The Sorcerer's Torment (The Sorcerer's Path)

by Brock Deskins

  Gragnoc decided it did not matter. He would crush them all as he swung his massive club into the nearest image. His weapon passed harmlessly through the sorcerer, causing the image to disappear. The club swung again in a powerful backhand blow that destroyed a second one of the illusions. The four remaining images extended their hands forward, and another powerful lightning bolt leapt from the group of identical sorcerers. However, only one bolt was real and that bolt struck the ogre in his broad chest again, throwing him hard onto his back.

  Azerick was not about to allow the deadly ogre to regain the offensive. He sent a trio of magical strikes to slam into Gragnoc as he tried to regain his feet. The bolts knocked the ogre back several steps, but they did not put him back on the ground. Gragnoc stumbled towards the sorcerer, his arms stretched, roaring in fury. Azerick sprinted away and picked his spear up off the ground where he had dropped it.

  The damage he had inflicted on the ogre was noticeably taking its toll. Gragnoc’s moves were clumsy and sluggish now, his muscles protesting the abuse the sorcerer had inflicted. Azerick thrust his spear as the ogre turned and charged him. The steel point pierced the charred and weakened breastplate and stabbed deep into the monster’s chest. Gragnoc’s momentum carried him forward, falling on Azerick with all of his considerable weight. Azerick felt the air forced from his lungs and heard several ribs crack as the ogre fell heavily on top of him. He pushed against the dead weight with all his might, and barely managed to roll the creature off him enough to crawl out from under his dead weight.

  The crowd roared its adulations as Azerick shakily gained his feet. Booted feet stomped and hands clapped at his unexpected victory. Azerick wrapped his arm across his chest, holding his injured ribs as he shuffled back towards the gate and the waving Braunlen.

  “Great victory, lad!” The dwarf congratulated him as he passed under the portal and started walking down the ramp. “I tell ya, I never thought you would beat that big ogre, but I’m glad you proved me wrong.”

  Azerick did not speak as he returned to the equipment room with Braunlen.

  “Are ya feeling ok? Any major injuries?” he asked. “Gragnoc fell on you pretty hard from the looks of it.”

  “I’m all right. It’s just a few bruised ribs is all, and I’m pretty tired,” he responded to the dwarf’s concern.

  “You’ll be fine then. Lord Xornan has a girl that’s pretty good at patching folks up. If it was an emergency, there are healers here that will put you back together if your owner is willing to pay for it. C’mon,” Braunlen said as he lifted Azerick up out of the chair, “Lord Xornan is probably waiting for you outside and you don’t want to keep him waiting.”

  Azerick let the dwarf guide him up the ramp and back outside to the waiting palanquin. All four minotaurs were standing by the poles so Azerick figured that Xornan was already waiting inside the curtained conveyance. Sure enough, as the two approached the curtain slid open revealing the hideous visage of the psyling.

  Is my pet well, trainer Braunlen?

  “Aye, master, he’s a bit bruised up, but he’ll be fine,” the dwarf replied to the sending.

  Excellent. Join me, my pet, and we shall return home.

  Azerick stepped into the palanquin and the minotaur slaves hefted the carrying poles onto their broad shoulders and swiftly made their way through the city.

  You have pleased me immensely, my pet. I have made quite a good profit from your victory. You are now an established arena gladiator and as such, you will provide an opportunity for even greater profits as your rankings increase. Moreover, as your ranking increases, so does my prestige; and that is what is truly important. Your next match will not be for another month. Ensure that you do everything in your power to train and study. As you progress in rank, your opponents will become more challenging. Do not disappoint me.

  Azerick felt no need to respond to the creature. He knew that his words were unimportant to the psyling lord, and Xornan probably knew what he was going to say before he said it anyhow. He kept his thoughts blank as the palanquin wound its way through the streets and back to Xornan’s tower.

  I will send someone to tend to your bruises. You may await her in your room.

  Azerick wanted to go down to the laboratory and brew himself some of his own healing draught, but he followed the psyling’s command and returned to his room. Several minutes later, there came a soft knocking on his chamber door. Azerick opened the door and in the entrance stood a somewhat attractive, brown-haired girl of about seventeen. She had a heart-shaped face and a full figure, but she came well short of being plump.

  “Lord Xornan bade me to see to your wounds, sir,” she informed him shyly.

  “Um, sure, come on in,” Azerick invited as he overcame his surprise. “My name is Azerick, by the way.”

  “I’m Delinda. I tend Lord Xornan’s garden and treat any injuries or illnesses his servants may acquire. Where were you injured?”

  “My ribs got bruised a bit. It is nothing serious.”

  “Take off your shirt, please, and I will take a look at them.”

  Azerick blushed as he disrobed. He could see several dark splotches marking his chest. Delinda gently probed along his chest with her slender fingers.

  “Breath in deeply and let it out,” she ordered. “Just as I thought. You have a few cracked ribs and some deep bruising. Fortunately, none seem to be broken and displaced.”

  She reached into a leather satchel and pulled out a mortar and pestle and several pouches of herbs.

  “Please hand me that water pitcher over there,” she requested, indicating the jug that stood on his nightstand next to a washbasin.

  He retrieved the water as she ground several herbs into the small stone bowl. She then poured in some water and soaked a long linen strip in the bowl. When she finished, Delinda wrapped the poultice snugly about his chest, covering his bruised ribs.

  “This will help heal the bruises and take away some of the pain,” she told him as she secured the poultice wrap around his chest.

  Azerick enjoyed the soft touch of her hands and the kindness in her eyes. He suddenly found that his heart was beating faster and his stomach fluttered. She smelled of rose petals and the herbs with which she worked. He felt the stirrings of feelings that he had never felt before, and it made him strangely uncomfortable, but also warm and pleasant.

  “I was going to go down to the lab and brew up a few healing potions. Would you like to come? I could show you how if you want,” he offered.

  Delinda looked slightly frightened at his invitation. “I don’t know if I am allowed to go down there. The master never gave me permission,” she replied as she looked down at the floor.

  “I have permission, and I am sure he would not mind since you are learning something that will help you perform one of your duties better,” Azerick assured her.

  “I suppose I could do that then, as long as you are with me,” Delinda replied softly.

  “Great, let’s go then,” he said as he donned a clean shirt before leading her down the stairs to the laboratory.

  Azerick winced from the pain caused by his hurried rush down the stairs, but he never lost the smile that graced his face. They came to the sturdy wooden door that sealed off the underground chamber. It opened at his touch and he ushered Delinda through the doorway and then closed it behind him. Several of the glowing globes provided ample light that glinted off the numerous glass and copper tubes and vessels. A large bookshelf held rows of jars filled with dried ingredients, strange liquids, and preserved body parts.

  “You know how to use all of this?” Delinda asked in awe, looking at all of the complex equipment.

  “Most of it. I brewed a draught to help speed healing once before with my own equipment. Before I came here that is.”

  “It looks quite complicated. Do you think I can really learn to use it?” she asked nervously.

  “I’m sure you can, and I’ll teach you. It can come in very handy. There are stronger healing poti
ons that will heal even severe wounds almost instantly, but they take a lot of distilling and concentrating. I have never made one before, but I have always wanted to. We can try one of those another time if you want.”

  “I would like that very much.”

  Azerick’s heart nearly leapt into his throat at the way she looked up at him with her soft, brown eyes.

  “Ahem, ok, let’s get started then. First, we need to make sure we have all of the necessary ingredients,” he said quickly and hurried over to the shelf that contained the numerous jars of reagents.

  He told her everything they would need, and then set her to crushing and mixing the different plants. He then showed her how to work the oil burner and how much water to add to the flask before setting it over the flame to boil. Once the water came to a boil, he poured in the ground herbs and turned down the flame on the burner.

  “Now we just wait and let it simmer for a few hours then drink it down. It tastes terrible, but it speeds up healing a lot.”

  “How fast does it work?”

  “It will mend my cracked ribs in a few days; five at the most,” he answered.

  Delinda’s face brightened in surprise at his statement. “That’s incredible!”

  “So how did you come to be here?” Azerick asked the pretty herbalist.

  “Some men rode into my village and killed many of our men. They captured many of the younger women and older children and put us into cages. They took us far from our village and put us on a boat. We floated several days downriver before reaching the sea. After two days at sea, we came to an island and were unloaded at a slave market. The slave master purchased several others and me. Lord Xornan then bought me from the slave master,” Delinda morosely told Azerick her story.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Four years I think. You start to lose time after a while. How did you come to be Lord Xornan’s favored pet?”

  “I am nobody’s pet!” he exclaimed more vehemently than he intended. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to shout like that.”

  “That’s all right. I should not have called you a pet. That is all we are to him. All of us, we are nothing more than animals to him and his kind.”

  “I will change that one day. One day this pet is going to turn on his master and tear his throat out,” Azerick promised.

  “No, you mustn’t say that! You must not even think that! He will punish you terribly for any thought of dissidence,” she cried, suddenly fearful.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t think he will do anything unless I actually manage to act against him, which so far seems highly unlikely.”

  “So how did you come to be here?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.

  “I was on a ship, a huge storm came up and blew us off course, and when it cleared we were attacked by a minotaur ship. I killed one of them, but a psyling did something that rendered us unconscious. Then we were brought here and bought by Xornan,” Azerick recounted his story without emotion.

  Azerick then told her about his parents, Jon Locke, the Academy, and the death of Travis. He didn’t know why he told her so much. Azerick was so accustomed to holding everything in and keeping others out, but as he talked to Delinda everything just poured out of him and it made him feel almost relieved to share so much.

  She laughed a pleasant, light-hearted laugh at his tale of how he and the younger students beat Travis and his friends and the pranks they set on each other, but he became somber when he told her about his part in Travis’s death. He left out the fire at the guild house, the man that attacked him in the alley, the innkeeper, and the details of how he killed his mother’s murderer. Those things were too dark for him to share, and he feared it might make her afraid of him.

  “That must have been terrible for you,” she told him, laying a sympathetic hand on his arm, “You must not blame yourself. You did what you had to do. They gave you no choice. Much of your life sounds just like the arena, only an arena of a different sort.”

  He greatly appreciated her understanding. The last thing he wanted was for this young woman to think he was a monster. He turned off the oil burner to allow the potion to cool while they continued to talk about their lives. Delinda told him about the psyling city, at least what she knew, and Azerick told her all about Southport. The potion was finally cool enough to drink and he downed the bitter concoction with a grimace.

  “Well, that should do it. Would you like to learn how to make a real healing potion with me some time?”

  “I would like that very much. Do you think I could practice making the fast heal draught? It would be very useful.”

  “Of course. How about tomorrow? I can take an inventory of all the ingredients down here to see if I need anything else for the healing potion,” he said, ecstatic at the thought of spending more time with her.

  “I must tend the garden tomorrow, but perhaps when I finish?”

  “That sounds fine,” Azerick replied and led her back up the stairs.

  As they stepped out of the stairwell and into the main room, Lord Xornan stood in the center of the room with his hands tucked into his voluminous sleeves.

  “Lord Xornan, Azerick was teaching me how to brew a potion to aid in the healing of wounds,” Delinda explained nervously.

  “I thought it would be prudent, given her duties, master,” Azerick added.

  Of course, I knew this before you made the top of the stairs. Go about your duties, Delinda. Follow me, pet.

  Azerick did as he was told and followed Xornan up the winding stairs of the tower. He thought that they were going to the library or perhaps his own room for some sort of talk regarding his fight today. This notion was dispelled as they came to the floor where the library was located, but they continued ascending the stairs. Azerick had never been any higher in the tower than the library floor. The only rooms he knew of above the library were his master’s chambers. What could be there that required his presence?

  On this floor are my private chambers. You will not enter here. Our destination lies at the top of the tower, Lord Xornan informed his slave as they continued up the winding stairs.

  They reached the top of the stairs and stopped before a thick, oaken door. The psyling placed his long, delicate hand against a silver plate mounted on the wall near the door. At his touch, the door opened inward without a sound.

  Place your hand upon the plate.

  Azerick pressed his hand firmly against the cold, polished metal and felt a slight static-like prickling for a moment that quickly subsided.

  You now have access to this room so that you may carry out the duties that I shall prescribe.

  Xornan glided into the chamber with Azerick in tow without further explanation. Azerick could not hold back a gasp as he looked about the room. The chamber appeared to be a vault of some sort in which a vast horde of precious objects and knowledge were stored. Gleaming weapons, staves, wands, and unknown objects lay almost carelessly strewn throughout the room. Some of the objects were intentionally displayed on shelves or mounted on the walls while others lay in seemingly haphazard piles around the chamber.

  Rolled up scrolls filled several cabinets that were divided into numerous small pigeonholes and bookshelves filled with ancient tomes, some slowly disintegrating with age, lined the walls. Crystals, some as large as his own head, were lined up on a shelf sharing the same cabinet with stone and bone carvings. However, the thing that quickly drew Azerick’s eye was a large, circular, stone arch atop a short set of marble steps. Carved runes gilded in gold covered the entire structure. Perfectly cut gems adorned one section on the right-hand side of the arch. The gems were laid out in a veritable rainbow of three concentric rings with a palm-sized diamond set in the center.

  Xornan’s intrusive mind speech broke Azerick’s enthrallment. In this chamber resides my collection of lore and objects of power. This is my vault for storing those things that I collect during my travels. I travel to various worlds and planes by use of this archway. It create
s a stable gateway to wherever I wish to go, but that is something in which you need not concern yourself. Your task is to research, catalog, and organize my acquisitions. You will not use or remove any object from this room nor attempt to activate the arch.

  This last statement was a magically reinforced command that hit him like a punch. Azerick staggered under the mentally intrusive assault, but he quickly composed himself as the pressure on his brain subsided.

  Azerick simply nodded in supplication as he regained his composure. It was not the first time that the psyling had forced his compliance, but the experience always left him queasy and slightly disoriented.

  Satisfied that Azerick would obey his orders to the letter, he left his servant alone to work on his task. Azerick slowly walked about the cluttered chamber, navigated his way past several objects, picking up a few here and there that caught his eye for a closer examination. He walked over to one of the bookshelves packed from floor to ceiling with dust-covered books and selected one at random. He carried it over to an equally dust-covered table and carefully opened the leather-bound cover. The pages were yellowed and slightly brittle, but perfectly readable as long as he handled it with care.

  Azerick pulled out another book and flipped through a few of the pages before returning it back to the shelf. He decided that the first thing to do was to create some sort of organization for the various objects, books, and scrolls before even contemplating any kind of actual research. Several books were stacked on the floor while wooden chests held even more books, scrolls, and various items. He would definitely need more shelves. For now, he would make do with what he had.

  The books on the floor were a travesty. He cleared several knick-knacks off a shelf that appeared to be little more than curiosities to make room for the tomes. Then he began scanning each book and listed its title, contents, and author in order to create a catalog and method of organization. It was extremely late by the time fatigue convinced him to call it a night. He had managed to catalog the contents of half a bookshelf by the time he retired for the evening and was moderately pleased with his achievement.