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

by Brock Deskins

  “You know, Zeb,” The Battle Jarl remarked as he strode onto the wheel deck where the Captain was expertly guiding the ship through the ice-choked channel, “I think my people made a mistake moving inland and abandoning the sea.”

  “Aye, it’s in your blood, my friend, passed down from your father’s father. It takes a lot to dilute all that salt once it gets in there. Probably three or four more generations until your kin are finally free of it,” Zeb replied with a knowing smile.

  The Captain felt sorry for his new Eislander friend. He had thought he might never get to sail again after the psylings had captured and enslaved him and his crew. That thought had filled him with more sorrow than the idea of actually being a slave. It was why he owed Azerick more than the sorcerer would ever realize when he had freed them. Sailing was not just part of his life it was life itself.

  “If you ever decide you want to return to the sea, I might be able to arrange something.”

  “As a crewman on your ship?” Modi asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Zeb chuckled. “On one of them. I’ve got five, and at least until you get your sea legs back. I suspect it wouldn’t take more than a couple seasons to remind that old sailor’s blood what to do. I know you’re a leader and damn fine one, but it takes more than leadership to captain a ship.”

  “Aye, I see what you’re saying. My old pride makes me say foolish things sometimes.”

  “It does it to the best of us. But I mean what I say. If you and any of your men ever want to take a hand at being a sailor, get me a message down in North Haven, and I’ll get a ship under ya somehow.”

  “That’s a fine offer, Zeb. I may take you up on it one of these days. For now, I need to get back to my people and tell them everything that has happened. Just one other thing I’d ask of you, although you have done more than any man could expect of another he just met,” Modi began uncomfortably.

  “There’s nothin’ too much to ask of a friend and nothin’ too much for a friend to offer.”

  “It’s Hati. I can’t take her back with me. Even before, she wasn’t treated well. She’s a real good woman, and it makes me ashamed how my people tormented her because of her mother. Even if your wizard friends can put her back to rights, rumors will have spread, and she would find life even worse if she came back home.”

  The big Eislander took a deep breath. “Do you think your friends would look after her and treat her decent? She’s a strong lass, real strong now, and a good worker. She wouldn’t be just a freeloader or a charity case. She wouldn’t accept that no how.”

  Zeb laughed loudly at the difficulty Modi was having asking for help. “If you knew the young man I was taking her to, you wouldn’t need to ask. He’s got a habit of bringing home strays you might say, me and Toron being just a couple of them. As I said, Modi, these are real good folks. You don’t have to worry.”

  Modi nodded his head, clapped Zeb on the shoulder with one big hand, and went to check on how Hati was doing.

  It took nearly as long to bash through the few miles of ice as it did to sail the two hundred leagues south to a small cove controlled by Eislanders that Modi directed them to. Zeb tacked within sight of the shoreline for nearly a day before finding the tiny, protected cove. Three open galleys sped out of the cove toward the slightly bigger and far heavier Iron Shark. Each boat was packed full of large men wielding axes, spears, ropes, and grapnels.

  “I hope you can convince them that we’re friends,” Zeb said as he stood next to Modi watching the ships rowing toward them at an impressive rate.

  “I don’t know, Zeb. I sure hate to interfere in another man’s business,” the Battle Jarl said seriously then gave Zeb a wink.

  As the closest of the galleys drew near, Modi cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted in his native tongue. Zeb was not sure if the oncoming men heard him or were disregarding whatever Modi was saying. His nervous crewmen gathered around the ship’s weapons, watching the approaching Eislanders with trepidation.

  The first galley looked as though it was going to ram them given the rate it was still approaching until the helmsman jerked the tiller and slid the ship up sideways, bumping hard against the Shark’s hull. A pair of grapnels sailed over the rail followed by two burly Eislanders a few seconds later.

  “Permission to come aboard, Captain!” one of the boarding Eislanders called out from the rail they perched upon.

  Technically, they were already aboard and breaking a long-standing naval courtesy, but Zeb simply could not find it in himself to hold a grudge against the two men who apparently thought their entrance a rather grand jest to play on the southerners.

  “Welcome aboard, gentlemen. I’m Zeb, captain of the Iron Shark.”

  Both men hopped off the rail and approached Zeb with their large hands outstretched. “Gentlemen? Either Modi didn’t tell ya who we were, or he lied to ya. Knowing him, he lied.”

  “Lied! I’ve never told a lie in my life, you goat-bearded sewer rat!” Modi shouted indignantly.

  “There he goes again, Captain. He once told me he didn’t sleep with Big Bella, but I have firsthand knowledge that is a bald-faced lie; and if you knew Bella, you’d know it was a really big lie at that.”

  “I did not sleep with her! Fact is, I sobered up before I passed out and ran like hell. She was the only one that did any sleeping, so technically it was no lie but the truth with the shameful bits omitted.”

  “Ye should’a been a magistrate with that interpretation of the truth ya got there, Modi,” the Eislander, who introduced himself as Olen, said.

  “Oh aye, she fell asleep all right. Right in the midst of that shameful deed to hear tell of it!” Johann laughed heartily.

  “Now that’s a lie! I had her howling like a mad woman!”

  “She weren’t howling she was barking! Did I tell ya she was damned ugly ta boot?” Johann asked Zeb.

  Olen cut off Modi’s sputtered defense of his dignity and prowess as a man. “What are ya doing down here and on this odd looking tub? No offense, Captain.”

  “None taken.”

  Modi explained his mission and what they had found. The two men listened to the Battle Jarl’s recitation of the battle with the ragmen and the hobgoblin. The mention of magic brought a sour look to the Eislanders’ faces even more so than the kidnappings and the ragmen. He never mentioned Hati, perhaps not wanting the word of her changes known so soon.

  “Well, let’s get you back to a tavern so we can get you fixed up. I’m sure Bella will be thrilled ta see ya again,” Johann said and received a punch in the shoulder that probably would have broken Zeb’s arm.

  “I wanna thank you again for all you’ve done, Zeb, and for seeing to Hati for me. Her da is gonna be upset, but he’s a strong man, and he’ll understand we did what was best. Maybe she’ll even be able to get fixed up and come home, though I’ll wager that once she’s away she’s not gonna want to come back. Maybe to visit her da, but that’d be about all,” Modi said as he shook Zeb’s hand.

  “You saved me and my boys first, so at the least we’re even. You take care of yourself and remember my offer,” Zeb returned.

  “We thank ya for getting this lout back to us even if he is a lying degenerate. If we happen ta catch and raid ya just remember, it ain’t personal, just business,” Olen grinned.

  Zeb laughed and clasped wrists with Olen and Johann again.

  Modi grabbed his wrist once more and leaned in to whisper to him. “Don’t laugh too hard, Zeb, they ain’t joking.”

  The rest of the men bid farewell and began climbing over the side of the ship to the waiting galleys below. Modi found Toron to bid him a personal farewell before he departed.

  “I’m proud to have fought next to you, Toron. You know, it’s considered a high honor to decorate our helms and such with the horns of a minotaur we defeated in battle. It’s a damn shame someone beat me to yours,” Modi said. “I wouldn’t be able to tolerate a lopsided helmet.”

  “I imagine such an honor must
be truly prestigious considering the extreme rarity that one such as you actually defeats a minotaur. I imagine most of those horns were dug up and claimed from the toothless skulls of long dead grandfathers,” Toron shot back.

  Man and minotaur laughed deeply at each other’s good-natured ribbing and clasped wrists before Modi made his way down the rope and stood on the open deck of the galley. Zeb waited until the galleys nearly reached the shore before ordering sails hoisted and the ship put underway for home.

  CHAPTER 11

  Shakrill stared at the body that Sasha and Krendall dropped onto the floor near the stairs. She walked languidly down the black marble stairs and stopped three steps from the bottom, preferring to look imperiously down upon the others.

  “Where is Anthony?” Shakrill asked, wanting one of them to put words to what she already suspected.

  “Outside drawing flies,” Krendall replied simply and without emotion.

  Shakrill was surprised only by the fact that this unimposing boy managed to kill not only an adept who had been expected to go far in the tower, but now a full wizard while being supported by another full wizard and an archmage. The wizard’s death concerned her very little. No one considered Anthony an exceptionally talented spellcaster. Shakrill and the others figured he would likely never make archmage, and now there was certainly no doubt of it. She saw that Sasha sported a rather serious wound that bled profusely even through the cloth bound around it.

  “He certainly is not much to look at is he?” Shakrill commented as she studied Azerick’s unconscious form.

  “One would think not, although you know as well as I that when it comes to wizards, or sorcerers I imagine in his case, looks can be deceiving,” Krendall reminded the wizard.

  “A sorcerer is he? How very interesting. Is that the staff Jarred said he wielded?”

  “Indeed, and an impressive weapon it is. The runes appear to be dwarven, which is an even greater surprise than seeing one so young wielding such an artifact.”

  “Dwarven? This young man just gets more interesting by the moment,” Shakrill said, licking her brightly painted, red lips. “Do you think he stole it from his master? If so, I would love to hear how he or she got that magic hating race to craft it.”

  Krendall shook his head. “From the initial astral readings I have gotten from it so far, this young sorcerer has been its owner nearly since its construction only a few years ago. He is certainly linked to it.”

  Shakrill descended the remaining steps, took Azerick’s staff from her associate, and studied the arcanum and blood red weapon.

  “Most impressive. You say it qualifies as an artifact in its power?”

  “Nearly, though its exact abilities and limitations would take years of study to identify and define. My short look into it gave me the impression of enormous depth.”

  “So the staff was the sorcerer’s primary source of power?” Shakrill asked, slightly disappointed.

  “I would be hesitant to make that claim. The staff certainly makes him a force to be reckoned with against most any wizard, but it would be foolish to underestimate the young man’s own abilities. He showed a very good grasp of magic, his wards were exceptional, and the spell he slew Anthony with would give any archmage cause for concern. Now then, if show and tell is over, I have my own business to attend to, as I am sure you have a host of wonderful things with which to entertain our young guest,” Krendall said lightly and walked away.

  Gods, that man is irritating! I would wish him an agonizing death in the desert, but that would rob me of the pleasure of using him as my footstool once I summon Klaraxis. “Joshua!” Shakrill shouted.

  “Yes, mistress!” Joshua replied, hastening down the steps from where he had been anticipating his mistress’ summons.

  “Find another apprentice to help you take this man to the summoning chambers and chain him to the floor. And get a novice to clean up Magus Sasha’s blood.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  Joshua ran to the novice and apprentice chambers located on the first three floors and did as his mistress commanded. He sent one of the novices down with a scrub brush and a bucket of water and asked his friend Umair to help take the man lying on the floor downstairs to the summoning chamber.

  Joshua grabbed Azerick under his armpits while Umair took his feet and tried to carry him down the steps. They quickly found that this method was making them work far too hard since his middle tended to sag and the height difference when they got to the stairs made it even harder. They decided that it would be easier to throw his arms over each of their shoulders and carry him between them like trying to get a drunken friend home.

  “Did you hear what happened?” Umair asked, trying to suppress a smile and failing miserably.

  “No, I was busy scrubbing Mistress Shakrill’s floor,” Joshua replied.

  “Jarred came into the room sobbing that a wizard had killed Paul at that seedy little bar with the stable just down the street!”

  “No!”

  “He said he blew Paul’s heart out through his back with so much force it hit the barkeeper in face!”

  Paul and Jarred had been the bane of all the apprentices and lower ranking casters at the tower who were not part of their little clique, which consisted of the strongest and most arrogant mages in the tower. Anyone who showed even a hint of decency was automatically excluded. Joshua was fortunate that he was skilled enough that most of Paul’s group left him alone.

  “So what did Jarred do?”

  Umair snorted. “What he always does when Paul isn’t there to cover his ass, he ran like little girl and cried to the wizards.”

  “And you think this is the guy?”

  “Wait, it gets even better. Mistress Shakrill sends Archmage Krendall, Magus Sasha, and Magus Anthony out to get him. They catch him crossing the square, hotfooting toward an alley, and unload on him. He take’s Archmage Krendall’s lightning bolt as if he blew him a kiss, casts a duplicity spell while running full tilt across the square, and gets little more than a sunburn from Magus Sasha’s fireball. Then he jumps up and hits Magus Anthony with a ray that nearly folds him in half backward, snapping his spine loud enough for those of us watching from the windows to hear! Then he nearly impales Magus Sasha on these stone spikes that shot out from the ground.”

  “So how did they finally bring him down?” Joshua asked, amazed that he was carrying the unconscious form of a sorcerer who had killed an adept and a wizard and nearly fought off another archmage and wizard.

  “Archmage Krendall smacked the crap out of him with that big stone hands spell of his,” Umair replied.

  “That is a really good spell. I hope to get him to teach it to me one day.”

  They finally reached the bottom of the stairs far below the tower and dragged Azerick into the large summoning chamber. A set of shackles were bolted to the floor in the center of a rune of summoning and containment. The rune ensured that anything summoned into the circle stayed in the circle. The dried blood on the walls was left there as a constant reminder of what happened when wizards summoned a creature beyond their power to control. They secured the manacles around the sorcerer’s wrists and paused a moment, looking down at him.

  “You say Archmage Krendall said he was a sorcerer?” Umair asked.

  “Yeah, that’s what he said.”

  “He looks too young to have that kind of power. He doesn’t look much older than you,” Umair said to Joshua.

  “Archmage Krendall said it would be a bad idea to underestimate him.”

  “Krendall is good deal wiser than many of the fools upstairs,” an old, cracked voice cackled from behind them. “You’d be smart to heed his advice.”

  The two apprentices started and spun around to face the old woman standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on her staff.

  “Hello, Agatha,” Joshua greeted. “You should not call the tower magi fools; it will get you into trouble.”

  The old woman made a rude noise and an even ruder gesture a
t the ceiling. “I’ve been a mage from before this tower was raised. Hells, I helped raise the thing, before all the scum started moving in and building those dreadful shanties all around us.”

  Both apprentices had heard the old librarian’s angry ramblings before. The wizards tolerated her because she could take you to any of the thousands of books in the library located at the end of the hall from the summoning chamber just by telling her what you needed. She had also been here as long as any mage could recall, all the way back to some of the masters’ masters.

  “Come along with me, boys, I have a little gift for you,” Agatha ordered, crooking a long, bony finger.

  The two apprentices followed the shuffling old woman down the dark corridor to the library. The brightly lit library stood in stark contrast to the gloomy halls and summoning room. Rich mahogany bookshelves and reading tables filled the chamber, and candelabras stood against every empty space along the walls.

  Agatha shuffled behind a large desk covered in books and scrolls where she was nearly always to be found no matter the time of day or night. It was rumored that the old woman never slept, and that was one reason why she was completely batty. She pulled out two worn leather satchels like the type couriers were often seen using to deliver dispatches and mail.

  “These are for you, but listen well, more than just your own lives may depend on it,” the old crone warned them in her rasping voice. “Do not open them until darkness falls and lights your way, for only when darkness falls will you be able to see the path you must follow.”

  The two apprentices looked at each other and then at the old librarian.

  “What is that supposed to mean, Aggie?” Joshua asked.

  “Hm? Oh, hello boys. Are you looking for a book?” she asked as if seeing them for the first time.

  “No, Aggie, what do you mean by being able to see the path only after darkness falls?”

  “Seeing the path after darkness falls? I guess you had best have a torch with you. Silly damned question, unless you’re an elf, and you ain’t got pointy ears to be one of them.”