“No, the only way out is at the top of the tower. Trust me, Zeb, and get moving.”
Zeb looked into the young man’s eyes and nodded his head. “All right, you scallywags, you heard him. Drop your mops and grab your socks, we’re getting outta here! Move it! Round up everyone you can find and get em to the top of the tower!”
Azerick ran down to the laboratory, taking three stairs at a time in his headlong rush. He selected several herbs and a few small vials of finished healing draughts before sprinting back up the steps. He saw several of the human slaves running about in their haste to inform the others and grabbing whatever possessions they had. Azerick rushed up the stairs to his room and stuffed a couple of his choicest books in a heavy canvas pack before heading to the library. Loud booming echoed through the mansion as something heavy repeatedly slammed into the main door.
Zeb ran straight to the kitchen with several of his men to get Cook. “Cook, pack it up, we’re getting out of here.”
Zeb looked at another form sitting at the small table in the kitchen eating a haunch of mutton. Toron was one of Lord Xornan’s old gladiators. He was one of the few to survive long enough to retire. He was a big brute of a minotaur, graying around his muzzle and one horn had about six inches of the tip lopped off. A thumb and two fingers were all that remained of his left hand. He worked around the manor these days doing a bit of menial labor and acting as a house guard.
“What’s going on, Zeb?” Cook asked as he slid several large, sharp kitchen knives out of a rack and pressed them into Zeb and a few of his crewmate’s hands.
Zeb kept his eyes on the old minotaur as he told Cook what had transpired. “Toron, you always seemed a reasonable sort if not much on conversation. I don’t want to have to fight you, but you got two choices here. Lord Xornan is dead and we’re leaving. You can fight us, or let us go, but we won’t be stopped.”
Toron set his food down on the plate and stood to his imposing height of seven feet, just over eight if you added the horns—the one on the right anyway.
“I believe I shall take a third option if you please and depart with you, if you will allow me to accompany you,” he rumbled in a deep, gravelly voice.
Zeb considered the request for just a second before answering. He was glad the old minotaur was not going to fight them. Even past his prime, it would have been a brutal and costly battle.
“Suits me fine I guess. I don’t know where we’re going, but a powerful fighter like you would be most welcome so long as you never give us reason to doubt your loyalty. Grab what you need and make for the top of the big tower. Azerick’s got us a way out.”
Cook and crew grabbed large sacks and stuffed them full with food from the pantry and smoke room. They filled bladders and jugs with water and slung them over their shoulders with leather and rope cords. Every man slipped a kitchen knife into his belt before hurrying upstairs to the top of the tower. They met Toron near the top of the stairs dressed in a thick leather kilt reinforced with steel plates, a chain hauberk, and a large, double-bladed battle-axe strapped to his back. Zeb gave him a nod, and they made their way to the meeting point.
The door at the top of the stairs was open and they all scrambled inside. Azerick was standing near a bookshelf stuffing scrolls into hard leather tubes as nearly a score of men and a few women from Lord Xornan’s household staff piled into the room.
Azerick paused and looked at the big minotaur standing amongst them, his horns nearly scraping the ceiling.
“He’s coming with us, lad, if you’ll have him,” Zeb informed Azerick.
“Any who wish to flee this horrible place is welcome to come. I need everyone to pack away and carry everything on that table.” He pointed to a stack of books, scrolls, and a few baubles of various sorts.
Everyone promptly obeyed as Azerick finished rolling and packing scrolls away into rigid tubes. A loud crash resounded from down below as the heavy doors gave under a tremendous force. Heavy, booted steps pounded up the stairs and throughout the rooms below as guards searched for the rebels.
Azerick stepped over to the multi-colored gemstones and entered the same sequence Lord Xornan had used on his first expedition, feeding a small trickle of power into each one he touched. Azerick learned the book had not come from his world, but he did discover the way there within its pages. The portal snapped open and revealed a wall of darkness beyond.
“Everyone step through quickly now. I’ll follow in a moment and provide light,” Azerick instructed his group of refugees.
Azerick made his way through the stream of humans and closed the vault door. Brackets were bolted on each side of the doorframe, and a thick cross bar leaned in a corner, its top surface covered in thick dust. He started to reach for the oak beam but got another idea. He grabbed the black, evil-tainted staff leaning against a bookcase and dropped it into the slot instead.
“C’mon, lad, everyone is through but us,” Zeb called to him.
“Just a moment, Zeb. I have to do something first. No one will ever run slaves or gladiators out of this house again,” he swore and cast his sunder spell on the artifact.
More hard thumps sounded against the door as guards threw themselves against the magically reinforced barrier. The artifact was extremely powerful and resisted Azerick’s attempts to tamper with it. It felt almost like a living thing and it tried to return Azerick’s attempts to destroy it with the black energies it contained.
His determination finally won out, and the spell weakened the physical structure of the ebony rod. He followed Zeb through the gateway as even more powerful blows shook the entire chamber. As soon as he passed through, Azerick closed the portal behind him.
A score of guards stood waiting for battle as five psylings launched their powerful psionic attacks against the barred door.
“The door and chamber beyond is protected by powerful magic,” one of the evil creatures told its kindred. “We will have to join our powers together to overcome it.”
“So be it,” the others answered.
The psylings clasped hands and stood in a half circle before the door. They all concentrated and sent their psychic energies to their brother who stood in the center, gathering and focusing their combined strength. As the power built to a crescendo, he released it all against the resilient door in one massive burst. The stubborn wood and steel yielded under the titanic assault and split asunder.
When the door and the ebony staff barring it were destroyed, all the power pent up in the black rod detonated with such force it caused an instant chain reaction of destruction. Every magical staff, ring, gem, necklace, piece of armor, and scroll containing magical power, as well as the dimensional gate and the powerful enchantments protecting the chamber, detonated as well.
A colossal blast erupted in a bright white light so intense it seared the eyes of anyone who had been looking in that direction seconds before the explosion washed over them. In that same instant, the massive eruption sent a shockwave of destruction through the city, killing everyone, and reducing every building to rubble in a miles-wide radius. Thousands, perhaps even tens of thousands perished in an instant. The great psyling city was wiped out of existence.
Teraneshala, the powerful abyssal elf wizard, felt the blast and the mental control her psyling master had over her slip for just a brief instant. However, that instant was enough to enact the spell she had prepared the moment of her capture. She saw the wall bow under the intense force of the blast at the same instant her spell whisked her across the planes and back to her deep, subterranean home.
The elf staggered away from the rune-inscribed circle carved into the floor of a secret chamber, one in which only she knew its existence. She paused to consider what had just transpired. The wizard replayed the event, ran the “smell, taste, and feel” of the magic that had surely destroyed that warren of evil.
Teraneshala threw her head back and laughed deeply, her melodic voice echoing off the cavern walls. “Oh, very nicely done, little human. Well don
e indeed.”
The elf was certain the human had played a hand in whatever it was that had just transpired, though she could not know what exactly that was. She hoped he had somehow escaped the destruction.
Far beyond even the abyssal elf’s home, across planes of existence few could, and even fewer would even want to reach, another creature shared in the elf’s laughter.
Yes, my hand, send me more souls, the goddess of death cried out in exultation as thousands of new souls flooded into her dark afterlife.
On the other side of the dimensional gate, a mass of humans huddled in darkness and muttered in fear. Azerick scooped up several plumb-sized stones from the cave floor and cast an enchantment upon them. Bright light flared from the stones resting in his cupped hand. He passed them around to a few select people along with a scroll tube.
“Carry this light. If we call for the lights to be extinguished, drop them in the tube and cap it,” he instructed the light bearers.
“What do we do now, Azerick?” Zeb asked.
Azerick looked at the huddled refugees and the cavernous chamber around him. He looked at the wall of stone behind him, using his light to illuminate its hard, grey surface. The anger and adrenaline that had been fueling his body left him in a rush. Spots swam before his eyes and vertigo overcame his balance. His knees buckled beneath him, and he slowly slid down the wall to a sitting position.
“Azerick, are you all right, lad?” Zeb asked worriedly.
“I am all right, Zeb. Do not worry about me. I just overdid it today. I need to rest right now is all. We can figure everything else out later. Just have everyone relax for now.”
Unable to keep them open any longer, Azerick’s eyes closed despite his best efforts, and he fell into a deep, fitful sleep. When he next opened his eyes, he found himself staring into Lord Xornan’s soulless black orbs.
Did you really think you could defeat me and escape so easily? The psyling gurgled in his mind, mockingly.
“No, this isn’t real! you are not real!” Azerick shouted and rubbed his eyes.
Reality is what I make it, my pet. Have you not learned that by now?
“I killed you! I killed you for real this time!”
Just like you killed me the first time and escaped? Just like you killed your mother? You are mine until I decide otherwise, pet. You will serve me for the rest of your life. I will not let you escape, and I will never let you die.
Azerick trembled in horror, looked down at the ground, and saw Delinda still lying dead on the flagstones by his feet.
“No!” Azerick cried out as the guards grabbed him roughly and dragged him toward the tower.
CHAPTER 7
Despite the monks’ apparent pacifism, General Baneford ordered a small group of guards to stand watch over the men sleeping in the dining hall upon their bedrolls. He had wanted to continue the search, but he and his men were exhausted.
The continued hospitality of the men whose homes they invaded, and were essentially robbing, perplexed the General to the point of hostility. This was not how people were supposed to act! He almost hoped the monks would try to sneak in and attempt to drive them out by force. At least he understood that kind of mentality. Despite his exhaustion, sleep refused to come.
Damn Brother Paul and his tolerance and hospitality, and damn his goat stew too!
Unable to find peace, General Baneford got up, strapped his sword around his wool-clad waist, and stomped out of the dining hall with no purpose or intent other than to try to clear his head. He stalked down the silent corridors where only the tiniest flame flickered in every third oil lamp to guide him. He felt a draft to his left and found the door leading to the outside.
Maybe some fresh air will clear my head, he thought.
The General stepped out into the cool night air and almost returned to his bed when his body shivered involuntarily at the sudden drop in temperature. He chose instead to walk a ways beyond the door’s threshold and gazed up into the night sky. The view was amazing. Not a single cloud marred the night sky, and no moon shown in an attempt to compete with the luminescence of the stars. The surrounding peaks made it look as though he were gazing into the very depths of the heavens from the bottom of a colossal well. A slight rainbow of wavering lights swam in the currents of invisible ether just above the peaks to the north.
“One of the first things our few visitors ask when they come to this remote place is how can we live in such isolation. The lucky ones see this, and they never ask again,” Brother Paul said, his voice preceding him out of the darkness.
General Baneford flinched inwardly at the unexpected noise but quickly passed it off as a shiver born of the chill wind. “Do you always wander about in the middle of the night, or only when you have uninvited guests?”
Brother Paul’s teeth flashed in the faint starlight. “I seem to recall inviting you and your men to sup with us and to enjoy the warmth of our fire.”
General Baneford snorted. “We would have been here regardless.”
“Then it is fortunate I extended our hospitality before any further rudeness occurred that could have caused some embarrassment for either of us.”
“What are you really doing out here?”
Brother Paul stared up at the humbling night sky. “Much the same as you I imagine. I feel a restlessness born of duty and a feeling of unease at the wrongness you and your men are committing.”
“I am a soldier, and I follow orders as I am supposed to do. I do not question them, and I feel no shame for it,” the big commander snapped, almost believing his lie.
“We had a goat die a few years back just after giving birth to a kid. One of our herding dogs just had a litter of pups and adopted the baby goat as one of her own. As the kid grew, it acted just like its littermates. It would romp and play, fetch sticks, and even try to herd the other goats. It would even defend its herd against any perceived intruder, but no matter how hard it tried to bark at them, it always came out as the bleating of a goat. Do you know why that is, General?”
“Because it was a goat not a dog, of course.”
“Yes, because it was a goat. Despite growing up among dogs, and doing everything as dogs do, it was still a goat, and nothing could change that. We could tell it to sit, it would sit; tell it to lie down, it would do it just as its adopted brothers and sisters did. But no one could teach it to bark because in its heart it knew it was a goat.”
The general looked darkly at the small monk. “So what are you saying? That I’m a goat?”
Brother Paul looked at the General with a wide smile and replied, “naaaah,” with a goat-like bleat and walked back toward the abbey.
General Baneford scowled at the retreating monk until he heard the door of the abbey close behind him before he allowed the laughter he was holding back to break the tranquility of the starry night. With a final deep breath of fresh air, the General returned to his bedroll in the dining hall and fell fast asleep.
The ringing of the bell signifying morning ablutions woke the sleeping men early the next morning. Soon after the soldiers had their bedrolls stowed away, the monks of the abbey began gathering in the dining hall to break their fast with cooked oats, bread, and cheese before going about their daily routines of prayer, tending the animals, and grounds maintenance.
Once the General’s men finished eating, they renewed their search of the monastery. There were several small anterooms, but their austere furnishings made for very quick searches. The library and scroll room was another matter entirely. Thousands of books and scrolls filled the shelves and cubbies of several rooms. It was in searching these rooms that his men received the first protests and resistance from the monks. Many of the books were so old that improper handling easily damaged them. Several monks ran about in a state of great agitation as soldiers pulled books out of the shelves and looked behind the bookcases.
Brother Paul walked briskly into the library with General Baneford in tow. “Please, General! Many of these tomes and scrolls
are irreplaceable.”
“I told you I would tear this place apart to find what I came for. It is your stubbornness doing this. Tell me where the armor is and we will leave.”
The monk resolutely cast his eyes at the floor. General Baneford looked at the monk and saw the sorrow in his determination not to reveal the location of that which he was entrusted to protect.
The big soldier let out a sigh of resignation. “Is the armor within any of these rooms or behind the bookcases? Are there any hidden doors or passages concealed within theses rooms?”
Brother Paul looked the General in the eye. “No, there is nothing in these rooms that will lead to or help you find the artifact. Not even written words in any of the books or scrolls.”
General Baneford studied the man’s face and found no hint of guile just as he expected he would not. “Pack it up, gentlemen. There’s nothing here.”
The soldiers paused but quickly marched out and began searching elsewhere.
“I must thank you once more for your sufferance, General.”
Baneford turned toward Brother Paul. “You had best pray I find the armor soon, or so help me I will burn every book and scroll in this place if I even think for one second you have deceived me.”
Brother Paul bowed his head and smiled, knowing the General knew he was telling him the truth. General Baneford stormed out of the abbey and found himself walking the grounds and wracking his brain for answers. He saw the herds of goats and sheep munching on bales of hay that must have been quite a chore to have had delivered to the isolated monastery.
The General wondered how the monks received the things they could not craft or grow themselves. The nearest trees were three days ride through the steep, narrow passage and a week to the closest town. If he were in charge, he would probably send two or three men into to town once or twice a year to commission a caravan to deliver wood, hay, and whatever other supplies they needed to survive the harsh winters.
Thinking along these lines as he walked, a sudden realization sprang to mind. With one last look around, General Baneford walked with a determined purpose for the first time since he and his men had arrived. After asking a few of the other monks, the General found Brother Paul kneeling in the chapel below the big, golden sun, still catching and reflecting the last of the morning’s sunlight.
The Sorcerer's Path Box Set: Book 1-4 Page 48