had very nearly been in this very position. “Yes, very much so.”

  “Knowing your mistress, does she take pleasure in other people’s misery, enjoys causing them fear and pain?”

  “Yes, she does. I have never met anyone who relishes the suffering of others the way she does,” Joshua answered.

  “Then she would probably enjoy knowing that I know what is in store for me since it could only cause me further anguish,” Azerick reasoned.

  Joshua could not fault the logic and could not see that it made any difference whether the sorcerer knew or not the horror that awaited him.

  “She plans to use your body as a vessel to bring a demon lord from the abyss to our realm.” Joshua squeezed the washrag he held in his hands. “She was going to use me until you came along. For all of these years I have served her, taken her abuse and beatings, listened to all her insults, telling me I was useless and still I served her, hoping that one day she would accept me as a wizard. Through all of that, for all of my years of service, she was going to kill me; worse, she was going to give my body to a demon and force my soul out into the abyss!” Joshua seethed in anger.

  “Give me the potion, Joshua, my arm and ribs are killing me,” Azerick said and drank down the potion.

  The same familiar heat and tingling that he knew from his own potions suffused his body. It was a different color and had a different taste to it though it was still bitter and unpleasant. His arm and ribs stopped hurting and he found he could move it and take a full breath without serious pain.

  “Joshua, none of us can know what is ever going to happen to us. Even when all appears hopeless and things are at their bleakest, chances arise to change our situation, our status. The hard part is recognizing when those chances are there and having the courage to take advantage of them when we do.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of what they are going to do to you?” Joshua asked.

  “Not really, what good would it do me? I will remain focused, use my mind as best I can to resist whatever they throw at me, and be ready to take advantage of the slightest opportunity that may present itself. It is all I have ever done and it has gotten me through a few situations that most would have seen as inescapable.”

  “How old are you?” Joshua asked.

  “How old do you think I am?”

  The apprentice shook his head. “I don’t know. When I first saw you I would have thought you were not much older than me but now, listening to you, seeing the strength in you, and knowing you killed two wizards even when you were outnumbered, I just don’t know.”

  Azerick smiled wanly at the young man. “I am barely older than you are Joshua though I have seen and been through much. You may think I am an extraordinary spell caster but I am not, not really. I am just a man who has found himself in extraordinary circumstances and done what I must to survive. That is all any of us can do.”

  “I am sorry about what they are going to do to you. I do not think you deserve it.”

  Azerick let out a small laugh. “There are those who would disagree with you, but I think most of them are as poor of character as your mistress so I would not take any heed of their opinions.”

  “You do not seem like an evil man, Azerick. What were you doing in Rapture?” Joshua asked, shaking his head.

  “Are you familiar with a man called the Rook,” Azerick asked and got his answer when he saw Joshua’s eyes go round. “Someone sent him to kill me and I found out he was connected to the tower. Several years ago, a lifetime ago, someone murdered my father. That too was connected with the tower, or so I believe. I do not know if the Rook was the same man that murdered my father but given his association with the tower and his methods, I suspect it is so. I came here for answers, and to ensure no one threatened my home or my family again.”

  “I wish I could get you out of here, even though Mistress Shakrill would kill me. At least I would die knowing I did something right in my life,” Joshua said forlornly.

  “Now is not the time. We would both likely be killed. Remember what I said about doing what you must when the time comes. I cannot tell you when that is, only you can be certain of that.”

  Joshua shook his head again. “I couldn’t. I wish I had your courage but I am a coward. I’m too afraid of Shakrill.”

  “Courage is not the absence of fear, Joshua. It is doing what you must in sp
ite of those fears. It is about not allowing fear to prevent you from doing what you know you must do. A person who knows no fear is a fool and will likely die gloriously and uselessly before they get the chance to do the most good.”

  “I will try, I promise,” Joshua said resolutely.

  “That is all any of us can do.”

  “I had better go back before Mistress Shakrill calls for me. I do not know when the summoning will be but it will be soon I suspect. This may sound stupid, but I wish you luck,” Joshua told the sorcerer.

  Azerick smiled at the young apprentice. “It has served me rather well so far.”

  Azerick and Joshua spoke several more times over the next two days when the apprentice brought him food, water, and wine. Shakrill came to him once to taunt him over his impending doom and ask him questions about his staff. He remained defiantly uncooperative but she only laughed saying that she would get all her questions answered when the demon took over his body, magic, and memories.

  “Tell me who sent the Rook to kill me and maybe I will tell you something about my staff,” Azerick told the cruel wizard.

  Shakrill laughed humorously. “I would be far more concerned with what I am going to do with you now than some failed attempt at your life from weeks past. He tried, failed, and now is gone. Why should you care when any chance of revenge is far gone?”

  “I despise a mystery, particularly when it involves me directly,” Azerick responded. “If I am going to die I would like to know. Maybe I will get a chance to haunt them later.”

  Shakrill laughed, and this time with genuine pleasure. It was her kind of humor. “Some foolish nobleman,” she said, waving her hand as if it were completely inconsequential. “Apparently he is still a bit miffed about you blowing his only son to bits some time back. I do not understand it myself. Why risk yourself antagonizing a dangerous opponent for something so trivial? I suppose that is why I have no sentimental attachment for anything other than my own life and ambitions.”

  So it was Travis’s father that sent the assassin, not the tower.

  Azerick could not believe that Travis’s father would go to such aims to avenge a son that had brought about his own death. Then again, none of them seemed to be the type to accept responsibility for their own actions. Few nobles did.

  And now, here he was, staked out for sacrifice because he had followed the wrong trail. Or perhaps not. He now knew who sent the Rook after him, but who hired him to kill his father?

  “Did he kill my father as well?”

  Shakrill looked at him in a mixture of confusion and irritation. “How should I know? The Rook kills so many people. Even if I cared I could not keep track of them all.”

  “He was a ship captain in Duke Ulric’s jail. He was murdered in his cell because someone had tricked him into smuggling an artifact into the kingdom.”

  The wizard shrugged ambivalently. “I am not privy to all of the Rook’s dealings so I would know no more than I really cared to, which is not at all. You should focus on what is going to happen to you now, not all of the little inconveniences that have already come and gone.”

  The dark archmage smiled as she left, finding pleasure in only two things in life: inflicting pain upon others and increasing her own formidable powers. As luck would have it, her current task was going to accomplish both and that made her pleased indeed.

  CHAPTER 13

  Sandy lay half-buried atop the dune where Azerick had left her, reading a book she borrowed from the magic bag he carried while he rested just before he left for the town. It took her nearly an hour to understand how it worked, but her dragon knowledge allowed her to figure it out. Lacking sugar cubes, it was the only thing she found that piqued her interest at the time.

  The wind shifted and carried the scent and bleating of the goats that roamed the nearby oasis to her senses. Her hunter instincts immediately caused her to pop her head up from the pages of the book and focus on the cloven-hoofed little vermin. Her sharp eyes brought the herd into perfect focus even though they were nearly a mile away.

  Her stomach rumbled despite the several smoked sausages that she had just finished not more than an hour ago. Sandy turned her gaze back toward the book and tried to renew her reading. She was not really hungry, and besides, she promised Azerick she would stay here and not attract attention.

  He made her promise. Him, a human, ordering her, a dragon, to make promises against her nature, a resentful little voice said inside her scaly head.

  Who was he to tell her when and where to hunt? Besides, this had nothing to do with hunger; this was instinct—dragon instinct! She was a huntress, the most beautiful, powerful, and wise of predators. What right gave an inferior species the audacity to presume to dictate to her!

  The little dragon turned her gaze back upon the unsuspecting goats and sank into the sand with a malicious chuckle. It took her only a short time to swim through the sand. She had no need to raise her head above the surface to see where the goats congregated. She could hear them milling about, bleating and munching the coarse grasses and shrubs that circled the oasis for a hundred yards in every direction.

  Sandy sensed the change in the goats as she burrowed nearer. Their casual bleats were reduced to a few nervous noises as if the creatures could sense that a predator was near but were unable to see, smell, or hear it. Instinct made them draw closer together, putting their young in the center while the rams stayed to the outside, waiting to butt heads with any interloper.

  Six feet beneath the sand and directly below one of the goats near the outer ring where Sandy could feel they were formed up, the little sand dragon launched herself upward with all her strength, breaching through the surface of the sand like a great-toothed devil shark breaching the surface of the ocean and taking one of the smaller sea mammals down into its cold depths to be devoured by the unstoppable predator.

  At least that was what was supposed to have happened. The breaching attack was flawlessly executed but started going wrong immediately after contact with the enemy. Enemy, no longer prey, as the foul-smelling mammal kicked its hind legs like a mad drummer, striking Sandy in her sensitive snout and face. The counterattack was so sudden and effective that it caused her to lose her vice-like grip on the animal.

  She spun about, hissing in pain, anger, and humility at the fleeing, wounded goat. A big ram took advantage of her distraction and butted her hard in the side. Sandy spun and snapped at the cantankerous beast and was hit from the other side by one of the younger males. Sandy quickly realized that the goats were a bit larger than she had first thought and put up a much stronger fight than she anticipated.

  Hissing in frustration and anger, the little dragon lashed out with her powerful tail and snapped at the foul beasts with lightning quick strikes, but the agile goats were adept at avoiding her attacks and lunged in for a bone-bruising head butt whenever she was distracted. Learning from her mistakes, she feinted toward one of the younger males then whipped her tail around at the senior ram when he tried another rush, sending the goat sprawling in the sand.

  Her victory was short lived as two more young males collided with her armored side, knocking her over with a yelp of pain. Having had enough of this frontal battle, Sandy dove under the sand just as the young shepherd, who had been dozing in the shade of a large palm tree, came running at the sounds of the commotion. He reached his herd at the same time Sandy burst out from under the sand, grabbed the goat she had initially wounded, and pulled it under the surface.

  The young shepherd, no more than twelve years old, looked on in fear and astonishment at the sight of the goat seeming to have disappeared in a burst of sand. Gripping his long crook, he stared helplessly at where the goat had just been standing, trying to make sense of the blood droplets he saw in the sand.

  The ground suddenly burst skyward in another spray of sand, showering him with grit. He tried to leap away but fell onto his back as the reptilian demon glared down at him with fierce green eyes and a maw full of wickedly sharp t
eeth still showing traces of blood and fur.

  “What are you? Please don’t hurt me!” the boy wailed.

  Sandy replied in perfect Sumaran. “I am the great and powerful,” Sandy hissed her dragon name. “You will bring me treasure as a token of my greatness.”

  “What do you want? I am poor and have nothing,” the shepherd said, quavering in fear.

  “You will bring me sugar cubes, all you have or I will eat your goats and then you,” Sandy told the terrified boy with an evil grin. “Go, bring me my tribute or I will find you in your home near the edge of the town and devour you while you sleep!”

  Sandy snorted in laughter as she watched the boy flee back toward the city, his sandals flapping against his feet and throwing up small sprays of sand. She had made a guess as to where he lived, figuring the poorest people lived near the edges of a city, and being a goat herder, probably had to take his goats in from time to time and the closer to their grazing land the better. Driving a bunch of stubborn goats through the city could prove arduous so one would live as far from the center as possible.

  The little dragon cast a glare of extreme hatred at the huddled mass of goats several yards away who watched her with wary, hostile eyes. She sank down into the sand with little effort of movement, never taking her eyes from the disgusting little beasts.

  It took less than an hour for the shepherd to return, running back toward the herd with a small clay jar in his hands, his light muslin robes flapping behind him. Sandy watched the boy from where she lay in wait about halfway between him and the dune where Azerick had left her. The boy was breathing hard, partly from the exertion of running across the sands and partly out of fear. As Sandy came waddling up to him his breath caught in his throat and she thought he might actually make himself pass out despite the force of his previous respirations.

  “You have brought my tribute?” she asked haughtily.

  The shepherd dropped to his knees and nearly pressed his face into the sand as he held out the clay pot shaking in his hands. “Great sand demon, I could find no sugar but I brought you the honey we use to sweeten our tea. Please do not eat me, we are poor, and it is the best I could do.”