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

by Brock Deskins

  Azerick pulled a heavy shirt out of his pack and tore it into strips that he wound around his hands and knees to protect them from the coarse flesh-scouring rock beneath them. The tunnel soon became so narrow that he was forced to remove his pack and push it along ahead of him.

  “How in the abyss dwarves can stand living like this day in and day out all their long lives without going stark raving mad is beyond me,” he said to surrounding grey stone.

  “Oh we get used to it pretty quick and rather enjoy it. Then again, maybe we’re all just stark raving mad,” answered a gruff voice to what was supposed to have been a rhetorical question.

  Azerick wriggled around until he was on his back and looked up into several short, wide bodies with prominent potato noses and thick scruffy beards. The one that had answered grinned down at him, his white teeth shining in Azerick’s magical light through his thick beard and moustache. Azerick returned the grin, but before he could spout a greeting, the dwarf’s heavy boot came down onto his head sending stars blazing across a field of blackness.

  Two of the stout dwarves reached down and dragged the human intruder the rest of the way out of the small tunnel from which his head had emerged rather unexpectedly. The mining crew had just arrived at the cavern to begin their day of chipping away at the rock walls in search of iron ore or valuable metals, as dwarves are typically found doing, when they noticed Azerick’s light glinting out of the small chute at the end.

  Azerick had a peculiar feeling of weightlessness as he swung slightly from side to side. The next thing he noticed was that his wrists burned and his ankles felt constricted. He tried to mutter a curse and that was when he realized that a thick braid of cloth had been tied around his head and ran between his jaws like a horse’s bit. Azerick opened his eyes and found that his wrists and ankles were bound together and looped around a long timber being carried on the broad shoulders of two of the stout dwarves.

  I really need to stop getting hit in the head before I end up with brain damage, Azerick thought to himself.

  “Looks like our young trespasser is wakin’ up, Togar,” One of the dwarves called out to the dwarf that was leading the small group.

  Azerick looked around and saw that there were four of the short, burly creatures. One was several yards ahead, two carried him like a fresh kill from a hunt, and one followed a few yards behind. The one they called Togar wheeled about and strode towards Azerick’s hog-tied form.

  “As ye can see, wizard, we dwarves don’t take too kindly to trespassers,” the dwarf said with the same wide grin he wore just before he had kicked Azerick in the head.

  Azerick tried to protest that he was not a wizard and that he did not intend to trespass, but all that came out was a stream of unintelligible mumblings.

  “That’s right, we know what ye are, though ye don’t look much like a wizard,” Togar pointed out as he waved Azerick’s scroll case in front of his face. “I thought all you wizards wore those big fluffy dresses. I never seen one carrying a spear neither. Of course, who can say? All you wizards are half mad anyhow.”

  Azerick rolled his eyes and tried to protest once again.

  “What are we goin’ to do with ye?” Togar interpreted. “Hard to say just yet, but I can tell ye I’m mighty hungry. Can’t raise cattle under a mountain ye know and I need my meat.”

  Azerick’s eyes went round for a second, but fortunately, the other dwarves sniggered at what must have been an attempt at a joke. Togar flashed Azerick another bright, big-toothed grin and resumed his lead as the dwarves moved out once more.

  Azerick’s wrists seriously chafed and ached from bearing much of his weight. He tried to shift his weight to relieve some of the pressure on his wrists and restore at least a moment of circulation to them. His pole bearers stopped and warned him to stop his squirming.

  Just as his bearers stopped to chastise him once again, a sharp crack immediately followed by the crashing of stone and a large cloud of dust erupted from just ahead. When the dust cleared, Togar was nowhere to be seen. In his place was a mound of rubble that completely blocked the passage ahead.

  The dwarves bearing Azerick dropped the unfortunate sorcerer painfully to the ground and raced forward, calling out to their lost comrade.

  “Togar!” the dwarf called Roran shouted at the pile of rock blocking the passage.

  The dwarves took their picks to the stone with abandon in an effort to rescue Togar. Strong stubby fingers pulled out stones the size of a dwarf’s head and tossed them carelessly behind them.

  Azerick was forced to roll about to avoid being struck by some of the wildly tossed stones. Some of the rocks blocking the passage were the size of boulders and weighed several tons or more. Sharp flecks of stone flew in all directions as the dwarf-forged steel rang against the resilient barrier like the peeling of bells.

  Azerick tried unsuccessfully to spit the wad of cloth out of his mouth. He closed his eyes and turned his focus towards the Source with all his will. The sorcerer found and channeled the Source easily enough, but lacking the use of his hands and mouth, forming the magical energies into a useful form was arduous.

  The sorcerer had practiced shaping the Source without the verbal or somatic hand gestures, but never both at the same time. In fact, he was not at all certain it was even possible. He bent his considerable will into the task and was amazed at the amount of effort it took to form what should have been an extraordinarily simple casting. The slightest distraction or errant thought that flashed through his mind tore the weave apart like a spider web in a windstorm and forced him to start all over again.

  Sweat beaded on his brow and his breathing grew labored as he bent the Source to his will. Azerick was ready to give up the task as hopeless when he felt the cloth loosen in his mouth. He redoubled his efforts and gritted his teeth until spots began forming before his eyes from the strain, and the binding holding the wadded cloth in his mouth finally came free.

  Azerick forced the gag from his mouth with his tongue. “Untie me and I can get to your friend!” Azerick shouted in order to be heard over the ringing of steel hammering against stone.

  One of the dwarves stomped towards him with his pick raised menacingly. “Shut up, wizard!” he snarled. “We have enough trouble on our hands without ye casting any of your foul sorceries about!”

  “I can get your friend out a lot faster than you can. Are you going to let him die because of your distrust and stubbornness?” Azerick asked, looking the dwarf in the eye.

  The dwarf looked uneasy at the prospect of releasing a magic user, the most distrusted and disliked members of any race, but he knew that it would take hours to reach Togar with the tools they had.

  “I give you my word, on the soul of my dead wife, I will not cast any magic or take any actions against you or any dwarf that does not intend to do me harm,” Azerick pledged solemnly.

  The dwarf dropped his pick, pulled a knife from his belt, and cut the cords binding his ankles and wrists to the pole. “Ye had better not betray us, wizard, or their will be no magic nor gods that will keep ye safe from our wrath.”

  Azerick stood and promptly fell down again as blood raced back into his starved extremities. The sorcerer stood on his knees, not trusting his near-lifeless feet to hold him up, and began casting his spell. His hands rebelled against his casting nearly as much as his feet thwarted his attempt to stand, but he concentrated and took his time to form the invisible sigil properly.

  “I don’t know anything about mining, so tell me which stones to remove. The last time I tried this I nearly buried myself,” Azerick told the dwarf.

  The Roran grunted at the mage. “Typical. Start with that big one on top.”

  The moment he uttered the spell’s command word, the passage became clouded in grey dust. The dwarf continued instructing Azerick as to which rocks to pulverize.

  “Togar, are ye there?” Roran called out and walked slowly forward, trying to wave away the dust to clear his vision.

  “Aye, I�
��m here,” Togar’s voice sounded from the darkness as his silhouette quickly resolved itself into a dust covered, bruised, scraped but hail dwarf.

  “Damn, Togar, I thought ye was squished into paste for sure when ye didn’t answer!”

  “Yeah, I heard ye, Roran, but I had a rock on my back that had me scrunched so tight I could hardly breathe much less holler back,” Togar replied.

  “Are ye all right then?” Roran asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I got lucky that the boulders around me propped up the one pinning me to the ground. I guess I got hit with the family curse.”

  Roran raised a bushy eyebrow in question. “What curse is that?”

  “Had a cousin o’ mine named Borik Deepstone. He got caught under a cave-in years back. It took us three days to dig him out. When we finally got to him, he was half-mad. Said he heard and seen the ghosts of dwarves that had been killed in the tunnels from ages past. A few days later, he said he couldn’t take living here no more and left. Ain’t seen nor heard of him since.”

  “You ain’t gonna run off now too are ye?”

  “Nah, I’m made of sterner stuff than that. Besides, Borik always was a bit of an odd one. I see the wizard’s loose. What happened?”

  “It was him that got ya out. He gave me his word he wouldn’t do nothin’ but get ya out so long as none tries to do for him,” Roran informed Togar.

  Togar turned to face Azerick and looked him up and down. “I guess I owe ye my life, wizard. I suppose I can let ye walk the rest the way like a man, so long as you keep to your word.”

  “I am not a wizard I’m a sorcerer, and what happens to me when we get to wherever we are going?” Azerick responded.

  “Sorcerer or wizard, what’s the difference? Ah, never mind it probably won’t make no sense to me anyhow. As far as what happens to ye, I guess that’ll be up to Duncan to decide. He’ll know what to do with your type. Worst comes to worst we’ll put you out at some distant gate and let you go wherever it is you want to go, so long as it’s away from our tunnels.”

  “I guess I cannot ask for more than that. It is certainly better than being eaten,” Azerick replied.

  The dwarves grinned at Azerick’s remark. “So what’s a wizard doin’ down in our tunnels anyway?” Togar asked.

  Azerick was hesitant to tell the dwarves about the dragon, and even more so about the treasure hoard. “I was seeking refuge in a cave when the entrance collapsed. I was too far in and the cave was too unstable for me to try to burrow my way out magically. I found a small cave at the rear of the cavern and hoped that it would lead me out.”

  The dwarves nodded their heads at his explanation. “This mountain range is very old, and this section in particular is notoriously unstable, and it just gets worse the further you go in the direction you came from. I guess I should go ahead and make introductions seeing as how you saved my life and all. That there is Dornan Bournegre, Roran Ironarm, and Kragnar Stonebiter,” Togar said, pointing at each dwarf in turn.

  “Let me guess, you are Togar Skullcrusher,” Azerick interrupted and rubbed his head where the dwarf had kicked him.

  Togar and the other dwarves laughed loudly at Azerick’s jest. “Deepstone actually, but hey, maybe I’ll change my name!” Togar guffawed.

  The previously taciturn dwarves, although not talkative, were far more jovial than they had been earlier. It took Azerick very little prodding to get Togar talking about the mountains and mining, but he was very tightlipped regarding the dwarves or their home. Azerick asked who Duncan Runecarver was, but Togar was equally evasive on that matter as well, telling him that he would meet him when they got to where they were going.

  After what seemed like two days of traveling, although Togar said it had been only a few hours, Azerick spied a soft azure glow from up ahead. The human’s jaw dropped in wonderment as they stepped out of the tunnel and onto a high ledge.

  The tunnel ended in a cavern of enormous proportions. It was at least half a mile wide and several times that in length. The starry night sky showed through an oval opening at about two hundred yards across and hundreds of feet over their heads. The upper reaches of the walls were quickly lost in darkness, but Azerick could imagine the aperture resting atop the conical walls of an ancient, hopefully dormant, volcano.

  Along both sides of the walls for as far as he could see were numerous terraced levels with open arched doorways carved into the sides of the cavern from which more soft-glowing light appeared. Through many of the doorways, a warmer orange glow radiated out into the expansive cavern. Far below him, directly under the distant opening to the sky was what appeared to be small mountain peak over two hundred feet tall and three times as wide at its base. It was a mountain inside a mountain. More stone archways were carved all along its surface, some illuminated in the same soft blue glow while others were visible by only by the deeper blackness of unlit chambers.

  The sound of hammers ringing on steel and numerous rough, deep voices echoed throughout the vast expanse. Azerick watched in fascination as short, dark silhouettes scurried about like bipedal ants performing their daily tasks.

  As the small group descended to the cavern floor by way of a long ramp carved into the side of the cavern, Azerick saw that the blue glow that provided much of the subterranean illumination was created by glass globes filled with a blue liquid. These globes were hung throughout the cavern like oil lamps in a surface town or city.

  Most dwarves stopped and looked as he and his escorts made their way towards the conical monolith located directly under the opening in the ceiling far above and near the center of the enormous chamber.

  They entered one of the stone archways at the base of the massive, conical structure and walked up a long, spiraling stairway that circled the entire structure on its inexorable rise to the top. The trek was long and quickly became rather arduous.

  “These stairs must be terrible if there is ever an emergency or a need to get to the bottom quickly,” Azerick pointed out to Togar.

  “Naw, if we ever need to move quickly, like in the case of defense or some such, we have faster ways of getting down.”

  Togar pointed out the steel poles that Azerick had mistaken for some kind of structural support. In times of emergency, the dwarves could slide down the poles that ran through openings in the floors and ceilings every five levels then take another pole down until they reached the floor.

  “What if you wanted to go up?” Azerick asked.

  “There’s an elevating platform we use for heavy freight, or if we just don’t feel like walking,” Togar informed him.

  “If you have a lift, why in the abyss did we walk miles of stairs?” Azerick asked incredulously.

  “I thought ye might care for the scenic route,” Togar grinned mischievously. “Besides, it don’t bother me none and I get a kick outta watchin’ ye sweat cause of a little work.”

  Azerick rolled his eyes at the dwarf’s peculiar sense of humor, but he kept his mouth shut and continued climbing the stairs without further complaint. They eventually arrived at their destination near the top of the spire.

  “Hey, Duncan! I brought ye a present from one o’ the mines,” Togar called through the open archway.

  Azerick immediately noticed that the doorway before him was different from the multitude of others they had passed. Numerous runes and carvings were scrawled in relief all along the doorframe and a brighter, whiter light emanated through its open passageway.

  Another stout dwarf, though not as brawny as Togar and his crew, stepped through the door. He tucked his beard into a wide leather tool belt that carried a vast assortment of chisels and hammers but smaller than what a blacksmith would use. His long, braided, salt and pepper hair ran down between his shoulder blades and ended in a bright silver ring near the small of his back.

  The two dwarves began conversing in their own tongue, often glancing over at the human standing quietly in their midst. Togar handed Azerick’s scroll case along with the rest of his belongings to D
uncan. Duncan slipped the scrolls out of the case and glanced at the writings upon them.

  Azerick busied himself with examining the runes carved along the doorway and quickly realized that they were far more than mere ornamentation. An unknown magic radiated from the carvings, but he could tell they gained their power from the Source, even if in an indirect way.

  Duncan’s curt voice interrupted Azerick’s contemplations. “Once you’re done gawking at my door, grab your bag and follow me inside.”

  Azerick looked away from the engraved symbols and saw that Togar had left him and the new dwarf alone. He picked up his pack that lay on the ground a few feet away and followed the dwarf through the doorway. Inside was a stone table surrounded by stone bench seats. Nooks carved into the walls held books, tools, stones, and crystals.

  “The name’s Duncan, Duncan Runecarver, in case you didn’t catch it before,” the dwarf said as he set the scroll case and Azerick’s small leather pouch that contained the coins and gems he had taken from the dragon’s lair onto the workbench.

  “My name is Azerick,” he replied.

  Duncan’s only reply was a grunt as he looked over the scrolls that he spread out before him. He then pressed a small cylinder with thick glass lenses onto his eye and studied each the jewels that he poured out of the leather pouch. Once he was finished examining them, he scooped them up along with the coins, dropped them back into the bag, and casually tossed it off to one side of his workbench. The old dwarf then dug through Azerick’s pack and pulled out the few books that he could not bear to leave behind with Zeb and Toron as well as the ancient tome on magic.

  Duncan set the books in a stack on one side of his desk, picked one from the top, and began flipping through its pages. Azerick winced as the dwarf tossed the first one to the side of the bench and grabbed another. Duncan showed no reaction at the books’ contents until he came to the thick, ancient tome that Azerick prized so highly. The dwarf’s thick bushy eyebrows rose as he scanned the pages with interest. He set it aside with considerably more deference than he had shown the others and grabbed another book.