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

by Brock Deskins

  “I’m so sorry for you, for what you have gone through, and what you have lost. And now you are here, forced to serve this vile creature and risk your life fighting in The Games.”

  He held her tightly and whispered into her ear. “It’s all right. As long as I have you here, I am happy. Every day I learn more and every battle I fight, I get stronger. One day, I will be strong enough and I will get us away from here, I promise. I will take you away and we will be happy. We can put all this fighting and death behind us. For you I will even let go of my mourning and forget about this vengeance that is in my heart,” he promised her.

  “I love you, Azerick.”

  “And I love you, Delinda,” he swore and kissed her passionately.

  She finally pushed him gently away. “It is getting late and we need to see to our tasks.”

  “I suppose you are right. I fear I may not be able to focus on my work with you occupying my mind,” he sighed.

  “You better pay attention to your work and make sure Lord Xornan is pleased!” she commanded and thumped his chest smartly with her small fist.

  “I’ll do my best,” he promised and kissed once more before they separated and sought out their duties.

  Azerick stepped into the main hall on his way back to the tower stairway. Zeb and nearly the entire crew of the Sea Star that Lord Xornan purchased were enthusiastically polishing the marble and silver planters. They all looked up as Azerick entered the large chamber and Zeb shot him a thumbs up and gave him a wink as he crossed the room.

  He now realized where Cook had gone in such a hurry. The former sailors gave him a loud whoop and cheer as he mounted the stairs. Azerick’s face burned with embarrassment, but his comrades’ good cheer put a smile on his face nonetheless.

  Azerick pressed his hand to the silver plate and entered the vault once more. He began skimming through the stacks of books, setting aside those that dealt directly with magic and spell casting. These he would read in detail whenever he decided to take a break from sorting the others.

  Azerick and Delinda were able to spend four more nights together before the master of the tower returned. Azerick was arranging the last of the books when the gate flared to life early one evening. A worn-looking Lord Xornan, two humans, and two beaten and battered minotaurs stepped from the barren world on the other side of the gate and into the vault. The gateway snapped shut as soon as the last guard crossed through.

  Here is another item for you to attend to, the psyling stated and thrust a black, rune-engraved staff into his hands.

  Without another word, Lord Xornan and his guards exited the chamber and filed down the stairs. Azerick looked at the dark rod and threw it into the corner of the room. He could feel the malevolence of the awful power that it contained and he wanted nothing to do with it. That particular item would be the last one to be studied--if ever.

  He stayed in the vault late that night to avoid the master of the tower as he toiled away at his duties. By the time he decided to quit for the night, or early morning, he had most of the books arranged in a logical order, indexed, and cross-referenced in a catalog that he created. The dozen or so books that he had left would require further study to determine the subject matter and author. He retired to his room exhausted and alone. He already missed Delinda’s warm body next to his. With a sigh of longing, he crawled into bed and quickly fell asleep.

  Azerick awoke all too early as the weak morning sunlight oozed through his narrow window. He was still tired. His night’s sleep had been far too short, but he decided he had better get up and get back to work. Maybe he could find something out about what had happened to Lord Xornan and his guards. He hoped he would see Delinda before he went back to the vault.

  Azerick stepped into the warm, fragrant kitchen a few minutes later and was overjoyed to see Delinda already sitting at the small table talking to Cook.

  “Good morning, lad,” Cook greeted him. “Let me get out of your way and fix you a plate.”

  Cook got up, grabbed his plate, dropped it in the sink, and started fixing the young sorcerer some breakfast. Azerick walked over to the table, leaned down, and kissed Delinda good morning before taking a seat across from her.

  “It looks like your night was as late as mine was,” Delinda surmised by the tired look mirrored in his own eyes.

  “Yeah, I didn’t want to bump into Lord spider-face, so I worked late. What about you?”

  Delinda smiled at him. “You should not say such things, or even think them,” she admonished, which Azerick just waved off with a flick of his hand. “I had to tend to Lord Xornan and his guards until just a few hours ago. I have to go see to him again soon. I was waiting here for you or else I would have already seen to him.”

  “What happened? He had ten guards when he left.”

  “I guess whoever owned the thing that he wanted was reluctant to part with it. It happens sometimes,” she answered with a shrug. “So what did he bring back that was so important?”

  “A staff with a very evil feel to it. I do not like it. I hope I can avoid having to deal with it, at least for a while.”

  “Please be careful. I don’t know much about magic, but I know some of it can be very dangerous.”

  “I will, love, I promise.”

  Cook set a plate of food in front of him and a hot cup of strong tea then he busied himself with the few dishes in the sink.

  “I’ll leave you to your breakfast. I need to go check on Lord Xornan before he starts calling for me. He does not handle pain well and can be quite difficult when he is convalescent,” she said as she got up and kissed him before leaving Azerick to his meal.

  Cook took advantage of the recently vacated chair and sat down with his own cup of tea. “How are you holding up, Azerick?”

  “I’m doing all right I guess,” Azerick replied.

  “From the looks of it you are doing a bit better than all right,” Cook said with a glance at the door Delinda had exited and gave him a conspiratorial wink.

  “Yeah, I guess I am. She is really great.”

  “She’s a good catch. Best hold onto her, kid. I heard you are going to be fighting again soon.”

  “So I heard.”

  “You be careful out there, do you hear me? You got a lot of friends here and none of us want to see you get hurt,” Cook told him earnestly.

  “I am glad to hear it. I’ll be careful, I always am.”

  Cook laughed at his assertion. “You, careful? Hardly, son. We know you better than that!”

  “I’ll be fine,” Azerick assured him.

  “Now that I’m more inclined to believe,” Cook said and gave him a slap on the shoulder.

  Azerick finished eating and went back to the vault. He started working on sorting the scrolls next. There were a lot of them and were not going to be as easy to identify and catalog as the books had been he soon realized. It took him two days to figure out a method of organization. Once he was able to determine that, the work went a bit faster. Several scrolls had been penned by wizards or sorcerers in ages past and contained significant power. These he separated as he did the spell books and other tomes directly relating to magic.

  It was on the third day after the master’s return that Lord Xornan came to see him in the vault chamber. Azerick was studiously reading over several scrolls and noting their context and author, when available, and adding them into his indexing journal when the psyling strode through the door.

  I see that you have been making satisfactory progress in your task. I was afraid that Delinda might have been an unfavorable distraction on you. I am pleased that that is not the case. I value her work and would dislike being forced to dispose of her.

  Azerick flushed at the mention of Delinda then his face burned with rage at the master’s mention of disposing of her. “I am doing my work as best I can. Delinda is not interfering in the least,” he said through gritted teeth.

  It took all his effort not to shout and issue impudent threats at the vile creature for d
aring to hint that he would send away or harm her.

  Do not be overly concerned, my pet. She shall remain safe so long as you do as I instruct you. You will be fighting in The Games in three days. I hope you are prepared.

  “I am always prepared,” Azerick replied with restrained hostility.

  I know your magic is always at the ready. I am referring more to your state of mind. It is even more important that it is prepared than the power you wield.

  “I am fine. I will be ready, and I will win. I always win, no matter what,” Azerick replied, as much to assure his master as it was a warning.

  Good, see that you do.

  Azerick was not sure if Lord Xornan had noticed his veiled threat or not. If he did, he gave no indication and left him alone to his work. Azerick was working on a new spell but was unsure if he would have it mastered by the time he was required to fight his next bout. It did not matter. If this fight was anything like the last, he was unconcerned. As he had told his master, he would win. He always won one way or another.

  He missed his time with Delinda but he knew better than to ignore his master’s warning about allowing his relationship to interfere with his duties. They did manage to find some time together when they could, however brief that time might be.

  Azerick was now more desperate than ever to escape Lord Xornan’s control and take Delinda away with him. He just wished he knew how. He began to search through the books he had but so far had found nothing helpful in that regard. Even if he did find the answer, the compulsion the psyling had placed on him would most likely not allow him to use it.

  Lord Xornan summoned Azerick to him early on the morning of his bout. He told his pet sorcerer not to go to the vault. Instead, he was to focus on the fight ahead. Azerick wished he had been able to complete the spell he had been working on but it was not ready yet. It did not matter. He would win this bout and his new spell would be ready long before his next fight.

  Lord Xornan conveyed him in his palanquin to the arena once again around what passed for noon in this seemingly sunless land. Xornan was unusually silent during the short trip to the arena. He invaded Azerick’s mind only once with his mind speech to warn him once again that he had better be prepared and not to embarrass him. Azerick did not bother to reply and said nothing the entire way to the arena.

  The dwarf, Braunlen, met them as soon as they arrived just as he had the last time. Braunlen took his charge in tow and led him down the ramp to the gladiator’s area under the arena. Azerick instantly recognized the sounds and smells of the stadium as the dwarf took him to the same small training room that he had the first time.

  “So how are you, boy? Are you ready for your fight?” the stout creature asked.

  “I’m fine. I just want to get this over with,” Azerick replied, feeling surly at being forced to fight like an animal, to injure or kill someone he did not even know and who had done him no harm.

  Braunlen seemed to read Azerick’s thoughts. “It’s a way of life, boy. You’ll get used to it so long as you live long enough.”

  Whatever reply Azerick was going to make was cut off as the half-orc, Rangor, stood in the entrance to Braunlen's training room. “Good luck today, kid. You’re going to need it. I hope you didn’t use up all your luck fighting Gragnoc.”

  Braunlen spun around to confront the large fighter. “Get out of here, Rangor, and quit trying to distract my fighter!”

  The half-orc curled his lip up at the dwarf’s comment. “He’s no fighter, and I hope he wins this fight so I can prove it. That’s right, kid, I really do wish you luck in this fight because you’ll be fighting me next. Then I’ll show you what a real fighter is.”

  Rangor turned with a snort and stalked off. Braunlen turned back to his fighter. “Ignore him and stay focused on this fight. You don’t need no luck. You’ll win because you’re a good fighter; smart and fast. You stay smart and fast and you’ll go a long way, I promise you.”

  Azerick grabbed his spear and Braunlen took him into the arena. The shouts and cheering at his entrance was even more powerful this time with less jeering. People remembered his last fight and it sounded like many of them were betting on or at least rooting for his victory. He cast his armor spell while he waited for his opponent to enter. He did not wait long. A minute later the crowd erupted in cheers again as a human entered the opposite gate.

  The arena master gave the signal to begin and the two fighters joined in combat. Azerick was more accustomed to what he would face this time. If the crowd had come for a good, drawn out, bloody fight they were sorely disappointed.

  The human was only slightly more experienced to The Games than Azerick was, and he had no idea how to battle a spell caster. He tried hurling a dagger as he charged, but Azerick’s magical shield easily deflected it. The Sorcerer’s return strike dropped the fighter to ground with a lightning bolt.

  The man writhed on the ground, struggling to catch his breath. The crowd seemed undecided whether to cheer or boo him as he walked back to the gate completely unscathed.

  You must finish him. He is undeserving of a continued life.

  “Go to hell,” Azerick responded aloud and kept walking for the exit.

  Azerick felt the psyling invade his mind more deeply and found himself returning to the fallen fighter. There was not a bit of resistance he could apply, no struggle, for the psyling’s control was complete.

  Azerick watched his hand rise before him and could only look on as the lightning erupted from his fingertips to strike the man twice more. When Azerick once again had control of himself, the man was little more than a charred husk waiting for the arena staff to clean it up.

  Azerick refused to speak even to Braunlen. The dwarf seemed to understand and quit trying to engage the young sorcerer in conversation as he took him back to their master.

  Your battle was rather disappointing, Lord Xornan commented as he entered the palanquin.

  “I won. I thought that is what was important to you,” Azerick responded flatly. “The crowd got to see me kill a man for no reason. That should be enough.”

  You also failed to obey me. Now you understand the level of my control. I can make you kill anyone I choose, even your mate. Think of that next time you choose to pit your will against mine.

  “We fought, he’s dead. The crowd got to see someone die. That’s what matters isn’t it?”

  There is more to The Games than simply one killing the other. The people expect a show and to be entertained. If they are not, they will lose interest in the fighter and the fighter’s owner loses prestige. I will not have you diminish my standing within The Games.

  “I’ll try to be more entertaining next time I kill someone for your pleasure,” he replied acerbically.

  I am confident that your next battle will provide enough of a challenge to provide the proper amount of entertainment. In fact, I strongly recommend that you do not get over-confident in your abilities.

  “You mean my fight with Rangor.”

  I see you are aware of your next match. Rangor is the most experienced fighter you will have faced thus far. He is strong, fast, and cunning. It would be of the greatest foolishness to underestimate him. He has nearly a dozen wins to his name and is highly favored even against you. This will also be an augmented match meaning that certain magical trappings will be allowed. Expect Rangor’s owner to outfit him with defenses that will offset your magical power. The abilities of such items are limited and will be explained to each fighter’s master in the days before the battle.

  Azerick gave a noncommittal grunt in reply and said nothing else for the rest of the trip home. Delinda was waiting in the courtyard when the palanquin arrived carrying her master and her love. She stood to the side wringing a handkerchief in her hands until Lord Xornan went inside before rushing into Azerick’s arms.

  “I was so worried about you. Are you all right?” she cried and buried her face into his chest.

  “I’m fine. I did not even get scratched,” he assur
ed her.

  Delinda clung to him as they went inside. “When do you have to fight again?”

  “I’m not sure, but I do not think it will be long. They already have my next opponent selected.”

  “Who is it this time?” she asked looking up at him.

  “Some big mouthed half-orc named Rangor,” Azerick replied.

  “Oh no! I hear he is very good and very dangerous! Please be extra careful. I was so worried for you this time. It terrifies me to think about you fighting that killer.”

  “I will be fine, I promise you.”

  “You had better or I will never forgive you,” Delinda swore half-heartedly.

  After they ate lunch, Azerick disengaged himself from Delinda to work on his new spell. He did not know how long he would have before his next bout, but he was sure it would come sooner than the last one had and he needed to be certain that he was ready. Azerick was under no illusion that Rangor would be an easy battle. He expected it to be the most challenging fight he has faced thus far.

  He sat in the middle of the library, let his consciousness flow out of him, and touched the flowing silver river that represented the Source. He trailed an ethereal finger through the swirling liquid current and pulled a tendril of power into himself. Azerick chanted the words that helped him shape the thread of magic into a purposeful form.

  A woven shape of energy began to form in the air before him that only he could see. He drew a finger connecting one node of the form to another. He was so close now he could feel it! Just one more thread should complete the weave and his spell would be complete! He gently drew another tendril from his form’s node and pulled it to the last one to complete the sigil. As he pulled the last strand into place, he felt the entire form begin to unravel.

  “Damn it!” he cursed in frustration.

  He forced himself to relax and began again. Azerick worked late into the night, so lost in concentration he forwent dinner. He was unable to get the entire spell form to come together, but he knew he would have it soon. Azerick soon realized the extent of his own exhaustion and went to bed so that he could get an early start in the morning.