He kept a wary eye out, constantly looking over his shoulder for signs of ambush. Once, when his cart tipped on him, he hoisted his shovel and ran down the stable looking for any sign of ambush but did not finding anyone other than the confused stable hands. He wrote it off as just an unbalanced load and paranoia. As he put away his shovel and cart, he could hear the unmistakable sounds of steel clashing on steel and followed the din toward the Martial Academy’s individual training ground.
He peered into a large courtyard where dozens of boys and young men were watching several groups of padded students practice their melee skills. The Weapons Master was shouting instructions as each student tried to bash through the other’s defenses with dulled blades. Azerick thought of Ewen, his old fighting instructor, and hoped he was still doing well. His thoughts took him back to the pleasant memories of the old salt’s friendly insults and instructions. He did not realize how much he missed his martial training until now. His reverie was broken a moment later by someone shouting at him.
“Hey, you, what are you doing here?” shouted the Weapons Master now stalking toward him.
“Me?” Azerick stammered, pointing at himself.
“Yes you. Are you a student here?”
“No, sir, I mean yes, sir.”
“Well, which is it, yes or no?”.
“I’m a student at the Magus Academy, sir,” Azerick explained.
“Magus Academy! This is where real men learn to fight, boy. They don’t just wiggle their fingers at people. These boys fight, sweat, bleed, live, and die by their own skill or lack of it, not just wave their arms and hurl lightning bolts at people. Go on back to your books, boy, and leave the fighting to real men.”
Azerick turned his back on the Weapons Master and stalked off humiliated and angry, laughter from the fighters rolling off his hunched shoulders.
I do not belong with them, I do not belong with the mages, and I do not really belong on the streets either. So where do I belong? He thought as he walked back to his room.
For several weeks, it seemed that Travis had decided they were even and Azerick had no more run-ins with the group of snobs other than a few snide remarks and insults. Every day after class, he continued his chore of mucking out stables and snuck over to the practice grounds at the Martial Academy to watch the students spar. He was careful not to allow anyone to see him, but occasionally someone spied him watching and sent him off.
Spring festival, with the accompanying spring break, was upon them. All of the students went home to their families for two weeks of vacation and celebration. Azerick decided he would stay at The Academy and practice his spellcasting, not that he had anywhere else to go. Today, he was in his room practicing when someone knocked on the door.
“It’s open.”.
Magus Allister with his familiar grey, scruffy beard and food-stained robes stood framed in the doorway then entered the room.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” the old mage said.
“No, not at all. I’m just practicing my casting.”
“I hear you practice a lot. Is it coming along any better now?”
“Not really,” Azerick answered dejectedly. “I have learned one or two new things, but nothing really harder than before.”
“That is unfortunate. I really thought you had it in you to be something special, in wizardry that is. I am not saying you do not lack for special talents. You are quite clever and creative and are able to use what you know to accomplish quite a bit. I was sure I saw a real spark of magical talent in you is all. It really has me stymied. I am not often wrong in that regard.”
“Are they going to make me leave The Academy?” Azerick asked, suddenly very concerned.
“I don’t think so. You show great leadership skills. It may be they will transfer you to the Martial Academy, or the Scholar’s Academy, if that suits you more. Would you like that?"
“I guess it would be better than leaving The Academy altogether, although it’s not what I really wanted. I wanted to be a wizard. I like magic, and everything I read and what little I can perform feels right, but it just feels like I’m doing it wrong somehow.”
“The Headmaster is going to make his decision after spring festival. I’ll see what I can do to have you transferred to—,” He broke off and looked toward a scratching sound near the ceiling. “What the devil is that?” Allister exclaimed, looking up at what appeared to be a large, metal spider with a bunch of feathers coming out of the back of its thorax instead of the usual bulbous abdomen.
The construct’s body, not including the feathers, was about the size of a man’s hand and clung to the ceiling by its eight metal legs, swishing its feathered rump back and forth.
“Oh, that’s just a toy I made to help keep the spider webs off the ceiling and do some dusting. Rusty used to burn the webs off, but last time he set his pillow on fire and I feared for my books."
“How did you make it? What powers it? How long does it stay animated?” Allister inquired, rapidly firing off questions at the surprised apprentice.
“I collected a bunch of scrap metal from The Academy blacksmith, had him make me a few things I couldn’t shape myself, put it together, and infused it with one of my minor spells,” he explained as if the entire concept was no more spectacular than cooking oatmeal.
“But animating objects is very powerful magic. Runes must be inscribed and it takes very high-level spells to create even the crudest of golems,” the old Magus asserted.
“I read about golem creation when I was thinking about making it, but like you said, even this simple thing was way beyond my ability to make that way. So instead of permanently animating it like a true golem, I just used ink to write the commands on its body and infused the metal with a spell. I figured all magic is energy, so if I cast a lingering spell onto it and tie into the construct’s form it could use the spell as a temporary energy source instead of a permanent enchantment. I use a light spell to power it since it is one of the easiest and longest lasting spells I know. It will keep going for about a day before I have to recharge it.”
“But it shouldn’t work like that. A light spell is a light spell. That would be like using it to start a fire. It is light, and that is all it can ever be,” the old wizard insisted.
Azerick just shrugged his shoulders not really understanding or caring how it worked just that he was able to do it.
“This changes everything, lad. When the Headmaster hears of this, I’m certain he’ll let you stay. I will insist on it. We will figure out why you have a problem with the higher spells eventually. Maybe you are a specialist, an artificer, although even they need to be able to learn the powerful enchantment spells and rune inscribing. I just don’t know right now, but I’ll get to the bottom of it I promise you.”
Once Magus Allister left him alone again, Azerick decided to go walk around The Academy and think about what the wizard had said. Could he be an artificer? Could he be one of those rare wizards able to craft items and imbue them with powerful enchantments? The idea did not sound half-bad. He enjoyed studying his engineering book and making things with his hands. Truly gifted artificers commanded a great deal of respect, and were often asked to make things of wonder and power for kings and nobility.
Azerick heard the sounds of striking objects. He looked around and saw that his wanderings had taken him back to the martial training grounds. A young man a few years older than Azerick was swinging away on a practice dummy in the large, sand-covered courtyard. The young fighter saw Azerick watching him, turned, raised his sword in acknowledgement, and started walking toward him.
“Hey there!” he called out to the student wizard.
“I’m sorry; I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. I’m leaving,” Azerick said, not wanting any trouble.
“That’s okay, I don’t mind. Weapons Master Zorbrun isn’t here, just me. My name’s Alexander; Alex for short,” the young man said and extended his hand.
“Mine is Azerick.”
> “I’ve seen you quite a few times watching us. Are you interested in fighting with weapons?” Alex asked.
“A little. I did some training when I was younger, before I came to The Academy. In fact, if my casting doesn’t get any better soon they may transfer me over here.”
“Better than being kicked out I suppose, unless your heart’s desire was firmly set on being a wizard,” Alex said, mimicking Azerick's exact thoughts.
“I liked the idea, and I can cast a few spells, but I liked weapons training too, so it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I was transferred. It would be better than constantly making a fool out of myself at the Magus Academy. So why aren’t you gone like everyone else for spring festival?"
“My family is gone on business, and I don’t care to stay with my relatives much. They look down their noses at me because I’m my father’s bastard. My mother died giving birth to me, so he took me in but shoved me off on The Academy as soon as he could. How about you, why are you still here?"
“I don’t have a family. My mother and father died a few years ago, so I decided to stay here and practice too.”
“I guess we’re a bit of a pair then aren’t we? You want to do some sparring? Maybe I can teach you a few things in case someone jumps you and you can’t get a spell off,” Alex offered.
“Sounds great, let’s do it.”
Alex got Azerick some padded armor and a dulled sword. The two boys squared off and began exchanging blows. Alex was by far the stronger and more experienced of the two, but he complimented the young wizard's skill while suggesting improvements. By the end of the match, both students were tired but Azerick was the most sore, having received several bruises from the other’s sword. Azerick had only managed to land two hits and those likely would not have proved lethal or even incapacitating in a real fight unless they turned septic and he died of infection.
“I’ll be here tomorrow if you want to go at it again,” Alex offered.
“Sure, that sounds good, but next time I would like to try the staff.”
“I’m not much for staff work. It's more of a farmer’s weapon than a fighter's, but I guess it’s only fair to give you the advantage if you know how to use one. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Azerick bid farewell and walked back to his room, his spirits buoyed by making a new friend and enjoying the feeling of practicing with a weapon again.
He spent the next morning practicing his spells before heading to the weapon’s yard after lunch. There was only one cook left on the grounds, so he made a sandwich out of some pork and cheese. He wrapped a second one up in cheesecloth and set out to his weapons training appointment. Alex was already there warming up when he arrived. Alex had missed lunch since no one bothered to ring the bell for meal call and took the offered sandwich with thanks. Once he finished eating, they set up for their next duel.
“Don’t you want to put on your armor before we get started?” Alex asked as he grabbed up his staff.
“No, I’m going to try without it.”
“Pretty confident with the staff are you? We’ll see how you feel after I give you a few more bruises.”
The two fighters went at it, their staves sending clacking echoes across the courtyard. Alex was obviously not nearly as skilled with the staff as he was with the sword, and Azerick’s preference of the weapon put them on nearly even footing in the fight. However, Alex was still bigger and a more experienced fighter, and he managed to slip a blow through Azerick's defenses, but instead of feeling the satisfying slap of wood against the younger boy’s ribs, his staff was deflected slightly and bounced off with a dull thump that was hardly even noticed by his opponent.
“What the…?”
Azerick took advantage of Alex’s momentary distraction and slipped in a blow of his own, smacking the young man’s side with a satisfying crack. Alex let out a grunt of surprise and pain and tried to bring his defenses back on line, but Azerick had momentum now and took full advantage of it.
The younger student thrust, swung, and swept the ends of his staff at his larger foe and pushed him back on his heels into a defensive withdrawal. Azerick was finally able to overcome Alex’s defense and landed a solid thrust into his midsection. The young fighter doubled over with a great gasp of breath before Azerick hooked his heel, flipped him onto his back, and pressed the butt of his staff to his throat.
“I yield, I yield,” Alex cried out laughing with whatever breath he was able to get. “Not a bad job for a spell slinger. Speaking of which, I should have landed that blow to your side. What did you do?”
“I cast a spell that gives me the same protection as a decent set of armor without the restricted movement.”
“Isn’t that kind of like cheating?”
“It’s a skill I happen to possess. I don’t think it is cheating any more than your advantage in size and skill.”
“I guess not, but next round I think I’ll go back to my sword. What about you?”
“I’m sticking with my staff. I was never much for sword work.”
Alex retrieved his training sword while Azerick caught his breath and waited. Once Alex was ready, they squared off again. The next match went similar to their first day with Alex giving Azerick tips and landing bruising blows even through his magical armor. Unlike their first bout however, Azerick was able to get a few good blows in himself as his increased skill at the staff compensated a bit for his foe’s much greater sword handling. By the end of the day, bruises covered both of the exhausted students.
They kept up their sparring matches for the rest of the spring break. Both boys took great delight in honing their skills, but it was obvious that Azerick made the most improvement in his fighting skill. By the end of the two weeks, their bouts often ended in a draw, neither one able to dominate the other.
Azerick was enjoying a quiet day of reading in his room when Rusty busted into the room. Spring break was nearly over and Rusty's entrance heralded the last of his quiet time alone. As much as Azerick was glad to see Rusty and continue his studies, it also meant dealing with Travis and his frustrating failures again.
“I’m back. Did you miss me?” a smiling Rusty asked.
“I’m not sure. Who are you again?”
“Very funny. So what did you do while I was gone? Did you go to spring festival?”
“I went one day with Alex, but I stuck around The Academy the rest of the time.”
“Who’s Alex? I’m gone for two weeks and you trade me out for a new best friend huh?”
“He’s in the Martial Academy. We sparred almost every day.”
“Oh no, and a metal head at that! You, sir, are a vile fiend!” he cried as he flopped onto his bed.
“You will just have to get used to sharing me, so you best get over it. Restricting the pleasure of my company to just one friend reeks of selfishness of the highest magnitude, and I’m far too giving a person for that.”
“Well, I guess I can’t hold it against you too much considering what I did while I was on holiday,” Rusty said with an air of mystery. “Well, aren’t you wondering what I did?”
“No, not really.”
“Oh you have turned evil; evil and vile. Well, I’m going to tell you anyway. I met a girl,” Rusty said, practically bouncing around the room.
“A girl, really, where?”
“At spring festival of course. Her name is Colleen, she has long, blond hair, beautiful, smart, and she smells great.”
“Wow, she sounds great. So how did she lose her eyesight?”
“What do you mean? I didn’t say she was blind.”
“Well she must be blind if she’s going out with you.”
Rusty threw his scorched pillow at Azerick. “She thinks I’m quite charming, thank you!”
“I’m sure you two will be quite happy together as long as you don’t set her pretty, long, blond hair on fire,” Azerick said and threw Rusty’s burnt pillow back at him.
“The pillow was an accident, and the only person’s hai
r I set on fire I did on purpose,” Rusty fired back.
“What about that time in applied magic class when you thought a flaming crown would look good and you pronounced yourself the fire king?”
“Setting my own hair on fire doesn’t count; occupational hazard.”
“What about in alchemy class when Magus Morgarum…”
“All right, all right, you made your point. I am not going to set her hair on fire, and I have learned a new quenching spell to put out any fires I may accidentally set.”
“Now that may well be the most brilliant thing you have done yet.”
Rusty and Azerick continued to catch up, Azerick telling him about his sparring, Rusty telling him about his walks and stolen kisses with Colleen. Far too soon it was back to class as usual. Travis and his friends were all huddled around a desk carrying on what must have been a very amusing conversation. When they caught Azerick’s eye, they laughed even harder and whispered amongst themselves before Travis stood up and turned toward Azerick.
“Hey, Azerick, I was wrong to call you a peasant before,” he said.
Azerick was less surprised by his pronouncement than he was worried about what horrible thing he might follow that statement up with, knowing it was unlikely someone as spoiled and cruel as he was had some kind of major personality change over the holiday.
“It seems I gave you far too much credit and insulted peasants everywhere by giving you claim to such a high status,” he continued, turning and looking at the other students in the classroom now that he had everyone's attention. “It seems that our good friend Azerick is not so much a peasant as the son of a whore!”
Azerick jumped up from his seat, his face burning a brilliant shade of red. “Shut your mouth, Travis, or I swear I’ll kill you!”
“Yes, that is quite enough young man!” Magus Florent demanded, but Travis continued.
“I was at my father’s shipping house when I overheard him and one of his ship's captains talking about a whore who lived above an inn in the common quarter with her son Azerick. Apparently she wasn’t that good though. Her last customer cut her up like a piece of beef ready for the stew pot!”
The Sorcerer's Path Box Set: Book 1-4 Page 29