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

by Brock Deskins

  “You, you could not possibly still be alive,” Shakrill said numbly.

  “Oh, but I am. Sorry, Shakrill, but you do not fit within my plans nor does any of your other Black Tower ilk,” Azerick informed the wizard and thrust his arcanum spear through her heart.

  Azerick strode through the door and looked down at Joshua, still huddled against the wall, staring in amazement at the destruction the creature before him had wrought.

  “Please, I set you free. Please don’t kill me,” Joshua begged.

  Azerick’s spear quivered under the force of his grip as the demon battered at his host’s mental defenses, longing to crush the cowering human. With another mental surge and the use of the demon’s soulname, he forced the demon further back into his psychic cage.

  “Are there any others that share your decent nature in this nest of vermin?” Azerick asked.

  The apprentice nodded vigorously. “My friend Umair, a few other apprentices and younger students, maybe an adept or two have not been terribly corrupted.”

  “You are not as incapable as your mistress liked to tell you. I see within you great potential and even now you possess a respectable amount of skill. Would you like to continue your studies, free of threats and insults, perhaps even teach those younger and less accomplished than yourself?”

  “You would take me as your apprentice? Are you Azerick or are you the demon?” Joshua asked tentatively.

  Azerick grinned down at the frightened young man, which did nothing to make him more comfortable. “A little of both at the moment, and no, I would not have you as an apprentice. I would have you as a colleague at my school.”

  Joshua’s nerves settled slightly at the offer. “I could learn and even teach?”

  “Get yourself and any who are decent, trustworthy, and willing to follow you to North Haven. Anyone there should be able to direct you to the Orphans’ Academy. Take whatever you wish from this tower. Those that remain will have bigger worries than you. Now go get those that will follow you but be swift about it. You do not have much time.”

  Joshua nodded, jumped to his feet, and sprinted up the stairs to gather the satchel Aggie had given him and to get Umair and the others he thought deserved to be spared from whatever fate the sorcerer had in mind for the tower.

  Azerick looked up and down the hall with his red-tinted eyes, about to follow Joshua up the stairs when he noticed the brighter light streaming through an open doorway further down the hall in the other direction. Azerick turned to his right, stepped into the library, and saw a stooped old woman puttering about behind a large desk.

  Agatha looked up and squinted at the newcomer. “Well hello there, young man, come to check out a book? I don’t seem to recall seeing you here before and I never forget a face, a name on occasion, but never a face!” she cackled.

  “No, revered grandmother, I am afraid I do not have the time to enjoy the treasures you have here. Though I wish I had a few years to peruse your grand library. I am afraid I must ask you to leave the tower and with some haste,” Azerick bowed and told the old librarian.

  “My, my, honored grandmother am I? Such a polite young man; unlike those stupid wizards who mock old Aggie and call her a useless old has-been. Well I suppose it’s finally time for me to move on though I don’t know about the swiftly part,” she cackled as she shuffled out from behind her desk.

  “Please move as fast as you are able, Grand Magus.”

  “Oh don’t worry about me. You go on and do what you have to do while I collect up a few things. I’ll be gone before you’re finished, don’t you worry about old Agatha,” she ordered, shooing Azerick away with a bony old hand.

  Azerick nodded once and left her to her own devices. Agatha looked about her precious library with longing. “I guess I had better figure out what books to take with me,” she spoke to herself as she looked at the rows upon rows of book. “Oh hells, I can’t decide. I guess I had best take them all. It’s not like you didn’t see this coming, you daffy old broad.”

  Aggie raised her old, unadorned staff and spoke words of magic that she had not used in decades, but still they came clearly to her mind. Runes, cleverly carved into the wooden bookshelves that appeared as nothing more than part of the larger, more elaborate artwork, flared. The bookshelves became two dimensional; looking like an extremely well-crafted painting, then folded themselves into sections and disappeared, leaving behind bare walls that had not seen light in decades.

  “Well that’s done,” she said looking about the library in satisfaction. “Now if my memory serves me correctly, I should have another sandwich around here somewhere.”

  Azerick stepped back into the summoning room where the wizards still lay as dead as they had been a few minutes ago. Sometimes you could never be too sure when it came to wizards—or sorcerers. He found and retrieved his bracers and rings from Shakrill’s dead body, glad that he was not going to have to search the entire tower for them. He looked over the other bodies and stripped the rings, necklaces, pendants, and wands the wizards carried on them as well. It looked like they had come prepared for a battle, just not the kind he had given them.

  He made an audible sigh when he slipped his ring on and felt his connection with the Source grow stronger. It was like having a missing limb reattached. He left the dead where they lay and turned toward the stairs. A young wizard suddenly leapt out from around the corner of a stairwell and raised a wand at the sorcerer.

  Most people were familiar with the phrase “if looks could kill” but in Azerick’s case it was true. With little more than a glare, Azerick allowed Klaraxis to summon his demonic power. Azerick’s eyes flared crimson and the wizard’s robes simply burst into flames. The hapless wizard flailed and screamed as his flesh burned away under the intense heat of the demon fire for several seconds before the flames reached his lungs and he collapsed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

  The smell of burnt clothing, flesh, and hair filled the corridor with an acrid scent that made him queasy at how much he enjoyed it. Azerick stooped over and casually retrieved the wand the wizard dropped. Seeing that it was a little charred but undamaged, he slipped it into the pocket of his cloak and continued up the stairs. As he reached the top of the stairs, a fusillade of lightning bolts, power strikes, and bursts of fire flared across the room.

  The nervous wizards had mistakenly let loose the moment the top of his head cleared the stairs. Azerick calmly ducked and let the spells strike the wall above his head as he fed more power into his wards. Without bothering to climb the stairs any higher, he swept his staff in an arc, collapsing a large portion of the ceiling onto the wizards who were foolish enough not to flee when they had the chance.

  A great cloud of dust wafted over the stairs as Azerick climbed to the ground floor of the tower and began picking his way toward the stairs to search the upper levels. A wizard stumbled out of the dust and raised his wand at the sorcerer. Azerick saw that the wizard was little more than a journeyman, probably not even old enough to shave yet. He lunged forward impossibly fast, snatched the wand from the youth’s outstretched hand, and delivered a stinging, open-hand slap to his face.

  “Get out of here, boy. If you are smart, you will catch up with Joshua and get your life straight!” Azerick snarled at the terrified youngster and shoved him toward the door.

  Azerick continued toward the stairs. Another wizard, a real one this time, stepped out from behind a large stone column and tried to cast a spell. With a word and a gesture, Azerick sent him hurling into the wall some fifteen feet behind him and ten feet up. The wizard fell in a crumpled heap and did not stir.

  The possessed sorcerer ran into a few of the younger novices and apprentices on the stairs that had been slow to leave the tower or chose not to heed Joshua’s warning but he let them pass. The young students gave the sorcerer as wide a berth as they could as they tracked him with wide, terrified eyes. Some even ran back up the stairs and waited for the deadly stranger to pass before bolting down the steps a
s fast as they could and fleeing out the front door.

  Azerick saw that the first few floors were dedicated to the novices, journeymen, and apprentices so he skipped these rooms as well as those rooms set aside for the adepts, only pausing to shout at anyone that he saw to flee the tower and his wrath. His interests lay in the rooms of the archmages near the top of the tower.

  He did not want to spend a great deal of time looting the tower of its precious items. He was more interested in making good use of his time to give Joshua and the old librarian a chance to get away. His treasure hunting was secondary, or so he told himself. Allowing the demon a measure of active consciousness altered his own perceptions and attitude to a degree dependent upon how much he let the demon come forward, and right now he was allowing the demon a considerable amount of consciousness.

  Why are you letting these mewling children get away? Exterminate the lot of them! You know they have all been corrupted by these wizards and cannot be trusted. Besides, children have the most flavorful souls.

  “Shut up, demon, or I will stuff you back in your little dark box in the furthest recesses of my mind,” Azerick told him, choosing to speak aloud.

  The demon grumbled but remained silent, savoring the memory of the wizards he—and the sorcerer—had killed. As much as he hated sharing the sorcerer’s body, he had a suspicion that his existence was going to be far from boring. The fates had their hooks deeply in this one. Nothing could satiate the demon’s desire for death and destruction, but he could be pleased, and so far, the first several minutes of his new existence was quite pleasing.

  Azerick found a rucksack in one of the archmage’s rooms and was extremely pleased to note that it contained an enchantment similar to the magic bag that was still in Horse’s saddlebags. He had hoped to liberate a few spell books, scrolls, and magical items, but the rucksack made his choosing what to take and carry much simpler.

  Azerick looted anything that looked interesting. Klaraxis was able to tell at a glance if an item possessed any sort of enchantment, which also helped him in selecting which items to grab. He was already in the master of the tower’s suite near the top and anyone who wanted to get out had had enough time to do so.

  Azerick casually descended the stairs and made for the entrance where he paused amidst the rubble near the collapsed ceiling. He shaped the familiar spear point onto his staff, jammed it between the closely set stones of the floor, and walked away. He was nearly halfway to the tavern where he had left Horse when he turned around and concentrated on his staff.

  Inside the tower, every rune on the staff flared until the entire chamber was awash in a blinding light. Azerick and Klaraxis poured energy into the weapon until motes of light began dancing in front of Azerick’s eyes due to the exertion. The staff released all of the pent up energy it contained in a single, massive pulse of energy. The walls blew apart, sending stones flying across the open square and into nearby buildings. The floors within the tower crumbled and the excess energy sent the roof and several tons of stone blocks flying hundreds of feet into the air just before the entire structure began to topple.

  Had Azerick been untainted by the demon’s presence he may have considered the innocent lives that may have been lost when the tower blew apart, fell, and crushed several buildings when it struck. But such was not the case, and coupled with the general morals of the populace, he was not about to let it concern him now. His staff popped back into his hand with a thought, if a bit sluggishly, and he went to retrieve Horse and leave this disgusting warren of thieves and murderers.

  He walked past the crowds that were beginning to throng the streets to see what had happened. A huge cloud of dust floated over the center of the city where the tower had stood uncontested in its own private square. Azerick snaked out a hand and snatched a familiar boy by the collar that was running past him to get a closer look.

  The boy’s eyes went wide and his face turned pale when he looked up at the grim face of the wizard that had killed the other wizards a couple days ago in the tavern and in the square before he had been captured.

  “I have come for my horse, boy,” Azerick told the terrified and stammering stableboy. “Don’t just stand there gaping, spit it out.”

  “Y-you were captured and taken inside the t-tower. Nobody returns from the t-tower,” the boy stumbled over his words.

  “Well I have and I have come for my horse. I told you that I would be back for him. Now where is he?”

  “S-sold, sir, he was sold!” the boy said, almost crying.

  Azerick lifted the youth a foot off the ground with one hand and stared him hard in the eyes. “I can easily find my property but I am weary,” Azerick snarled. “You had best go and get my horse and have him and my stuff, all of my stuff, in the next half hour.”

  “Y-yes, sir!” the boy said, nodding his head so hard Azerick thought he would snap his own neck.

  The sorcerer set the boy back down on his feet but did not let him go immediately. “He is that way about seven blocks in case you forgot to whom you sold him,” Azerick told the youth and pointed.

  The stableboy took off in the direction Azerick pointed, his sandals kicking up clouds of dust as he ran faster than he ever had in his life. Azerick went into the bar to wait. Even the swill they served here sounded good right now. The few patrons and the bartender all stopped their excited conversations about the recent happenings and stared in abject terror at the red-eyed stranger that walked into the tavern.

  Word had already gotten back to the tavern about the darkly-dressed young man that had walked away from the tower just before it was destroyed. They also knew that he was the one that had been taken two days before. The fact that the tavern keeper had been the one to sell Horse and his possessions nearly made the man lose his water when Azerick approached the bar.

  “Give me a beer; the best you have,” Azerick said roughly.

  The bartender dropped three glasses by the time he was able to pour one from his personal stock. Azerick did not try to pay and the barkeeper did not ask. Azerick drained the glass in a few quick gulps, slammed it down, and demanded another. He drank this one more slowly and waited for the stableboy to return with Horse. He had no doubt in his mind that he would, and whatever the barkeeper had to do to make restitution to whomever he sold him to was none of his concern.

  Azerick did not wait long. He had just finished the second beer when the lad burst in through the door. “Sir, he’s out front, saddled and everything with his bags and all. They weren’t never opened, couldn’t, so everything’s in there I’m certain!”

  Azerick nodded and left. What gold he had had on him was gone and he was not in the mood to take the time to go into his bags to get more. The boy had failed to fulfill the contract as far as he was concerned. He could get it from the tavern owner if he wanted it badly enough. Azerick frowned at his own thoughts and bad attitude. He banished the demon to the back of his mind where he would not be influenced, at least not significantly, despite Klaraxis’s vociferous protests.

  Azerick’s eyes took on a more natural hue with only tiny specks of red interspersed with the hazel and green and immediately felt much better. He almost felt like he had suddenly recovered from a bad hangover. He had not noticed how heavily the feelings of anger and hatred had been weighing him down and pressing on his soul until they were gone. This was something he was going to have to be very wary of in the future.

  Azerick pointed Horse to the north where he left Sandy atop the small knoll.

  “Sandy!” Azerick shouted as he neared the rise.

  Sandy’s brightly scaled head popped out of the sand near the top of the mound where he had left her. “Azerick, you’re back!”

  Azerick rode nearer and it seemed to him that Sandy was avoiding looking directly at him. He looked at her as she turned her head away and noticed a small, shiny, black hoof sticking out of the sand.

  “Sandy, what did you do?”

  “Nothing, what do you mean?”

 
“Why won’t you look at me?” Azerick asked.

  Sandy turned her head and looked at him but only far enough so that her right eye was trained on him. “There, I’m looking at you, happy?”

  “Look straight at me,” Azerick told her.

  “There’s no need, we dragons have very keen eyesight. I think I have some sand in it too,” she replied evasively.

  “Sandy, look at me,” Azerick told her crossly.

  Sandy huffed and faced her surrogate parent. If dragons could get a black eye, Azerick figured that this was what it would look like. Several scales were missing or cracked around her left eye and snout and did not gleam nearly as brightly as the rest.

  “You went and attacked those goats didn’t you?”

  “No!” Sandy replied.

  “Then what is that sticking out of the sand next to you?” Azerick asked.

  Sandy looked down and saw the small cloven hoof. “I think it’s an old skeleton, the desert is full of them,” she replied quickly.

  “Sandy, it still has hair on it!” Azerick exclaimed, trying to hold back a laugh as he pictured Sandy stalking, attacking, and being battered by the feisty goats.

  Sandy looked like she was battling with the truth and finally gave up. “Who would have thought that those hairy little demons would kick and head butt like that, or actually form a concerted attack? I knew they were herd animals but mama never said anything about them forming a cohesive defense bolstered by a mass of solidarity before!”

  “Where did you learn to speak in those kinds of terms?” Azerick asked, amazed at the dragon’s level of knowledge.

  “I read it in one of the books I borrowed from your magic bag. I learned how to use it watching you when you took the food out of it. Speaking of which, do you have any more sugar cubes, or better yet, honey?” Sandy asked, actually wagging her thick tail.

  “You did not do as you were told and got hurt in the process, so I think not,” Azerick told her.