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

by Brock Deskins

After an indeterminate amount of time, he began noticing that the darkness was taking on a different color. The black began to fade and take on a reddish, rusty color. Azerick soon found himself staring up into a grey, lifeless sky and discovered solidity under his back. He had never thought he would ever welcome the feeling of a stone jabbing uncomfortably into his flesh, but at this moment it was the most wonderful sensation he could imagine.

  He got to his feet and stared at the bleak landscape. There was no sun but there was light; a reddish diffused sort of glow that came from no obvious source and cast no shadows. The ground and land all around him was reddish stone and sand. Far in the distance, he spied the black walls of a sinister-looking fortress built in an architectural design he would not have thought possible. With no other real options, he began walking toward the strange fortress.

  Without knowing how big the castle was it was impossible to tell how far away it lay. He felt as if he had been walking for at least an hour but it did not seem as if he were getting any closer. Azerick could not shake the feeling that he was being watched. He scoured the rocks that projected out of the ground in clumps and piles but saw nothing. He cast a look over his shoulder several times but could not see the source of his discomfiture.

  The sorcerer continued his trek toward the black fortress. He tried to call his staff to him, but wherever he was must be beyond its ability to reach him. He did not even have his rings or bracers to help him touch the Source or provide additional protection. He had become so accustomed to wearing them that it felt as if he were missing a part of his own body.

  Azerick quickly spun toward the flicker of movement out of the corner of his right eye. He stopped and looked at the jumbled pile of stones for several minutes but nothing moved. Azerick picked up his pace and began walking faster. He thought that the castle looked a little closer now.

  The clatter of small stones falling down a slope was the only warning Azerick got when the creatures finally got up the nerve or numbers to attack him. Hideous, long-limbed monsters with knotty hides the same color as the landscape leapt from behind piles of rocks and out of narrow crevasses in the ground. They looked almost like smaller versions of a troll, perhaps a foot shorter than he was. It was hard to tell because they bounded across the rocky landscape on all fours.

  Long, sharp claws tipped each of their twelve fingers and toes, pointed teeth filled their overly large mouths, and solid, glossy black eyes glared hatefully from their hairless heads. Azerick ringed himself in stone spikes he conjured from the ground. Several creatures ran heedlessly onto the protrusions, shrieking in pain as the stone tips pierced their pinkish flesh.

  The ravagers behind the first ranks leapt high into the air, effortlessly clearing the ten-foot deep field of spikes. Azerick barely had time to cast a protective ward and roll out of the path of the bounding ravagers. He sprang to his feet and cast a flesh-freezing wave of cold air and frost, catching nearly every one of the creatures that leapt inside the small area surrounded by the stone spikes.

  The ravagers caught in the icy blast shrieked in agony as their skin froze to the point of splitting when they tried to move and many died a painfully horrific death. Two of the creatures crouching to each side of the sorcerer leapt at him in tandem. Azerick ran forward, spun, and released a blast of lightning, striking the two creatures that collided in their haste to draw the sorcerer’s blood. The ravagers became even more entangled as they flailed under the painful lightning strike. Azerick sent a swarm of magical bolts pounding into their reddish, pebbled flesh until they ceased their struggles.

  Azerick waited several minutes, crouched and scanned the land all around him for any further signs of attack. When no other creatures presented themselves, Azerick picked his way through the spikes and continued to march toward the castle, much more wary of his surroundings. It would appear that this land was not so lifeless after all.

  The fortress was definitely drawing closer now. It was a massive structure, easily twice the size of the castle in Southport or even the Academy. Whoever, or whatever, lived in the massive ziggurat must be a giant themselves. The colossal black structure could easily house most of the population of North Haven without being horrendously over-crowded.

  The wayward sorcerer did not even question his reasons for approaching the castle. Wherever he was, whatever the intentions of the master of the ebony fortress, that was where he would find answers—even if the answer was simply his own death.

  He wondered if he was actually alive or if he was even physically in this place. Azerick was confident he was in the abyss. What little he had read of the hellish dimension seemed to fit this desolate world. Whether he had been sent here bodily or just spiritually, he could not tell.

  Azerick’s spine suddenly tingled and he dove to the ground without conscious thought. A large body swooped past the space he had just occupied, shrieking its rage at having missed its prey.

  The sorcerer scrambled back to his feet and was forced to jump and roll away once more as a second creature strafed him. He did not even try to stand a second time as a third creature circled, waiting for an opening to attack. Azerick stayed on his back, not taking his eyes off the sneering cambions and cast his duplicity spell before rolling to his feet.

  Azerick tried to retaliate with an offensive spell but was forced to dodge away as the nude, demonic females hurled fiery orbs at his moving form. Two of the orbs struck the ground behind him, but one tore through one of his illusions, destroying it. He sent a spread of magical darts into the nearest cambion. The creature shrieked in rage and flew up higher. Azerick dodged another pair of fireballs, losing another image as he avoided the attack.

  Azerick scooped up a handful of stones, each one the size of a man’s eye, and cast his magic upon them. He hurled the stones at one of the female demons. The stones sped to the velocity of a heavy crossbow bolt and tore into the flesh and wings of the cambion. The demon screeched in pain and tumbled from the sky; one of its bat-like wings ruined by the speeding bullets and struck the hard ground.

  He released a lightning bolt at another cambion just as she hurled another fiery orb. This orb, instead of simply tearing through one of his images, arced between them, destroying his remaining duplicates, scorching his clothes, and blistering his flesh. The lightning bolt caused the cambion to stagger in mid flight. Eager to finish the demon off, he sent another half dozen luminous darts slamming into her chest.

  Azerick smiled in satisfaction as he watched the demon fold up and fall. So intent was he on the demon he just killed, he made the grievous error of forgetting about the first cambion that had flown off. A heavy object struck him in the back, pitching him headlong onto the rocky ground. Pain erupted across his back from the talons the demon raked across his flesh.

  Azerick rolled in an attempt to pitch the weight off his back but the cambion moved with him and straddled his prostrate body. The sorcerer looked up into the malevolent, red, glaring eyes of the demon as she swiped at his face with her clawed fingers. He brought his arms up and tried to fend off the creature’s blows. Azerick managed to get a grip on the demon’s wrists and tried to throw her off him.

  The demon was surprisingly light but immensely strong. It was all Azerick could do to maintain his grip on its wrists as it flailed about. He managed to roll the both of them onto their sides but dared not let go. He kept his body pressed against the cambion’s very feminine, albeit alien, form in an effort to keep its taloned toes from tearing into his abdomen. Even taking this precaution he still received several long gashes carved into his thighs and shins.

  Azerick knew he had to end this quickly. Having its hands and feet all but neutralized, the cambion snapped at the sorcerer’s face with its needle-like teeth. Without the use of his hands, Azerick had to shape his spell without them, which required a great deal more effort and concentration. He managed to pull the energy from the Source and articulate the spell well enough to bring the desired effect but on a smaller scale. Several stone spears
erupted from the ground, impaling the cambion through one side of her chest and out the other. A second stone spike pierced her right thigh, pinning it to her left as the spikes lifted the demon three-feet off the ground.

  Azerick rolled away while the cambion shrieked in rage and anguish, casting him hateful glares before finally dying upon the stone skewer. He examined the wounds on his legs, one of them caused by one of the spikes he had conjured a little too closely, but fortunately it was not terribly deep. His legs were a bloody mess, more from the number of scratches he had received than the severity. He felt blood trickling down his back, but they did not feel severe enough to be lethal or overly incapacitating.

  He wished he had his healing potions, but they were gone as well. Tearing his cloak to shreds, he was able to bandage most of his wounds. With a resigned sigh, Azerick resumed his trek toward the dark, enigmatic bastion.

  As he finally drew near, seemingly hours or even days later, Azerick spied two large, grotesque demons standing to each side of a huge closed door.

  The door, as was everything else in regard to the castle, was built at twice the scale of anything Azerick had seen of the castles back home. Thick, pointed spikes erupted from every corner and angle of the structure. Dozens of minarets sprouted like giant black horns from every tower.

  Azerick watched the two immobile figures as he warily drew closer. They were huge and powerful, standing at least eight feet tall, and four feet wide. They had a vaguely insectoid appearance with their bodies covered in hard chitin. Each possessed a pair of large arms with powerful pincers and a pair of thin spear-like limbs that grew from their backs and articulated over the tops of their wide shoulders.

  The creatures stood rigid until Azerick closed to within a score yards of them and the door they apparently guarded.

  “We have been waiting for you human,” one of the bug demons called out, the voice coming out almost like a hiss between the large mandibles that clacked together as it spoke. “The massster hasss been mossst anxiousss for your arrival.”

  “Good, does that mean you will let me pass?” Azerick asked without a trace of fear.

  Both demons laughed a hissing reply. “You have not yet been found worthy, sssoft little human. You mussst prove yourssself to our princcce before you will be granted an audienccce.”

  Azerick gave the two big bugs a look of annoyance. “You know, being sent to the abyss is bad enough, but your complete lack of hospitality is really beginning to aggravate me to no end.”

  The two demons hissed another laugh as they rushed toward the sorcerer in a loping, skipping gait on powerful grasshopper-like legs. Azerick swept his arm and summoned a line of stone spikes, but the attack did not catch the creatures by surprise. They both leapt up and back, easily avoided the deadly spikes.

  “We have been watching you, flessshy human,” one of the demons hissed. “We know your little tricksss.”

  “Is that right? I bet you do not know this one,” Azerick smiled wickedly and thrust both his hands forward as if he were trying to push them away.

  A dozen of the stone spikes snapped off two and three-feet down their length and flew at the demons like javelins from a ballista. The stone spears slammed into the demons, pierced their hard carapaces with loud cracks, and hurled them backwards with great force. Azerick approached the large door that now had one of the insectoid demons hanging from it like a winter fest wreath.

  He stepped up next to the demon that lay on the ground next to the wall and examined its corpse. He had never tried using his sunder spell on a living, or once living, creature before but he was quickly able to sever the five-foot chitinous spear at the joint where it extended over its shoulder.

  With his short spear in hand, he walked up to the door, grabbed the pincer of the hanging demon, and used it like a doorknocker to rap loudly against the portal. Azerick heard a distinct click and the huge door swung silently open, seemingly of its own accord.

  Flickering torches, which surely would have blackened the walls had they not been built of black stone, lit the halls. Enormous, double-sized doors stood closed in random places down each side of the passage. Wall hangings, tapestries, and paintings depicting grotesque and highly imaginative macabre scenes adorned much of the onyx walls.

  Azerick had no real idea which direction to go in this bizarre place, but he figured the lord of the castle would reside in a large hall near the center or rear so he followed the long passage, not deviating through any of the closed doors. After what he assumed to be several minutes of travel in this timeless world, he spied a small, winged demon on its hands and knees muttering to itself and scrubbing at what looked to be dark blood spatters with an ordinary enough brush and pail of water.

  “Stupid cow-headed prince thinks Skulk has nothing better to do than clean up his messes. Skulk is a demon, not a scullery maid to scrub floors and polish his stupid skulls. One of these days Skulk is going to make that bloated windbag respect—ouch!” Skulk cried out and leapt up, rubbing his posterior where Azerick jabbed him with his spear.

  “What da hell ya poke Skulk in his rump for!” the little fire demog demanded, giving Azerick an indignant glare.

  Azerick thrust the point of his makeshift spear under the hovering demog’s chin. “Take me to whoever is in charge of this place—now,” Azerick demanded with a glare of his own.

  Skulk flapped up out of the spears reach, spun about, and began flapping his way down the hall.

  “You comin’ or what?” Skulk turned about and asked in irritation when Azerick made no move to follow.

  Azerick walked below and just behind the little demon as he flew slowly down the hall, muttering once more.

  “Stupid human poke Skulk in the rump like a piece of roasting meat and demand he take him to see big cow-headed prince then stand there like a wart on a blattazuu’s butt. First Skulk is Prince Hornhead’s maid scrubbing floors then he is stupid pasty-faced human’s escort. One of these days Skulk will show all of them, then get some respect.”

  Skulk eventually stopped in front of an enormous set of double doors carved with detailed scenes of slaughter and mayhem.

  “Lord Klaraxis in there,” Skulk informed the human with a jerk of his thumb.

  “How do I gain entry?” Azerick asked, looking at the intimidating doors.

  Skulk looked incredulously at Azerick. “You knock, stupid, what else?” Skulk answered irritably and fluttered off back toward his scrub brush, muttering. “Squishy human is too stupid to know how to knock on a door. Maybe he thinks Skulk got a promotion from escort to doorman. Like Skulk has nothing better to do than open doors for stupid, lazy humans who are probably just gonna get eaten as soon as he walks in the room anyway.”

  Skulk turned back toward Azerick who had just raised his fist to pound on the massive door. “Hey, try not to bleed so much! Skulk gots better things to do than clean up stupid human blood because he gotta bleed so much!”

  Azerick watched the strange, bitter little demon fly away, bobbing down the hall, continually muttering his complaints about his lot in life. He took a deep breath and pounded on the door, making little more than soft dull thuds against the impossibly thick wood.

  To Azerick’s surprise, they swung easily inward to allow him admittance to the huge throne room beyond. Azerick strode purposefully down the wide, red carpet that ran from the doors to the foot of a tall dais. Twenty feet up sat a throne made from the bones of various creatures, and upon the throne was an enormous black demon with blood-red eyes, horns, and claws.

  It had to be at least ten feet tall not counting its long, red horns that thrust up and forward from its huge head. Its facial features were largely human, notwithstanding the horns, though the nose looked more ape-like than human. Huge bat-like wings were folded tightly against his body and draped over the backless throne of skulls and bones.

  “Ah, my honored guest has finally arrived. I am Klaraxis, demon prince of the fifth circle of hell. I am master of all you see around you,”
the demon told Azerick imperially, making a sweeping gesture with one of his powerful, ebony arms.

  Azerick looked about the enormous but largely empty chamber then back at the demon sitting on his gruesome throne. “You mean the carpet?”

  “No, not the carpet, you simpleton!” Klaraxis leapt from his throne and shouted.

  “You don’t own the carpet? How can you claim to be the master of anything if you do not even own the carpet?”

  “I am master of everything within the fifth circle! Every demon, every stone, the air you think you are breathing all belongs to me! The lesser masters of the lower circles show me deference as their better! I am—ah, you are being clever,” Klaraxis said with a smile and sat back down. “I despise cleverness in my subordinates,” he said with a growl. “You have proven yourself to be a worthy vessel to house my spirit and transport me back to the material world. I was especially impressed with how you dealt with the mantar’ri demons; quite entertaining,” the demon told Azerick in a deep and powerful voice.

  “I hate to disappoint you, demon, but I am not here to be anyone’s vessel. Tell me how to return to my home and I will leave you in peace,” Azerick said dispassionately.

  “There is no way home for you, little human. This is your home now you had best get accustomed to it.”

  “You will find me a rather bitter and troublesome houseguest and highly resistant to any plans you may have for me. You had best get accustomed to that,” Azerick returned defiantly.

  Azerick sent his concentrated, electrical beam at the seated demon prince without warning, but Klaraxis simply deflected the spell with a flick of his wrist, sending it to strike the distant wall where it burned a deep hole into the black stone. Obsidian ooze slowly slithered down the black surface and a faint screeching reached Azerick’s ears as if the stone cried out in pain.

  “Really, not only are such attacks rude, they are quite futile. Come, allow me to show you something that may interest you,” the demon lord invited amicably, stood to his full, imposing height, and descended the steps of the dais to tower over the much smaller sorcerer.