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

by Brock Deskins

  Azerick stood back with as much patience as he could muster while the dwarf ransacked his belongings. He contented himself with looking around the dwarf’s workshop, studying the myriad tools and engravings that littered the place. Not quite littered, Azerick thought as he adjusted his first impression. Everything was organized and not a speck of stone or dust gathered on the floor or tables.

  Duncan interrupted Azerick’s thoughts as he finished looking at the last book and set it aside. “Where’s your spell book? All these books are on magical theory and such. Where’s the book you record your own spells in?”

  “I don’t have one. I’m a sorcerer not a wizard,” Azerick explained, preparing himself to answer the inevitable question that was to come next.

  Azerick was almost disappointed when the dwarf merely grunted instead of asking what the difference was like most everyone else always did. Instead, he waved Azerick to take a seat on the bench next to the table as he pulled out a stool from under the workbench and sat across from him.

  “So what were you doing in our mines?” he asked Azerick.

  Azerick had to look up at the dwarf since the bench was set at a height for a dwarf where Duncan’s stool was built to allow him to work over his workbench. “I was taking shelter in a cave when the entrance collapsed. I found a small passage further back that I hoped would lead me out.”

  “Why didn’t you use the spell that you used to free Togar to clear away the blockage?”

  “I was too far back and the cave was unstable.” Azerick replied.

  Duncan raised one of his bushy eyebrows at Azerick’s answer. “Why were you so far back? Most humans would only go back far enough to get out of the wind or weather.”

  Azerick scoured his brain for a plausible explanation, but he quickly realized that the wily dwarf had cornered him.

  “Stop yanking my beard and tell me what you were really doing in that cave,” Duncan said, piercing Azerick with his eyes.

  Azerick took a deep breath before answering. “A dragon came to the town I was staying in and stole some of my books and scrolls. I went to go get them back.”

  “What happened to the dragon?”

  “I was forced to kill it when it refused to return my things and tried to roast me.” Azerick replied.

  Duncan’s eyebrows rose until they nearly reached his tightly sweptback hairline. “You’re that accomplished a sorcerer to kill a dragon just like that?”

  Azerick shook his head. “I got lucky. I was able to dislodge a large boulder above the cave’s entrance and crush its neck.”

  “Bah, luck,” the dwarf waved off with his calloused hand. “We make our own luck in this world. It ain’t some random force pulled out of the ether at the whim of some god or unseen force.”

  Duncan hopped off his high stool and pulled a carved stone disc about as wide as his hand out of a cubbyhole built into the wall. He stepped in front of Azerick, spoke a word, and waved his free hand over the top of the disc. Azerick was surprised to see several of the runes carved in its surface glow with varying intensities.

  “You have an affinity for earth and air magic. That’s an unusual combination, especially for a human wizard, or even sorcerer I’d wager. Most of your kind tends to lean towards fire and air for the big flashy spells that scare the heck outta the common folks.”

  Azerick shrugged his shoulders at the dwarf’s observation. “I have always felt drawn more towards the earth and stone than fire.”

  “Why do think that is?” Duncan asked in a knowing voice.

  Azerick thought about his life and his losses before answering the dwarf. “Stone is eternal. It does not bend or yield. It does not flare up in some kind of a spectacular sight then quickly fade away.”

  “It may not bend, but it can be shattered if it is struck hard enough,” Duncan replied sagely.

  Azerick’s visage set as though it were carved out of stone. “You cannot shatter a mountain,” he replied resolutely.

  The old dwarf nodded and replaced the stone disc back into its cubbyhole. “You know what a volcano is?”

  Azerick nodded.

  “Then you know that a mountain can destroy itself under its own pressure. Destroying not just itself, but everyone and everything around it,” Duncan said as he sat back down on his stool.

  “I thought all dwarves disliked magic and did not use it themselves.” Azerick asked, changing the subject.

  “Yes and no. It will probably come as a surprise to you to know that there are many forms of magic and many different sources as well. Dwarves make some of the best weapons and armor ever crafted, and occasionally we imbue them with powerful enchantments. We couldn’t do that if we didn’t have some kind of access to magic.”

  Azerick listened intently as the dwarf explained.

  “You wizards and such power your spells by drawing energy from what you call the Source, but that is a bit of a misnomer. That is merely a source of magic, not the source of magic. Dwarves and other races use magic that comes from the very earth and stone around us, and rune carvers store that energy in carved sigils. Druids power their spells from both the divine energies provided by their god or goddess as well as the natural energies found in plants, trees, and all living things in nature,” Duncan explained as if Azerick were his newest pupil.

  “Can all dwarves use rune magic?” Azerick asked.

  “Can all humans cast wizard spells?” Duncan responded.

  Azerick’s face flushed at having asked such a ridiculous question.

  “No, it takes a special talent and affinity for the elements to be able to draw on its energies and store them in a rune,” Duncan answered.

  “So the rune that you carve is a spell form much like wizards and sorcerers shape with the Source,” Azerick stated as he began to understand the principal.

  “Precisely. Stone is most often used as the medium to hold the runic energy, but most anything that can hold the shape can be used.”

  “So is the magic permanent then as long as the rune holds its shape?”

  Duncan shook his head. “Not necessarily. The energy bleeds out of the rune at a rate depending upon the power of the rune caster, with a few exceptions. When a weapon, tool, or some such is created to carry a permanent enchantment, a special rune is created to hold the magic in place, but it is a difficult process and limited in its use. I’ve carved runes to strengthen the doors and gates that lead into our territory, but even those I have to replenish from time to time.”

  “So what are you going to do with me now?” Azerick asked.

  “Well, normally we would put you out the nearest surface exit with a swift kick to the arse,” Duncan grinned. “But I’ve developed an interest in that big book you brought with you. If you’re willing to accept, I would like to show you a bit of dwarven hospitality for a while so I can study it further. The snows are coming soon, and unless you planned on returning to Riverdale, you would have a tough time getting through the pass to the next human settlement.”

  “I thought I had already experienced dwarven hospitality,” Azerick replied rubbing his head where Togar had struck him.

  “Naw, our hospitality involves a bit less kicking and a whole lot more drinking, but I gotta warn you about dwarven alcohol. It kicks harder than Togar’s boot!” Duncan warned, laughing loudly.

  “You say the snows are coming. Surely there are several weeks before the snows hit, even up here in the mountains.”

  The dwarf shook his head with a look of concern. “The snows have been coming earlier and staying longer these last couple years. It’s a strange thing, and a bad omen.”

  “What kind of omen?”

  “Can’t really say for sure. All I know is the animals are spooked and there’s something—wrong—in the air. Maybe it’s nothing, maybe it’s something. Whatever it is, we’ll keep down here to ourselves as we always have and let it pass over us.”

  Azerick thought about the rune carver’s words, but he was at as great a loss as to their im
port as Duncan was. Whatever it was, if it was anything, it did not concern him. At least not right now.

  “If you are willing to teach me something of rune carving, I would be willing to share what I have,” Azerick agreed.

  “All right then, let’s drink on it!” Duncan insisted.

  The dwarf sprang from his stool and disappeared into another room, but he quickly reappeared with two jugs and two cups. He uncorked one of the jugs and poured a mouthful of a clear liquid into the bottom of both cups.

  “This is how we dwarves seal a contract,” he explained and lifted his cup.

  Azerick did the same and, at a nod from Duncan, they both downed the cup’s contents. Duncan slammed his cup down on the tabletop. Azerick squeezed his until he thought it would shatter in his grip as the liquid burned down his throat and brought tears to his clamped eyes. It felt as though his throat and stomach had been literally set on fire.

  “You didn’t cough it up! I’m impressed!” Duncan crowed as he poured an amber liquid from the second jug into both their cups.

  Azerick desperately downed the proffered beverage. The warm, heady beer slid down his throat and helped cool the fire that the dwarf spirits had ignited.

  “That is good beer,” Azerick told Duncan in a raspy voice.

  “Course it is. The only thing dwarves do better than beat metal is brew beer and ale,” Duncan replied with pride. “Let me show you to a place you can bunk down while you’re my guest.”

  Azerick’s head swam as he stood up and followed the dwarf through one set of rooms to another. A stuffed straw mattress was laid out on a stone slab carved into one wall. Thankfully, it was just long enough to accommodate Azerick’s size, but if he were two or three inches taller, his feet would be hanging over the edge. Duncan set his belongings on a table built into the other wall. A round hole had been bored through another wall that allowed an impressive view of the city below and around him.

  “You go on and rest up here and we can talk more tomorrow,” Duncan offered as he pulled out a couple of wool blankets from a large cedar trunk and tossed them onto the stone pallet.

  “Thanks,” Azerick replied and laid down, feeling the full effects of both the powerful liquor and his own exhaustion.

  Duncan left his human guest to get some rest, sat down at his workbench, and began reading the ancient tome. The rune carver was amazed at the breadth of subject matter and history involving several of the races of this land.

  As one of the few scholarly dwarves, Duncan wanted to study the book in its entirety, but that would take years to do properly so he contented himself with skipping to the sections involving dwarven history, earth magic, and rune carving. The rune carver eventually closed the book with a grunt, prying himself away so that he could get some sleep before the coming day.

  Azerick woke to the clinking sound of metal being struck and found Duncan seated at his workbench tapping a fine chisel with a small wooden mallet. Azerick peered over the dwarf’s shoulder and saw that he was carving a complex rune into a flat piece of stone. He was impressed at the deftness and assuredness of the rune carver’s strikes. The lines, swirls, and patterns he carved into the stone were every bit as smooth and elaborate as if he were penning a magic scroll with quill and ink.

  Duncan blew away the stone flecks and set aside the hammer and chisel. He picked up the stone disc, held it at eye level, and examined every stroke. Seemingly satisfied, he set the carving down and spun about on his stool.

  “You’re up! Hungry?” Duncan asked his guest.

  “Famished,” Azerick replied.

  “Good, let’s go get something to eat.”

  Azerick followed Duncan out of his home and through another doorway. Duncan stopped at the edge of a large circular hole cut through the stone floor with a steel pipe running directly through the center of it. Azerick stepped to the edge, looked up and saw that the pole rose two floors up and three more down before terminating at another landing.

  “Think you can handle a little slide?” the dwarf asked. “If not, we can take the stairs.”

  Azerick shook his head. “I would rather risk the pole than walk all those stairs again.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Duncan laughed gleefully before leaping out over the opening, wrapping his thick arms and short legs around the pipe, and zipping down at a speed that would have left Azerick’s stomach lodged firmly in his throat.

  With a deep breath, Azerick leaned out and grabbed the pole then swung his legs around it and slid down. He found the rune carver waiting patiently three floors down where another hole and pole waited several feet away to take passengers down the next five levels. After three slides down the poles, Azerick felt comfortable enough to begin to enjoy it. When they reached the ground floor a few slides later, Azerick had to ask Duncan more about it.

  “What happens if someone hops on as someone else is coming down? How do you avoid accidents?”

  “It’s the responsibility of the one on the lower portion to look up before jumping on.” Duncan explained. “Still, there’s been many a fight over dwarves getting knocked off their pole and falling a few floors.”

  “Don’t they get hurt?” Azerick asked aghast.

  Duncan shook his head. “Naw, not very often. Dwarves are made of pretty strong stuff; like the rock around them.”

  Azerick took a closer look at the structure of the massive cone’s base as the pair stepped out into the enormous cavern. He saw that the base was not uniform and smooth with the cavern floor like other stalagmites he had seen and asked Duncan about it.

  “This is not a natural stalagmite is it?” Azerick asked his host.

  “Nope,” Duncan responded. “It used to be the peak of the mountain that we’re in now before it caved in. This entire mountain was once an active volcano. It’s calmed down and been dormant for at least a thousand years, but before it did, the whole top fell in and made a nice place to carve out our homes. That’s why we got that big skylight way up yonder,” Duncan said as he pointed up towards the large iris that glowed with the pale morning sunlight.

  As they walked down the worn paths that acted as the dwarven city’s streets, Azerick noticed that he drew a glance from most of the dwarves they passed but none stared openly or for more than a brief second before continuing with their own business.

  The pair finally arrived at an arched doorway and stepped inside. The room beyond was full of dwarves sitting around stone tables and on stone benches eating, drinking, and carrying on a multitude of conversations in their rough and grumbling language.

  Many of the conversations took a momentary lull then quickly regained their previous clamor as Duncan and Azerick found a small open table and sat down.

  “Do you get many human visitors?” Azerick asked as he looked around the room. “It does not seem that anyone takes much notice of me.”

  “No, we don’t get many at all. We’re not what you would generally consider hospitable, nor do we invite topsiders into our warrens much. Word travels fast down here, and just about everyone has likely already heard about you and why you’re here. We dwarves aren’t a curious bunch like humans and elves. A dragon could come and roost here and, so long as it didn’t cause any trouble, we would go about our own business rather quickly and not pay it any further heed,” Duncan explained.

  “How do you make the light in those globes?” Azerick asked as he looked at the round glowing blue orbs that were hung throughout the bar and cavern beyond.

  The dwarf shook his head and grinned. “Human curiosity,” he mumbled. “Centuries ago we found a phosphorescent lichen that grew in one of the caves. We found a way to cultivate and distill it to make the glowing liquid inside of it. Now are you gonna badger me with questions all day, or are we gonna put our mouths to good use and get something to eat?”

  Duncan waved to a serving woman and said something to her in his coarse tongue and she soon reappeared with two large platters covered in meat, sausage, eggs, and bread along with two tank
ards of beer. Azerick looked at his food with a bit of trepidation.

  “Something the matter?” Duncan glanced up and asked.

  “Where do you get your meat? You can’t raise much livestock underground can you?” Azerick asked hesitantly.

  Duncan realized why Azerick was asking and roared with laughter. “Did Togar say something to ye? No, we don’t raise animals in the caves. We have a few hidden little valleys between the peaks of the mountains where we grow grass, grains, vegetables, and raise our livestock. The only thing on that plate is goat, beef, and pork.”

  Azerick grinned, shook his head at his groundless fears, and gratefully dug into his breakfast. He was surprised to find that despite the dwarf’s compact size, Duncan ate as much as a large human, even going as far as to finish Azerick’s plate when he could eat no more. The pair sat back and sipped at their beer, letting their meals settle as they talked.

  “That’s quite a book you brought. I can see why you were so determined to retrieve it,” Duncan told the young sorcerer. “How exactly did you come about obtaining it?”

  “What happened to dwarves not being a curious bunch?”

  “I’m a bit different from most dwarves.”

  Azerick nodded his understanding. “I was on a ship to North Haven by way of a roundabout course when a very large and unnatural storm hit us. That was just a few days after two pirate ships tried to plunder us. When the storm broke, a ship full of minotaurs and a creature called a psyling appeared. They took us captive and sold us into slavery. I was forced to fight in an arena for about two years—I think. It was hard to keep track of time there. One day the psyling’s control over me wavered. It did not end well for him.”

  “From what you said about that dragon, I imagine not.”

  “I grabbed that book and we fled through a magical portal that deposited us in some very deep caves. It took at least a couple weeks for us to find the surface. When we did, we wintered in Riverdale. That is when the dragon took my things.”