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

by Brock Deskins

  “Please, sir, we must get to North Haven,” Maira begged. “We are all young and can work hard, scrubbing the decks or mending sails, whatever you need us to do.”

  Zeb thought a moment and groaned. “I’ve always been a sucker for a pretty young lass and it ain’t like I haven’t hauled a bunch of kids north before. Becoming a regular habit these days. All right, but you’ll all work.”

  “We will, sir, you have our word,” Joshua swore.

  “Pfft, don’t need a boy’s word when I can just have Toron here pitch any slackers overboard.”

  All three students paled, being unfamiliar with the Zeb’s humor, and Toron’s toothy grin did nothing to assuage their fears.

  “Why are you all so hot to get to North Haven for anyway?” Zeb asked.

  “A sorcerer named Azerick told us to find our way to North Haven and ask there about a place called the Orphans’ Academy. Do you know of it?”

  Zeb, Balor, and Toron all leaned forward with eager excitement at the apprentice’s announcement.

  “You’ve seen Azerick? Where, when?” Zeb asked excitedly.

  “A few days ago in Rapture. Do you know him?” Joshua asked, startled by their reaction.

  “Know him? He owns this ship!” Zeb laughed. “He’d have my hide if I didn’t get you kids to North Haven even if I had to toss half my cargo overboard to make room!” Zeb exclaimed, tossing the pouch with its meager coins back to Joshua.

  “What was he doing in that horrid place, was he all right?” Balor asked.

  Joshua and the others took a seat and explained everything they knew about what had happened to Azerick, from his capture to the destruction of the tower. In the morning, they were all aboard Zeb’s ship and sailing north to their new home and future.

  ***

  General Baneford strode around the camp being efficiently raised around him. It was the third camp they had erected in the past five days so he expected nothing less than absolute proficiency from his soldiers. Satisfied, he returned to his command tent to try, and likely fail, to relax before he felt compelled to pull up stakes and move to another spot. He despised this running and hiding, but the last thing he needed was a bunch of angry wizards blasting him and his men to charred little pieces for his failure to hold up his end of the bargain.

  The general’s face betrayed his shock for just a moment before he commanded it to neutrality as his eyes set upon the black-robed wizard sitting comfortably on one of his field chairs. With a resigned sigh, he crossed the tent, opened his small wine cabinet, and filled two crystal goblets with the rich, red beverage.

  “I had not expected you to find me so quickly,” Baneford told the wizard as he passed him the glass of wine and sat in his own chair.

  “I will admit, it took me longer than I had expected,” Krendall replied and savored the fine wine.

  “Not long enough,” General Baneford muttered.

  “Ah, so you were avoiding me,” the wizard mused. “I take it things did not go as planned?”

  General Baneford scoffed. “Far from it. The changeling you sent to infiltrate that group of misfits got himself killed. What I thought was the changeling was actually the wizard he was supposed to have killed and replaced. Things went really bad from there.”

  “I take it he did not give you the helm, then.”

  “Oh no, he gave it to me. Then he destroyed the entire suit,” the general replied.

  Krendall swished his drink around in his mouth, obviously deep in thought. Baneford assumed he was considering the different ways in which to kill him. The wizard’s reaction was the last thing Baneford had expected. He laughed.

  “Let me guess. He wore dark clothing, hazel green eyes, average build, carried a rather magnificent burgundy staff with an arcanum ball on top?”

  The general’s face gaped in surprise. “Yes, that’s him! You know him?”

  “We had an encounter just outside of our tower in Rapture. He is a sorcerer, by the way, not a wizard,” Krendall replied, still chuckling. “I cannot believe I did not realize it was the same man Ballizarr sent the changeling after.”

  “What happened to him, did you kill him?” he asked the wizard, almost hoping the young man still lived.

  “I left him unconscious with one of my associates. I fear his future looked rather bleak when I left him. Shakrill probably used him as a vessel for this insane plan she has to summon a demon prince to serve her. I had no desire to hang about for the event seeing that whether she succeeded or failed, my future and position within the tower looked rather grim.”

  “That is unfortunate. I rather liked the young man. He seemed a decent sort,” General Baneford said regretfully.

  “He was a rather dangerous sort, General. Particularly to those he thought had wronged him.”

  Baneford drained his glass with a final gulp, set it back onto the table top, and leaned back in his chair. “So where does that leave us? I assume you’ll be wanting your payment back at the least.”

  Krendall tapped the rim of his glass as he thought. “I think I will return to the tower for the moment. As you can see, I can find you at my leisure no matter how hard you try to avoid me. I will suggest to my associates that you keep the arms, armor, and your lives as a sort of investment for future needs. You never know when one might need a good band of sword slingers and it is not as though we at the ,tower have much use for those sort of things I gave you.”

  General Baneford let out a long breath he did not even realize he was holding as conflicting emotions warred inside his head. He was glad that any retribution for his failure was at the least delayed if not averted but despised being beholden to a group of rather shady wizards—as if there were any other kind.

  “Well then, General, I see you are deep in thought and properly aware of your tenuous situation. I had best be going and report this change in plans to the tower.”

  Krendall conjured forth a rent in the air and stepped through, taking him to where his horse awaited his return behind a large rock formation several hundred yards away.

  As he rode back toward the tower he conjectured, as he had nearly every waking minute since leaving, what the status of the tower’s hierarchy now was. Had Shakrill failed, it could be unchanged or really bad. If she succeeded, it was certainly bad.

  It was no secret that he disliked Shakrill, but he had always maintained a general neutrality toward all tower members, neither seeking favor nor making enemies. In an environment like the tower, power could shift rather abruptly and you did not want to be on the opposing side when it did.

  Despite this, if Shakrill was now in charge, particularly with control of the demon lord, this was almost certainly the last time he would return to the tower. Ballizarr was not the most pleasant of people but he was tolerable as the master of the tower.

  How Shakrill ever coerced him into actually helping her summon the demon he would never know. Certainly the man was not so foolish that he could not see that if the woman succeeded in her audacious scheme he would be the first to go?

  Perhaps she had kept the full details from the tower master. Maybe he knew and sabotaged the ritual and destroyed the power-hungry magus. Krendall did not know and only cared to the point that affected his own wellbeing. He put these ponderings aside as he finally reached the edge of Rapture after several days of uncomfortable riding.

  His concerns returned as people fled the streets at his approach or watched warily from behind shuttered windows and doorframes. The people of Rapture always avoided the dangerous wizards but not with this kind of open fear. Something has certainly gone wrong, but for whom was now the biggest question.

  Another thought absently nagging at the back of his mind finally broke to the fore. He could not see the tower rising above the hovels and decrepit building of the decaying town. Now this was interesting.

  He slid off his mount at the edge of the square where the tower once stood and surveyed the absolute destruction as he absently picked through the rubble that was o
nce the Black Tower.

  The people of Rapture watched the wizard as he studied the ruins, waiting for him unleash his arcane powers in a fit of rage upon everything and everyone nearby.

  As Krendall finally put the last piece of the puzzle together, he did the last thing anyone expected—he laughed. He laughed long and he laughed hard, throwing his head back as if guffawing at the gods themselves.

  The wizard knew immediately that Shakrill must have failed, and at first he thought that the demon had gotten free and destroyed the tower. But had that been the case, the abyssal spawn would not have stopped there. The fact that the entire town was still standing and not littered with the shredded remains of its inhabitants gave a good indication that it was not the demon prince that was responsible.

  The only other being that would hold such fury and hatred for the tower was a certain young sorcerer. How he was able to destroy the entire tower Krendall did not know nor did he care to ever find out—especially firsthand.

  The archmage reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his black speaking stones.

  “General, I suddenly find myself without employment at the moment. You would not happen to require the services of a wizard of respectable talent would you?” Krendall asked, still laughing at the sudden turn of events in his life.

  Just days ago, General Baneford thought that his life had come to an abrupt end, but now, in a strange twist of events, the very wizard he thought was going to kill him was asking for employment. Priding himself on being a man capable of thinking on his feet, he quickly seized the opportunity. He was glad he found the wizard reasonably agreeable despite his vocation.

  “I suppose I could use a man of your talents, but we would have to set up some ground rules and such. First and foremost, I am in charge. I listen to my officers and given your obvious education and strengths I would count you among them and welcome your council, but when orders are given they must be followed or the entire machine falls apart. Equally important is the high standards of conduct I require from all who serve with me. I am afraid that given your previous associations I have some concern here.”

  Krendall smiled at the stone in his hand as he heard the general’s words. “I am a practical man, General, with practical ambitions. It is why I am still alive and my previous associates are most likely enjoying a long stay at one of the several levels of hell. I will not say that I am a good man, but neither do I consider myself needlessly cruel. I find those kinds to be fools who often bring about their own demise. I intend to live a long, if boringly subtle life.”

  “Well, I suppose I can find a use for you then. Welcome to Baneford’s Brood. Now that I no longer have to duck you and your former friends, we can get back to doing something constructive. I have been eyeing this nice little town in Sumara that could really use a change in leadership,” General Baneford said, laying out his plans.

  ***

  Aggie strode up the newly cobbled road toward the tower at the top of the low hill nestled against the dark grey backdrop of the Northern Range. She whistled a jaunty tune that would have made a sailor blush if she had sung the words. She abruptly cut the tune off short and called into the woods.

  “It’s not polite to spy on folks ya know. Come on out and greet me properly,” she ordered light-heartedly.

  Wolf and Ghost slipped noiselessly through the brush and stepped out onto the road.

  “I can’t believe you saw me. Nobody ever sees me!” Wolf complained with his constant wide smile plastered across his face.

  “I didn’t have to see you, I could smell you a mile away,” the old librarian told the filthy lad.

  Wolf sniffed under an armpit and shrugged. “I’m Wolf and this is Ghost.”

  “I’m Agatha but my friends call me Aggie; nice to meet you both. Do you live in the keep up there?”

  Wolf gave her a scathing look. “Pfft, no way. I live in the woods and do what I want; at least until it gets really cold then Ghost and I gift them with our company.”

  “I see, but you know what goes on up there, you know some of the people that live there?” Aggie asked the wildling.

  “Oh yeah, mostly a bunch of kids reading books or whacking each other with sticks. I know Azerick, who thinks he’s in charge and a few of the other old people. They’re all right for the most part even if they are boring. So where did you come from, North Haven? You look too old to have walked very far.”

  Aggie laughed at Wolf’s refreshingly direct manner. “Oh, I get around rather well, even for an old broad. I suppose I will have to gift those in the tower with my own presence for a spell. Maybe I can help loosen them up a bit.”

  Wolf slapped his knee and laughed hardily. “I like you; you’re funny for an old person. Maybe you can teach Azerick to have a sense of humor, he needs it. Have fun, it’s about lunch time and I saw some rabbits yesterday that looked tasty!”

  Aggie laughed along with Wolf and waved as the boy and his wolf disappeared back into the forest. The first thing she noticed as she neared the keep was that it looked more like an armed camp preparing for a siege than the school she had heard about. Men and boys manned the walls wearing armor and carrying swords and crossbows. The gates were kept firmly shut and looked less than inviting of strangers.

  “Halt, who are you and what is your purpose!” a large boy of perhaps fifteen called down from his place just above the gate.

  Aggie looked up at the beardless youth with a scowl. “I’m an ogre and I have come to eat the children, you big lout! What do you think I want?”

  The serious-looking young man turned red. “I don’t know, looking at you I would say someone to pre-chew your food for you!”

  He was big but he was sharp, Aggie thought to herself. “I heard you were looking for teachers. I thought I would come and apply for a job.”

  “Gods, not arms trainer I hope. Master Ewen is mean enough,” the youth mumbled none too quietly, which got a grin out of Aggie.

  The boy motioned to someone on the inside and the sally gate opened to allow her entrance. She walked into the compound and looked in wonder. The only building visible above the walls other than the keep was the Church. She looked in surprise at the blacksmith, fletchers, carpenter shops, and what looked to be billets and other living quarters. Over half the structures were made of solid logs and timber though all had slate or clay roofs.

  The other thing that amazed her was the number of children she saw, which she was certain did not nearly represent the whole. She turned toward the sound of battle and saw at least sixty youths in three different groups going through battle drills and arms training. Just then, a bell rang and dozens of book-toting children came running out of several of the log buildings that must have been classrooms and ran into another.

  The Black Tower had at most twenty students from novice to adept and only two or three of them were likely to graduate to full wizard. Aggie focused upon the children with her wizard sight as they scampered about the grounds. She identified at least three dozen children with respectable magical potential.

  Aggie strode down the wide avenue that led to the keep. The cobbled street did not lead directly there, it doglegged twice to curve around a few stout, stone buildings, and given the look of their recent construction, she seriously doubted that their placement had been accidental. She noticed that most of the stone buildings inside the expansive walls were built along this one wide avenue. Each was built with a flat roof and sported low crenellations from where archers could set up and wreak havoc on any enemy that got through the gates.

  The obvious militancy of this Orphans’ Academy gave her serious pause and concern for her children that were likely to arrive soon on the ship they managed to get a berth on in Lesser Langdon’s Crossing. She hoped she had not made the mistake of trading one subservient school for another.

  She stepped into the portico of the keep and knocked loudly on the sturdy wood and iron door. After waiting perhaps a minute, the door swung in and a beautiful young woman ho
lding an equally beautiful baby girl greeted Aggie.

  “Good day, madam, I am Colleen, how can I help you?” Colleen asked warmly.

  “I heard you were looking for some teachers and hoped I might convince you to take me on. I know I’m not much to look at, but my mind is still sharp and I’m sure I have a few good years left in me,” Aggie told the blond woman.

  Colleen gave a kind, soft laugh and made room for the older woman to pass. “You will have to speak with my husband, Franklin, about that, but I am sure we would be most glad to have you. We are so busy, especially since the twins came and I had to set aside my own teachings for a time.”

  Colleen led Aggie into the main hall and bade her sit on one of the padded sofa’s that adorned the room.

  “So what do you teach—, I’m sorry, I did not catch your name,” Colleen asked.

  “Agatha, but most folks call me Aggie.”

  “What do you teach, Aggie?”

  “Oh I have become a good hand in just about everything over the years. I even have a little skill in the dabbling of magic,” Aggie replied.

  “Oh that would be wonderful! We are so short on magus instructors. Rusty will be thrilled to have you. I think I hear them coming down the stairs now. We are just breaking for lunch, you must join us,” Colleen insisted.

  Rusty and Allister came down the stairs and into the hall where Colleen and her guest were waiting for them. Colleen and Aggie stood up, the former about to introduce the latter, when Aggie spoke out.

  “Hey there, sailor, care to buy a lady a drink?” Aggie called up to them.

  Magus Allister’s eyes went wide and nearly fell down the stairs when he saw the woman standing below him, but he quickly recovered his composure.

  “Sorry, Colleen does not drink since she is still nursing and I don’t see anyone else around here that would qualify as a lady,” Allister growled.

  Aggie smiled at the insult. “I wasn’t talking to you, you old windbag, I was talking to the handsome young hunk next to you that actually looks healthy enough to handle me.”