The Sorcerer's Path Box Set: Book 1-4

by Brock Deskins

  Delinda met him in the courtyard as she always did and blissfully threw herself into his arms when she saw he had returned unharmed. Azerick returned her embrace but not her joy, and she clearly felt it in his touch. She did not say anything then, instead choosing to follow him as he plodded up the stairs and retreated to his room.

  “You seem unhurt. What troubles you so much?” she asked as soon as the door closed behind them.

  “I fought a creature today. Not a man or anything close to the intelligence of a man,” he replied softly.

  “Why does that bother you so? I know you do not like fighting for their amusement, but never have I seen you this upset by doing what you must.”

  Azerick’s face darkened with renewed anger. “A man or anything close to such knows why it in the arena and what he must do whether he is a willing participant or not. That beast knew no such thing. It was taken from its home and put into the arena to be slaughtered. It was not evil. It had no particular hate or desire to kill me personally. It saw me as a threat or perhaps an interloper into its territory and defended itself as its nature dictated. It may not even have had those primal instincts directing it. The gods know what these bug-faced monsters did to its mind to make it fight. It was an innocent! It was even more of a slave than I am. I swear I will make these creatures pay for what they do to us!”

  Delinda held him tightly and rocked him in her arms in an attempt to console him. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry you have to kill to survive, but I would be sorrier if you had not come back to me.”

  His rage eventually turned into exhaustion, and he fell into a fitful slumber in her arms. He woke sometime after the sun had set. Delinda was lying beside him, sleeping contentedly, so he simply wrapped her in an embrace and fell back to a more restful sleep.

  Azerick returned to his regular duties of organizing and cataloging the assortment of items in his master’s vault. He spent far more time reading than actually delving into the secrets of many of the artifacts, but he made certain to spent enough time each day doing the latter so as not to appear neglectful of his tasks. The peace he found by losing himself in the books around him was short lived.

  You will fight in the arena in two weeks. This will likely be the most difficult battle you have faced thus far, and the most important one to me.

  Azerick looked up from the ancient book he was studying and saw the psyling standing in the now open doorway. Azerick wondered how the creature could move so quietly. Maybe he used his abilities to block his presence from his mind. Azerick quickly discarded these ponderings as unimportant as his master continued to address him.

  One of my archrivals has challenged me personally, and the wagers are exceptionally high. It is a personal challenge, so his fighter has not advanced through the rankings. I do not know the strength or capabilities of his champion, but he must have gained possession of a gladiator of exceptional power to be so confident of his success. Need I remind you of the consequences of disappointing me?

  “No, you don’t,” Azerick replied tersely.

  Do not fail me.

  He did not bother to reply. He was always ready, and whether or not he was had no bearing on what was going to happen anyway. His pathetic resistance seemed childish now and needlessly exhausting. He would get his moment or he wouldn’t. There was no sense in wasting energy or even words until the time actually arrived. Azerick told Delinda of his upcoming battle and she was even more worried than usual.

  “I have been distilling another healing potion since before your last battle in order to make it as potent as I could. I will start another one now. It will not be as strong as the first one, but it will help,” she told him nervously.

  “You do not seem to have much confidence in me if you think I will be injured so badly.”

  “I know of this other creature who has challenged Lord Xornan. They are bitter rivals, and he would not have made such a public challenge unless he was supremely confident of his chances to win. I am sure you will be victorious, my mind will not allow me to think otherwise, but it is sure to be a most difficult battle. We both must face the fact that it is unlikely you will emerge unscathed, so it is best we be prepared for it.”

  Azerick hugged her closely, grateful for her support. “I am lucky to have you by my side.”

  Azerick spent the time he had practicing his spells. He practiced different combinations and tried to imagine every possible scenario ahead of time so he could react quickly and properly. When the day of his fight came, Azerick stepped out into the courtyard to accompany his master to The Games. He was surprised to see Delinda standing next to Lord Xornan and the palanquin. She was standing resolutely with a canvas satchel hung over one shoulder and prepared for an argument.

  “Delinda, what are you doing here?” Azerick asked.

  “Lord Xornan has agreed to allow me to go with you to the arena. I brought the potions with me. The sooner they are administered the more effective they will be.”

  Azerick was going to argue, but the determined look in her eyes showed he could not dissuade her. “Will you be watching the battle?”

  “No, I will stay with Braunlen in the trainer’s room.”

  “Good, this is not something I wish you to see.”

  “Nor would I,” she said quietly.

  The two humans and the psyling loaded into the palanquin and was borne on the wide shoulders of the minotaurs to the arena. Delinda squeezed Azerick’s hand the entire way and did not let go until they were in Braunlen’s training room.

  “I think you got a hard fight on your hands this time, lad,” Braunlen told him gravely.

  “Can you tell me anything about him?”

  “It’s a she, and an abyssal elf. Rumor has it she is a wizard too.”

  “I have to fight a woman?”

  Delinda’s face darkened. “You’re damn right you have to fight a woman, and you will hit her with everything you have! You had better not take it easy on her just because she’s a girl. You can be she sure won’t do the same for you.”

  “She’s right, kid. Don’t go soft just because she’s a she. She’s an abyssal elf to boot. Abyssal elves are a mean bunch and masters of magic. They look down on surface races as being inferior in every way. They are fast and smart, so you better be on your toes.”

  “All right, I’ll do my best.”

  Azerick prepared himself as he entered the arena to include a magic ward to protect him from magical attacks. Azerick was a crowd favorite by now, and they cheered loudly for him when he entered the fighting pit.

  The crowd fell silent as the abyssal elf entered through the other gate. She was shorter than he was, but not by much. She strode with the grace and surety of a queen. Her skin was stark white like fresh fallen snow, and it contrasted eerily with her large, black eyes. Her silver hair hung in a tight braid down her back, reaching past her waist. She wore a pair of tight-fitting black breeches and tunic. A short, black cape or cloak trailed down her back, split down the center by her braided hair. She would have been startlingly beautiful were it not for the aura of menace radiating from her.

  The official dropped the kerchief and both casters broke into the chanting and hand waving of spell casting. Azerick’s spell was a minor one and quick to cast. His illusory duplicates sprung out around him to confuse his enemy of his true location. The elf formed a familiar weave. Azerick quickly deduced the intent of the spell and bolted quickly to the left as the wizard flung her hand forward. A massive ball of fire erupted a scant second later where he had just been standing. He felt the searing heat wash over his back, but his quick thinking and spell shield saved him from some serious burns.

  He retaliated with a lightning bolt the instant he leapt to his feet. He saw the telltale flicker of it meeting the spell shield of the abyssal elf. What little energy got through seemed to do little if any harm to the alabaster-skinned wizard.

  Frustrated, he began another incantation as the abyssal elf completed her follow up spell. Aze
rick did not notice any immediate effects, nor did he recognize the spell she cast. He threw his hand forward and launched a heavy arrow of fire straight at his opponent.

  He stared in shock when the wizard suddenly disappeared. He spun around and found her several yards off to his right. Bolts of arcane power slammed into him before he could ready himself. His shield absorbed most of them, but two managed to penetrate and sting him smartly.

  Azerick held his spell at ready when the abyssal elf blinked away once more. He looked frantically for her to reappear and launched another lightning bolt at her as soon as she popped into existence. The electrical charge caught her squarely and sent her staggering several steps backward.

  She cursed something in a language resembling elven, but it sounded darker and more sinister in tone. Azerick made out the words man, human, and what he assumed was a powerful expletive before she blinked away again. Azerick tried to locate her before she could retaliate, but he was too slow in discovering her new location. She appeared only a score of yards away and brought her palms together in front of her with her fingers splayed outward at an angle forming a V lying on its side.

  A swirling vortex of skin-numbing frost erupted from her delicate, white hands. The icy blast caught Azerick full on despite his best attempt to dodge the attack. He felt his clothes stiffen and his skin burn from the sub-zero assault. He forced his frozen fingers to obey and hastily cast his portal spell to get away from the current kill zone. He escaped just in time as another fireball burst directly over the area he just vacated.

  It was the abyssal elf’s turn to scan the arena for him before he got the jump on her. Her own dislocation spell now worked against her as she tried to search the grounds while her position changed every few seconds. Azerick released his spell the moment his opponent blinked back into view. Stone spikes erupted from the earth and covered a large patch of ground with their deadly, sharp tips.

  The elf amazingly spun away, somehow avoiding the stabbing stone spears enough to keep from being impaled. One of the tips did manage to tear a deep gouge in her left hip and thigh. Instead of cursing him in anger or outrage, she actually smiled and nodded in appreciation at the human’s clever spell.

  The abyssal elf mage rapidly waved her slender hands in a complex pattern. Azerick sent a barrage of magic darts streaming at her in hopes of interrupting her spell, but her shield negated all but one missile, which did not appear to faze her.

  She shouted her spell’s execution command, and Azerick felt the earth rumble beneath his feet. He dove to the side as a column of stone erupted beneath him and shot forty feet in the air, taking barely a second to reach its apex. He tried to regain his feet, but another colossal stone pillar burst directly under him. He splayed himself out across its five-foot wide surface as it launched him above the arena floor. The column reached its apex in the blink of an eye, and The sheer velocity of it catapulted him another thirty feet into the air.

  Azerick forced himself to remain calm despite the terrifying situation in which he found himself. He controlled his falling flight and carefully but rapidly drew the magical weaving he hoped would save his life. The magical portal flared open directly below him a fraction of a second before the hard, unyielding ground abruptly and lethally arrested his fall. Azerick’s body flew out of the gateway’s exit point in a low arc before hitting the sandy floor and rolling to a stop in a cloud of dust.

  Azerick’s quick thinking and clever spell use had saved his life for the moment, but his uncontrolled slide and tumble across the arena floor introduced his body to a world of pain. He was certain one arm was broken as he opened his dirt-encrusted eyes and saw it bent at an unnatural angle. The sharp pain accompanying every shallow breath attested to several broken ribs. As he struggled to his feet, another sharp pain lanced up his right leg and refused to support his weight.

  He managed to stand, supporting most of his weight on his left leg as the abyssal elf seductively sashayed toward him. She came to a stop and seemed to study him for a moment before speaking.

  “You are clever for a human, and you fought well,” she said in a surprisingly deep but soft and melodious voice. “It is a shame one with your talents at such a young age must meet his end in this place. But look on the bright side. At least you will no longer be a prisoner of these vile creatures.” She looked forlorn for a moment. “I look forward to the day I can say the same. I just pray I can take some of them with me when I go.”

  She began chanting the words to another spell, and Azerick knew there was nothing he could do to prevent her from destroying him now. His body was too battered to attempt to dodge, flee, or cast a counter spell. All he could do was brace himself as an invisible force slammed into him with the weight of a runaway carriage. His already broken body was blasted backward, and he landed in a heap several yards away.

  The abyssal elf stalked forward when the human sorcerer refused to submit to death and moaned. She stared down at his battered and broken form, summoning the energy for a simple spell to extinguish what little spark of life still flickered inside him. She had never known the emotion called remorse, but the feeling she had at being forced to kill such a rare spellcaster for no reason except for a master’s entertainment came as close as she would likely ever come. She would have been delighted to be able to dissect the young human’s mind and abilities at her leisure.

  “What a waste,” the elf said as she prepared to unleash her spell.

  CHAPTER 6

  General Baneford rode at the head of the column of riders. Only the four scouts ranging three hundred yards ahead preceded him. The breath of men and horses formed a pervasive fog in the thin and frigid air. He turned in his saddle and often caught his men gazing up at the towering, snow-covered peaks seeming to reach up to pierce the sky itself. The General was certain his men were all sharing his same fear, that the massive peaks would suddenly disgorge their shells of ice and snow to bury the intruders in a great frozen tomb.

  As cold as it was, it was still better than that wretched swamp. The cold only became truly unbearable when they stopped to rest. General Baneford decided that when he retired, and soon he hoped, he would go south where it was dry and warm. He figured he could put up with the occasional sand storm if it meant his fingers and toes would never ache from cold and his feet would stay dry enough that they would not grow more fungus than a decaying pile of horse dung.

  Despite the mountains seeming desolation, they followed what appeared to be a pass with a definite purpose. Six miserable days of arduous climbing later, one of General Baneford’s scouts came riding toward him, evidently with news of some kind.

  “Sir, the pass opens up just half a mile ahead into a small plateau of some sort. There are several stone buildings and halls at the far end of the vale and people walking about.”

  “Excellent, it’s about damned time we get out of this forsaken cold,” the General replied bitterly.

  One of Baneford’s officers turned to him. “How do you want us to proceed?”

  “Did you spy any walls or armed men?” he asked the scout.

  “No, sir, although the buildings look strong and well constructed. Some of the men looked to be carrying some kind of long implements, but we did not approach close enough to tell if they were weapons or simply tools.”

  “Tools can be weapons in the right hands, but in this case I think not. These are supposed to be priests of some kind. We will proceed openly but cautiously. No one is to draw weapons unless they are overtly threatened. If we can get in and out with what we seek without resorting to a bloodbath, all the better.”

  General Baneford led his men after the scout and came upon the plateau entirely ringed by steep-sided, impassible mountains. If these priests had been soldiers, it would have been an easy task for a few men to hold it against ten times their numbers, although if an enemy ever were to break through, the defenders had nowhere to run.

  As they drew near the small town with its large, stone cathedral and smaller
outbuildings, General Baneford saw that defense was the furthest thing from these men’s mind. Dozens of men wielded shovels and rakes against the snow covering the flagstone courtyards and pathways. They all wore heavy, brown robes of wool and simply paused in their work to watch the armored men approaching on horseback.

  One of the men handed his shovel to another and walked toward the approaching group with a pleasant smile on his trimmed, grey-bearded face. He was not ancient, but a significant sense of wisdom shown on his age-lined visage.

  “Good day to you, gentlemen. I am Brother Paul,” the man said in introduction. “It is very rare we get visitors to our isolated redoubt. What brings you on such a long and arduous journey may I ask?”

  “Are you in charge here?” General Baneford asked shortly.

  “I was elected to be this year’s senior brother four months ago, so I suppose you could say I am in charge, although we are primarily communal in most all matters of importance.”

  “Good, then you can tell me where to find the piece of Dundalor’s armor you keep within your abbey.” Baneford chose not to give the brother a chance to deny its existence by posing it as a question.

  The smile dropped from Brother Paul’s face. “No, I am sorry to say I cannot help you with that, but you and your men are welcome to share the warmth of our fire and food before you depart.”

  “You did not deny having the artifact, so it is here. It is not that you cannot help me, but instead choose not to help me.”

  Brother Paul smiled benignly into the aggravated face of the man astride the big horse. “Our order was sworn to protect the artifact so its evil would not be loosed upon the world once more.”

  “Bah! It is a tool and no different from that shovel you were wielding. Evil is in the intent of the man, not the tool.”