The Sorcerer's Destiny (The Sorcerer's Path)

by Deskins, Brock

  “The scions will destroy us! If they return unchecked, they could find you just as I did and come here.”

  “The Scions are gods and fully aware of our existence, but they concern us no more than your species. The arcanians are beyond such things.”

  “They will destroy my race! Do you not care?”

  “We know thousands of worlds and tens of thousands of races. What is the value of one, or even a few, to us?”

  “I cannot leave without what I seek,” Azerick stated.

  “Then you shall stay an eternity.”

  “No!”

  Azerick pulled at the Source, channeled it through his staff, and struck the arcanian with an intense ray capable of reducing the mightiest castle wall to little more than dust. If his attack had any effect on the creature, it did not show. The iridescent surface drank in the sorcerer’s power without even a shudder.

  The arcanian laughed with the sound of a thousand wind chimes. “Your magic cannot harm us. If we have no fear of the gods, do you truly think you can concern us?”

  Rage suffused Azerick’s soul, and he grabbed at his abyssal power and twisted it into the Source with every ounce of his being. The subterranean landscape vanished from his sight as a wave of colossal force blotted out his vision and swept over the arcanians. The ground shook, crevices split open to spew more magma into the air, and stones the size of cottages rained down, exploding and splashing as they struck solid ground or liquid stone and arcanum.

  Azerick tried to peer through the dusty haze and destruction. A glimmer of movement caught his eye just before a stream of arcanum burst through the miasma, struck him in the chest, and crushed his body against a cavern wall. The arcanian drew closer, the silvery tendril absorbing into its body as it approached, and stared into Azerick’s face.

  “Your species is young, and so I forgive your childish behavior this once. Leave our home and return to yours.”

  “I can’t do that!”

  Azerick grabbed at the Source and opened a gate directly behind him. The arcanian’s “arm” pressing against his chest shoved him through the portal. The sorcerer closed the gate and cleanly severed the argent appendage. The shimmering substance splashed to the ground but instantly began drawing together and reforming like spilled mercury.

  Azerick ran down the magma-lit tunnel unsure as to the course of his next action. He hoped the pools of pure arcanum were not the arcanians themselves, only the place in which they dwelled. If that were the case, perhaps he could find an unattended pool and take what he needed before they found him. Those hopes died within minutes.

  He found a smaller pool tucked between two basins of molten lava and felt a glimmer of hope. Before he could finish etching the first runes onto the cavern floor, the arcanum pool expanded upward like an inflating bladder. A silver tendril snaked out of the swelling mass and wrapped itself around his body several times, forming a vaguely human shape behind it.

  The arcanian stepped from the pool and approached. “Foolish human, you trespass in your desire to steal then pathetically attempt to assault us in our very homes. Should such a species deserve to exist?”

  Azerick struggled futilely against the appendage holding him in place. “I have no choice! I do not act out of greed or desire to harm or take what is not mine, but out of desperation to save mine and other races. Any people would do the same when no other options are available. Would you not do anything, violate any of your principles, to save your race?”

  The arcanian tilted its head in thought. “You claim altruism. You claim to act on behalf of all who are threatened.”

  “I do.”

  “Then you will give us something in return.”

  “Yes! Anything!”

  “Give us your son Raijaun.”

  Azerick felt as though the air had just been sucked from his lungs and the blood drawn out of his body. “My son?”

  “What you desire is a part of us. In exchange for part of our essence, we require part of you. If you truly act on the behalf of all, the life of one surely is inconsequential in the grander scheme of things.”

  Azerick instantly hated himself for even considering the creature’s demand, but what it said was true. How could he place even his own son above that of nearly every race of his world? Still, his love and parental desire to protect his family warred with duty.

  “What could you possibly want with my son?”

  “We will demand a service of him, in a time of our choosing. He will be bound to that service by blood and the magic coursing through it.”

  “What can he possibly do for you that you cannot do yourselves? Your strength outstrips mine by orders of magnitude, and likely his as well.”

  “It is true that our power is beyond your kind, and even that of the gods in some ways, but we are like the mightiest of sailing ships in a world without water.”

  “What must he do? Will he survive your task?”

  “Such a question we cannot answer. Does it truly matter when the fate of your world hangs in the balance?”

  Azerick could not suppress the shudder coursing through his body when he answered. “No.”

  “Create your sigils upon the floor and we shall provide you with what you require.”

  He felt the pressure ease from around his chest and fell to the ground as the arcanian withdrew its appendage. Azerick forced down the revulsion clogging his throat as he burned arcane runes into the ground with his magic. His task complete, the sorcerer created a second ring of sigils and stepped into its center. With a word and trickle of power, they flared brightly against the strange luminescence of the underground world, and whisked him up and away to his tower.

  Raijaun waited eagerly within the summoning chamber and grabbed onto his father as he appeared and stumbled from the circle. “Father, are you all right?”

  Azerick brushed Raijaun’s hands away. “I’m fine.”

  “Were you successful? Were you able to get the arcanum?”

  Azerick’s voice caught in his throat, forcing him to cough to get the words out. “Yes. Go get Aggie and the others while I prepare the room.”

  Once Raijaun hustled away to do as he asked, Azerick sank to his knees and tried to hold back the shuddering sobs wracking his body. He had given up his son to creatures beyond his understanding with no idea of what they would do with him, and the knowledge that he would do it again if he had to sickened him beyond belief. Taking a deep breath to steel his resolve, Azerick made his way to the old tower.

  Azerick had the summoning circle prepared by the time Raijaun and his core cadre arrived. Everyone understood what they were about to attempt, and their stony faces showed the seriousness of the endeavor and the effort it was going to take.

  “Good to see you back, boy,” Allister said gruffly. “Raijaun says you were successful in getting the arcanum?”

  “We’ll have it shortly.”

  “What do you need us to do?” Ellyssa asked.

  “I will start a summoning. All you have to do is follow my lead and reinforce my weaves. Is everyone ready?”

  The mages gathered around the circle and let their consciousness dip into the ether to touch the Source. Azerick fed arcane energy into the runes painted on the floor and sent tendrils of power deep into the ground, questing for the matching runes near the core of their world.

  The ground shuddered as the two sides of the gate converged. The floor inside the teleport circle collapsed, creating a hole that vanished into blackness. Only Azerick knew it plummeted hundreds of miles to the core of the world. He sensed the presence of the arcanum just as the arcanians had promised.

  Azerick pulled with his magic and felt the arcanum resist his magical commands to heel. The metal finally surrendered and began flowing upward when he felt Allister and the others add their strength to his. The ground trembled violently, and cracks began forming along the floor of the chamber. It felt as though they were in a tug of war with a team of recalcitrant horses.

  A terri
ble noise like the side of a cliff face shearing away and crashing to the ground thundered up from the fathomless void in the floor. The entire tower quivered as if wracked by a chill. Dust wafted down from the ceiling and cast grit in their eyes as an eldritch glow shined up from the very bowels of the planet.

  Silver light heralded the rushing body of arcanum, and for a moment, Azerick feared it would spew out of the well and drown them in molten metal. The flow began to ebb as it neared the surface, and the group of arcane masters received only a blast of hot air as if standing too near a blazing forge. A near-perfect disk of arcanum three feet across now adorned the center of the room.

  “Is that it?” Ellyssa asked as she worked to catch her breath. “I was expecting it to be a lot harder than that.”

  Azerick smiled at his former apprentice. “That was just to summon the arcanum. The hard part is yet to come.”

  “Congratulations, Azerick, you are now the world’s wealthiest man a thousand times over,” Allister said with an amused grin.

  “It is destined to be a rather short-lived accolade. Aggie, Raijaun, are you both ready?”

  Raijaun nodded as Aggie answered, “Yeah, but I still think it’s a damn fool thing to try, but I guess in these times even foolery looks good in the light of what we face.”

  Azerick used his magic like a chisel and began etching sigils upon the mirror-like face of the solid mass of arcanum. Despite his perfect memory, he often referred back to the Codex Arcana to ensure everything was done to perfection just as the book described. Even with their complexity, Azerick finished carving the runes in less than an hour.

  Aggie used her expansive store of knowledge to send her mind streaking across the cosmos to pierce the veils between dimensions. Once she had a firm grasp on the Source, she sent a tendril of power worming into the well of arcanum. She gasped as her magic flowed through the metal and hungrily clawed at the Source. What was a mere trickle instantly became a torrent of raging power and nearly broke free of her control. But Azerick, Raijaun, and the others came to her aid and helped stabilize the wild flow of magic.

  “Raijaun, when Aggie opens the veil between our reality and that of the Source, you will need to enshroud it in a net of all three elements of your magic in order to contain it,” Azerick instructed. “Everyone else, follow mine and Raijaun’s lead and do the same.”

  Several heads nodded grimly as they already exerted themselves to control the magical and elemental forces at work. Aggie nodded her readiness and opened the floodgate of pure, undiluted arcane power. The Source rushed at them as if from a ruptured dam of monumental size. The wizards looked on in terror with their sight beyond sight at the wall of energy hurtling at them and knew they were powerless to stop it. They poured their magic into a constraining weave despite knowing the futility of the attempt and braced themselves for oblivion.

  Then their vision filled with the golden aura of Guardian magic as Raijaun seemingly wrapped up the colossal torrent in a weave of unimaginable strength and complexity, funneling it into a flow just barely manageable. Azerick and the wizards added their power to Raijaun’s, and together they were able to direct the flow of the Source if just barely. The tower shook as if assaulted by quarter-ton stones hurled by huge trebuchets. Sweat poured from the assembled mages and muscles trembled as they fought to rein in a wild steed the size and strength of a titan.

  Outside, pandemonium raged as the ground shook and buildings trembled so violently they threatened to collapse. Students and faculty raced outside fearing such an eventuality. The arcane students found the Source frightfully chaotic when they reached out to it to shield themselves from falling slate shingles and possibly entire buildings if the shaking did not cease. One young woman, not expecting the arcane surge, knocked down the wall of a nearby building and sent several people flying when the ward she conjured to protect herself materialized with the outward force of a small explosion.

  Raijaun shouted as the agony of combining the three divergent types of magic warred within his body, but he fought through the pain and maintained his desperate control over the arcane battle taking place between worlds. Azerick saw his son now fighting a battle on two fronts but knew he could do nothing to help him except complete the spell as quickly as they could.

  The mass of arcanum turned liquid once again and began roiling within the well. As the metal bubbled ever more violently, the mercurial sheen became even more brilliant and iridescent, taking on a reflective quality beyond imagination. Looking into the beyond mirror-like substance, one would swear they saw not just the reflection of the room or even the world, but all worlds and all things everywhere. It was like looking into the eyes of a god.

  The world gave a final massive shrug before the wild flow of power surrendered and accepted its breaking. Exhausted and in enormous pain, Raijaun collapsed next to the shimmering pool of pure arcane magic. All of the assembled wizards sank to their hands and knees or propped themselves against the wall, fighting to catch their breath as muscles cramped painfully and their hearts felt ready to burst from their chests.

  Azerick crawled over to his son and cradled his head. “Raijaun, are you all right?”

  Raijaun opened his eyes and tried to smile but could not force it past the grimace of pain. “I will survive. I am very tired. I just want to rest now.”

  Azerick forced himself to his feet, draped Raijaun over his shoulder, and carried him to his room. He sat at the corner of his son’s bed as Raijaun slept even as the pain wracked his body. Another pain threatened to tear Azerick apart as well.

  “I betrayed you, Son, and I hope you will understand why even if you cannot forgive me. You deserve far better than this world will ever give you.” Azerick kissed his son’s forehead and sought his own bed as the pain of the spellcraft warred with the agony of his breaking heart.

  CHAPTER 3

  Bron approached the fawn struggling against the snare cinched tightly around its rear leg, speaking softly so as not to startle the already frightened animal. Normally, being within a mile of an eight-foot-tall half-ogre would have sent the young dear into a panic so intense it may well die on the spot from fright, but the druid’s gentle words and presence brought comfort to the animal.

  “Now club it so we can eat!” Trielle urged as Bron stroked the deer’s silky coat.

  “I am not going to kill a helpless animal, and you should be ashamed to even think of such a thing,” Bron admonished the wood sprite.

  “But I’m hungry!”

  “You’re always hungry. You should learn a little empathy.”

  “Is that a song?”

  “It is appreciating the feelings of others,” Bron explained.

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Do you not remember how I saved you from a very similar situation those years ago?”

  “Yes! That disgusting spider was going to eat me!”

  “You thought I was going to eat you too. How did that make you feel?”

  Trielle thought about the day she met Bron. “I didn’t like it.”

  “And this deer feels the same way. Understanding and appreciating that feeling in another is empathy. This animal has feelings just like you.”

  “It’s a long-legged rat. A tasty long-legged rat. I’m pretty.”

  “The fawn is pretty as well. All animals have a unique beauty unto themselves.”

  “Well, I can talk!”

  “Yes, often far too much.”

  The sprite’s cheeks flushed with anger. “What’s that supposed to mean! You better watch it, big stinky, or bedtime’s gonna come early!” Trielle started jabbing her poison-laced spear at him as she buzzed noisily around his head.

  Bron ignored her tantrum as he always did and freed the young deer. Once free of the snare, the fawn bounded away into the brush. Bron smiled as he watched the fawn disappear into the forest.

  “Look at that! Not even a thank you,” Trielle complained. “Where’s its empathy?”

  Bron looked poi
ntedly at the wood sprite. “I do not recall you ever thanking me for freeing you, and you can talk. How long ago was that, twenty years?”

  “Your thanks is the knowledge of helping a superior being. Now keep that feeling alive by getting me something to eat since you just let lunch run away.”

  “Do sprites even eat mammals? I am fairly certain you are largely vegetarian and insectivorous.”

  “We sprites are a very adaptive species. Now, hurry up. I know you are hiding some honey in that hole you call a home, and if that fat bear of yours has eaten it all I’m gonna put him to sleep permanently.”

  Bron ignored the precocious sprite as he effortlessly carved a path through the thick forest without leaving a trace of his passing. His passage was as silent as it was invisible as his druidic knowledge and magic allowed him to penetrate the thickest brush and brambles as if he were on a well-traveled road.

  As Bron neared the cave he called home, he listened to the wind and wildlife around him. The druid detected a change in the natural cacophony of the surrounding forest. The normally syncopated sonance of nature became more rhythmic and began a song as great as any created by the most talented composer to Bron’s ears. The druid followed the music in an irresistible desire to find its source.

  “Hey, big stinky, lunch is that way!” Trielle shouted and began buzzing angrily near his ear. When that failed, she jabbed the butt of her spear against the thick skin of his neck in an effort to herd him back from his deviation.

  Bron stepped into the clearing where he preferred to commune with his goddess, Ellanee. Willow trees ringed the small glade and encircled the pond fed by a natural spring. A sense of overwhelming peace and oneness with nature instantly infused his blood, as it would with almost anyone blessed with the opportunity to visit this holy place—anyone except Trielle.

  “Not her again!” the sprite complained loudly.

  Ellanee smiled at the sprite, fully accepting her nature and taking no offense in her behavior. “Hello, Trielle. Hello, Bron.”

  Trielle responded by sticking out her tongue, shaking her tiny backside at the goddess, and flitting into the draping bows of a willow tree. Bron knelt and bowed his head in reverence.