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

by Brock Deskins

  “What is it, what has happened?” his mother asked, knowing something was wrong.

  “We are missing a goat and your son does not seem willing to explain it.”

  “Fazheel, what is the matter with you? Tell your father what happened to the goat,” his mother ordered as she took his lunch sack that he had completely forgotten was still clutched in his hand.

  Oh great merciful gods if you ever favored Fazheel or any poor shepherds you will not let her open that sack! Of course his mother read his mind with her psychic powers and immediately opened the sack and let the two honey pots, completely licked clean, fall onto the table.

  “Fazheel!” his mother exclaimed in shock. “What are you doing with these? Have you been stealing my honey and eating it out at the oasis? How greedy can you be?”

  That was the tipping point Fazheel needed. His heart finally ruptured and his brain split in twain as his knees buckled and the floor raced up to meet him. He did not even feel himself strike the packed earthen floor. Already dead, his spirit floated peacefully into the arms of whatever god had finally taken pity on him.

  Surprisingly, it must have been Serron, god of the sea, because he suddenly felt as if he were drowning. His lungs heaved and expelled the water that threatened to drown him. He opened his eyes and saw his mother standing over him with a bucket, the last of its contents dripping onto the floor. He realized he had not died but had merely passed out. Fazheel tried valiantly to press his nose into the spilled water and take it back into his lungs so that he could serve the god of the sea for eternity, but the parched dirt floor absorbed every drop before he had the chance. All he ended up with was a wet head and a muddy face.

  “Get up, boy,” his father commanded without a hint of pity.

  Fazheel shakily got to his feet and nearly feinted again when he saw the evil switch in his father’s hands. The goat switch was the most sadistic of all implements of torture ever devised by man or demon. It was five feet long and supple, made of willow tightly wrapped in leather. Fazheel felt a welt rise on his backside just seeing it.

  “Now tell me what is going on with you, boy. What happened to the goat and your mother’s honey? Is it a girl? Did you gift them to a girl you wish to favor you?”

  He could say that! His father may understand such a gesture; his mother certainly would. The problem was that he had no girlfriend. Besides, his lies could never get past his mother’s infallible mental powers. All he could do was shake his head.

  His father sighed and stepped closer looking almost remorseful for what he had to do. “I suppose there is only one way I am only going to get answers from you.”

  At that moment his father was the most frightening thing he could imagine. The desert demon was as scary as a housecat compared to the man wielding the leather-wrapped tool of torture.

  Fazheel’s mouth opened and a torrent of words flooded out without any conscious control. “It was the desert demon! It burst from the sand like a trap spider and ate one of the goats then told me to bring it honey and rub sand on its scales or it would eat me too and it knew where I lived so I had better do as it said!”

  “There is nothing you could have told me that would have made me angrier than that ridiculous lie. I rather you had sold the goat and engorged yourself on the honey than take me for a fool,” his father said, his anger mixed with remorse that his son would lie to him like that.

  “Wait, husband,” his mother said, stopping his father’s advance with the switch. “I do not think he is lying, at least he does not think he is.”

  Oh gods bless his mother’s psychic powers for once!

  Fazheel’s father looked at his mother then to his cousin. “Feriche, go out and tell your father to come here. You will count every goat at every toll of the bell.”

  “Yes, sir,” his cousin said and turned to do as he was told.

  Feriche heard the whistling of the goat switch slicing through the air behind him. Pure survival instinct made him leap forward, clearing seven feet without even bending his knees. Unfortunately his father was a tall man with a long reach and Feriche’s impressive bound came up nearly a foot short of seeing him to safety. The crack of the switch against his cousin’s backside sounded like a bolt of lightning striking inside the dining room.

  Feriche’s second leap, encouraged by the vicious stinging switch across his rump, took him half again as far as the first, putting him halfway into the living room and out the door a split second later. How he managed to clear the top of the doorway without bashing his head Fazheel could not knew.

  “And you will count those goats every time they are brought in and taken out, boy.”

  Fazheel’s uncle entered the house a minute later, grinning when he saw the goat switch in his brother’s hand and realized why his son was moving so much quicker than usual and was counting the goats as he left for the house.

  “I think my son will not only be able to tell you how many goats there are but how many of each gender and color patterns!”

  Fazheel’s father did not join in his brother’s laughter, always having been the more serious and stern of the two. “Now tell us again what you saw, slowly.”

  Fazheel recounted everything he had seen and done as best as he could remember. No one interrupted as he told his story, only watching and listening thoughtfully until he finished.

  “What did it look like again?” his father asked.

  “It was scaly with long sharp fangs, blood-red eyes, and big bat-like wings,” Fazheel replied, picturing the terrifying visage in his mind.

  “You are certain the eyes were red?”

  “Well, they may have been kind of green—but a really evil green.”

  “What color were its scales?”

  “Shiny, like gold or maybe brass.”

  “And how big did you say it was?”

  “Huge! Almost as big as the house, well, maybe not our house but a smaller house for sure.”

  “When you rubbed its scales with sand, did you scrub its back?”

  Fazheel nodded.

  “And how did you reach its back? Did you climb on top, or were you standing next to it?”

  Fazheel’s father realized that his son was not deliberately lying but knew that such frightening sights often loomed far larger and more terrifying in one’s mind than in reality. Especially young boys that have seen very little of anything beyond the goats they herded and the town they lived in.

  “I stood next to it, kind of kneeling at times.”

  The brothers looked at each other and it was his uncle that spoke. “Sounds like a sand dragon, but a very young one.”

  “Aye, probably no bigger than a small pony at best.” His father agreed.

  “You think we need to get some men and weapons and destroy it, or at least run it off?”

  “I do not like the idea of using force against the creature. If it is young its mother may be about, and such a creature could destroy the town if not for the wizards, and even they would likely not appreciate it if we brought down the kind of wrath a mature sand dragon could bring.

  “It is likely the beast is alone though and preyed upon our goats for a relatively easy meal, but even so, it could devour the entire herd in a year if left on its own. Sand dragons are usually not too aggressive toward humans, preferring a more solitary life.”

  As his father spoke it never ceased to amaze Fazheel how much his father knew. He could understand why he had always pressed the importance of education on his children but how he knew so much about such things as dragons Fazheel could not even speculate.

  “I see what you are saying,” his uncle added. “Besides, if we attacked it and it got away and grew up, well, I would rather not be around the one that it begrudged.”

  “I think we will need to speak to it.” The father turned back toward his son. “You did say to spoke to you in our language?” Fazheel nodded. “We should speak to it and try to convince it to go elsewhere. We will take a few men with us in case we need to
persuade it by other means. I hope it will simply leave. It would not please me to have to harm it.”

  Fazheel drove the goats back to their grazing lands in the morning as if nothing was amiss but he could not calm the nerves that thrummed inside him like the strings of lute playing a lively traveler’s tune. It did not take long for the dragon to make its appearance, bursting out of the sand just as the goats were settling in to graze. At the creature’s sudden appearance, they huddled together for safety and fled for the far side of the oasis as the scent of a predator filled the air.

  Fazheel was much closer to the edge of the oasis than he had been previously, but the dragon apparently felt confident in its command of the situation that it came near without hesitation. He set the pot of honey on the ground and stepped away. The dragon pounced on it like a cat onto a mouse and greedily flipped the top off and swirled its long purple tongue around the inside.

  Fazheel stepped close to its side as if to make with the sand bath, but instead of scooping up a double handful of sand, he grabbed a thick rope that his father and uncle buried last night. He intentionally placed the pot where the dragon would step into the noose, and when he heaved up on the rope it cinched tight around the creature’s foreleg, trapping it.

  His father, uncle, and three of their friends burst out of the trees and thick foliage that surrounded the oasis with more ropes in their hands the moment Fazheel pulled the rope tight.

  “Hey!” Sandy cried out in surprise then saw the humans rushing toward her. “Uh oh.”

  Her first emotion was fear but that quickly turned to anger at the thought of being tricked by her human servant and trapped like some wild animal.

  I will teach you humans what it means to have a dragon by the tail, she swore bitterly and bit at the rope with her powerful jaws and sharp teeth.

  Several strands immediately parted but the rope was thick and well made. There were still several strands keeping the rope intact and they were enough to continue restraining her.

  Sandy knew she was out of time and decided to go on the offensive. She dove under the sand, narrowly dodging the lasso thrown by one of the humans only to appear behind another and whack him in the back of his legs with her strong tail, sending the man tumbling to the ground. Before she could fully enjoy her momentary victory, another man threw his rope and lassoed her around her long neck.

  A powerful tingling ran through her body as another of the ancient memories stirred inside her. She focused upon the sudden surge before the humans could get in place to get another rope around her. Sandy shaped and directed the energy into the ground around her and the sand seemed to suddenly come alive, blowing about her and the humans in a small but fierce sandstorm. Were she an adult, she could bring forth a sand storm that could practically bury the entire town.

  The dragon snapped its clear, diamond-hard inner eyelids closed to protect the delicate orbs as she dove under the sand once more. She burst up behind another of the humans while he was trying to affix a scarf around his head and face to block the blowing sand. A small growl was the only warning he got before she sunk her needle-like teeth through the thin material of his robe and into the tender flesh beneath. The man howled like Feriche when he had gotten swatted with the goat switch.

  Sandy tried to spit the horrible taste out of her mouth when another rope found its way around her neck. She reared back in fear and hoped to pull the rope from the human’s hands but another caught her other foreleg. The men pulled the two around her front legs in opposite direction, sending her sprawling face first in a most undignified fashion into the sand. Another rope caught one of her back legs, and before she could think of a plan, all three ropes were wound around her legs and she was hog-tied.

  Being pinned and rendered helpless brought upon a feeling of humiliation she had never experienced before. She hissed, snapped, and cursed the humans with every vile word she could think of, which was not many because her mother told her that ladies do not use foul language, but her protests and resistance were cut short when another roped was wrapped around her snout and tied her jaws shut.

  Azerick was going to kill her unless these humans beat him to it. Why had she not listened to him? Why had she been so greedy and provoked the humans? Because she was dragon, that’s why. Full of pride and a sense of superiority well beyond her young age, she thought herself as superior and had the right to do as she pleased. Mama would have been very disappointed in her she suddenly realized.

  A tall human approached with her former servant looking wide-eyed but slightly smug in tow. “So, little dragon, are you ready to talk more peaceably?”

  “Yes,” Sandy replied morosely, her words muted by the rope around her muzzle.

  “What are you doing out here all by yourself? Where is your mother?”

  “She’s gone.”

  A look of empathetic understanding crossed the tall human’s face. “I see, but I cannot have you eating all of my goats. It would make me and my family paupers.”

  “It was only one stupid goat and it tasted terrible!” Sandy said in her defense.

  “Ah, one so far but how many would I lose if you stayed? You see, I cannot have you thinking my herd is your private hunting ground. Not to mention you frightened my son half to death.”

  “Sorry,” she said, looking at Fazheel standing behind his father as he crouched next to her. “I won’t eat any more of your goats. I did not like it much and we should be leaving soon anyway.”

  “So you are not alone? Is there another dragon nearby?” Fazheel’s father asked, eliciting nervous looks from the men with him.

  “No, he is a human but very powerful. I would not want to make him mad if I were you,” Sandy responded with a hint of warning.

  Actually, Azerick was much more likely to be mad at her than these humans were but she was not about to reveal that fact.

  “Ah, I think I see now.”

  They had all heard about the battle that took place between the wizards in the tower square, but he decided it was not his place to tell the little dragon that the stranger had been taken since he did not know what had happened to him.

  “We will let you go but you must promise not to eat any more of my goats, and stop terrorizing my son.”

  “Fine, I promise. Can I have the rest of the honey?”

  Fazheel’s father laughed, a rare break in his normally strict nature, and placed the clay pot next to the dragon as the others untied her. Sandy picked up the pot in her mouth and bounded toward the dune where she made her lair below the sand.

  “You should remember this day, Fazheel. It is a rare thing for a man to see a live dragon these days, much less speak to and touch one. She owes you a debt for your services and gifts. Perhaps one day, should your paths cross again, you may be able to call in that favor if your need is truly great.”

  “Do you think the dragon would see it that way, father?” Fazheel asked. “It seemed rather selfish and arrogant to admit to such a thing.”

  “You are lucky it was a sand dragon; one of the more beneficent of the dragon kinds. She is just young and the young lack wisdom and make many mistakes. I think she saw her errors and will gain wisdom in the years to come the more she learns from them. A goat and a few pots of honey is a small price to pay for such an experience. Now go tend to your duties.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  CHAPTER 14

  It was late the second night of his capture when Azerick was awakened by several people entering the summoning chamber. Five forms in black robes stood in a circle around him. Azerick identified two of the wizards. Shakrill and the woman he had injured during the fight stood with three other men he had not seen before.

  No one bothered to speak to him. Instead, they all seemed to have their own duties to attend to and went about them without preamble. Shakrill pulled a knife from beneath her robes and slashed Azerick across his chest. He hissed more in surprise than pain when the sharp blade opened a three-inch gash in his flesh. Shakrill showed no emo
tion, only focused determination as she dipped a small, fox hair brush into the bright blood that flowed from the fresh wound and painted several runes around his prone form that were unfamiliar to him.

  Sasha used a minor spell to light five of the six braziers that stood near the circular wall of the summoning room, surrounding both captive and captors while the others cast several spells of protection upon themselves. Shakrill began chanting in a low droning voice that the others quickly took up. Azerick felt nothing at first and had a momentary thought of hope that the spell was not working, but then the room began to spin slowly about in his vision.

  He tried once more to summon his staff to hand but it failed to materialize just as it had failed every time he had tried to summon it since his capture. Something in the room, or possibly the chains that bound him, blocked his ability to reach out for it.

  It was nothing like the spinning feeling one got from drinking too much where one felt as if they were spinning with the room. It felt to Azerick as if the room was spinning yet he remained stationary, each of the wizards faces flashing past his open eyes. Every few seconds, the door came into view then quickly disappeared, spinning faster and faster.

  Azerick could not contain the scream that tore from his chest as the floor dropped out from under him. He saw the five wizards’ faces as if peering down at him through the opening of a well and they drew farther and farther away as he fell down a deep, dark hole. The faces quickly disappeared as he plummeted too far away for him to see and the orange glow of the braziers became nothing more than a pinpoint of light, like a single star in an endless black sky before it too winked out of existence.

  Azerick had no idea how long he fell or of he even kept falling. Once there was nothing to fixate his eyes on, it felt as if he simply floated in the ether of nothingness. It reminded him a great deal of when the psyling had invaded his mind, but this time there was no flaw or fissure through which to escape.