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

by Brock Deskins

“I’m glad I was able to help.”

  Togar walked back towards the other dwarves and clasped wrists with Duncan as the rune caster finished tending to the injured and returned to where Azerick was standing out of the way. The unwounded dwarves were helping those that had sustained injuries that made walking difficult or impossible. Four other dwarves carried the warrior that had given his life in defense of his comrades using a blanket as a makeshift litter.

  “It’s been a long time since a human has fought beside dwarves inside their own warren. I want to tell you that we all appreciate your help. You likely saved a lot of lives today,” Duncan said, nodding his large bearded head.

  “I was glad to help, as any guest should be. I am sorry that one of your people fell to that beast.”

  “He died a warrior’s death, and many tankards will be lifted in his name tonight. Living under the earth is a hard life and it has made us a hard folk. We’ll mourn his death and then cheer his life and his return to the great forge where he will be made anew. So, you ready go now?”

  “Depends, can we take the mine cart?” Azerick asked with a grin.

  Duncan laughed hard and clapped Azerick on the back as they walked ahead of the rest of the dwarves towards the waiting ore carts.

  ******

  The young page ran through the marble-floored halls of Castle North haven in search of Duchess Mellina. The young boy in russet velvet page’s livery came to a halt in front of the large wooden doors just outside of Her Grace’s sitting room. The page paused to catch his breath and straighten his velvet doublet before rapping sharply on the door exactly three times. He immediately opened and passed through the large, ornately carved hardwood door as soon as the Lady beckoned him to enter.

  Sitting in one of a pair of padded, high-backed chairs was Lady Mellina, embroidering a cloth. Lady Mellina was the Duchess of North Haven and its ruler since the death of her husband nearly ten years ago. At forty-six years of age, she was still a startlingly beautiful woman with only a hint of crow’s feet at the corners of her dark blue eyes to hint at her age. Her face and hands still maintained the smoothness of youth and was considered one of the most beautiful noblewomen in the kingdom. About the only thing that prevented her from being mistaken for her daughter’s older sister was her constant stern expression.

  Her unwavering poise and always-serious demeanor had earned her the nickname of the ice queen by her subjects and those who were familiar with her. Though she was often stern, she was deeply devoted to her subjects and their nickname for her was always spoken with the warmest of regards, for her subjects returned her devotion in equal measure.

  Her daughter, Lady Miranda, was much more like her father. Her dark auburn mane and jade green eyes was nearly the mirror of her father’s. She was outgoing, outspoken, and loved to live life to its fullest. She was often found riding about the forests in leather leggings and jumping fallen logs and low walls, laughing all the while as her entourage tried valiantly to keep up.

  Miranda was much beloved by the people of North Haven and could often be found conversing and dancing with the locals in some of the nicer inns whenever she was able to sneak away from her handmaidens and guards.

  Not that she really needed any guards within the walls of North Haven. With the exception of perhaps the most dangerous and poverty-stricken areas of the city, every man and woman in the city would thrash anyone that so much as raised a hand, or even a voice, to their beloved Lady.

  The young page strode forward with the cadence of the most highly trained soldier in the army with a silver tray resting lightly on his upturned palms. He stopped precisely two paces from the Duchess, his heels together, toes splayed exactly at a forty-five degree angle, and bowed slightly at the waist. He dipped his head nearly parallel with the floor, all the while never letting the tray he bore move so much as an inch in any direction.

  “Milady, there is a letter for you,” the page said as his blond, shoulder-length hair swayed slightly next to his face.

  “Thank you, Jonathan,” Duchess Mellina formally replied as she retrieved the folded wax-sealed paper from the silver tray. “You may go.”

  Lady Miranda caught Jonathan’s eye as he bowed to each of the women and beckoned him over with a crook of her finger. Jonathan stepped smartly to stand before his Lady as she reached into a pocket of her dress and handed him a piece of hard candy wrapped in wax paper with a warm smile that reached her eyes.

  Despite his best effort at maintaining his professional countenance, the page could not help but smile back at her. Miranda shooed him away with a brush of her fingers. Jonathan marched back through the doors and closed them behind him before popping the treat into his mouth and running back through the lavish corridors with a large smile on his face.

  “What is it, mother?” Miranda asked, looking up from the book she was reading.

  “It is an invitation for the two of us to be Duke Ulric’s guests at his winter festival ball,” the duchess replied as she read the fine script written upon the expensive paper.

  Miranda’s face turned cross at the information. “You know as well as I that he is fully aware that your responsibilities would not allow you travel during winter festival. That snake is just using you to try to get me to attend. I will not have it. The man is a troll.”

  “He is not a troll. He is quite handsome and very charming when he wants to be. You should be more receptive towards him,” her mother admonished.

  “The man is a pig and traitor to the crown! He subverts King Jarvin’s authority every chance he gets!”

  “Do not speak thusly, daughter. The duke has done nothing overtly subversive towards our monarch, and such talk will only sow discord.”

  “Not overtly subversive? What must he do before his actions are considered overtly subversive, wave a bloody sword in one hand whilst swinging Jarvin’s head about in the other?” Miranda demanded.

  Duchess Mellina set down her embroidery and glared daggers at her daughter. “Many of the nobles disagree with King Jarvin’s edicts. I have even debated the merits of more than one of his proclamations myself, yet I consider myself loyal to His Majesty.”

  “Mother, you know how important winter festival is to me and how involved I am with setting it up. I could not possibly attend Duke Ulric’s ball. I have a responsibility to my own people,” she argued.

  “That is as you say. Very well. I will decline Duke Ulric’s invitation for the both of us. However, I must insist that you be his guest at spring festival, and I will inform him of such in my reply,” the Duchess compromised. “It would do well for you to attend Duke Ulric’s ball if for nothing else than to strengthen the ties between our two cities. Perhaps you may even find he is not as boorish as you imagine. It has been several years since you have met him in person and opinions change. A marriage could have enormous benefits for both our people, and our own treasury that, I need not remind you, is growing more meager with each passing season.”

  “If it is so important to you to join our houses then you should have married him yourself when he sought to suit you!” Miranda shouted waspishly.

  “Lower your voice child and conduct yourself as a Lady. Shouting is crude and unseemly. You know perfectly well I swore I would never marry after your father died, and I do not intend to break that vow. Besides, I am well past the age of begetting an heir to the duke anyhow.”

  “I suppose it is better to whore off your only daughter, your only child, to improve our own standing; for that is what it is! No matter the amount of jewels, titles, and riches you would trade me for; it still makes me no more than a high priced harlot!” Miranda screamed in rage as she wrenched the doors open and prepared to storm out of the room.

  “Miranda you will not speak with the tongue of a common tavern wench.”

  Though Duchess Mellina never raised her voice, the fire in her eyes was clearly evident, and Miranda could feel them burning into her back as she fled the room.

  ******

  “Th
at was a clever spell you used to raise those spikes from the ground,” Duncan said as the two sat in the rune caster’s workshop enjoying a well-earned mug of beer.

  Azerick nodded his appreciation at the dwarf’s compliment. “I particularly liked the way you turned the stone into mud then reversed it to trap such a large creature. I will have to study that and find a way to mimic the effect with my sorcery,” Azerick replied.

  “That is one of my better ones!” Duncan crowed.

  It did not take the rune carver long to duplicate Azerick’s stone spike spell; far less time than it took the sorcerer to develop his own earth transmutation spell. Azerick continued to practice the art of rune carving until Duncan decided that his carving skills were sufficiently honed. Duncan began trying to teach him how to draw energy from the earth to empower them so they would serve a purpose beyond mere decoration.

  Azerick quickly found that this was far more difficult than learning the carving process itself. His own natural instinct to seek out the Source to power all things magical always leapt to the fore in an attempt to complete the task, which frustrated both student and master.

  “You must get it through your head that there are more sources of power and magic than the one you use to power your sorcery,” Duncan told him for perhaps the hundredth time.

  “I know, but it is like trying to force myself to walk on my hands. I know I am supposed to, but my feet always want to take over the task,” Azerick replied in frustration.

  “I think what you need to do is learn how to talk to the stone first.”

  Azerick furrowed his brow in confusion. “How am I supposed to talk to stone?”

  “I’m talking about communing with the primal forces that imbue all natural things like stone, fire, water, and air. Of course as a dwarf, I’m most familiar with and have the easiest time with earth and stone. I can hardly get them to shut up. Do you remember the first time you intentionally reached out and touched your Source?”

  Azerick nodded that he did and was beginning to understand what Duncan was saying.

  “You need to sit down and focus your mind into the elements and find the energy locked inside. They all have a spirit, just as you do, if a bit different.”

  Azerick spent the next several days sitting and meditating upon the problem, locking himself away in a room devoid of all light, sound, and anything else that could cause distraction. For several hours each day he repeated the process and was about to give it up as futile when one morning he felt a tiny surge of energy in the stone around him. Instead of trying to grab onto it and force his will upon it, he relaxed even further and let himself slowly drift towards it as if he was trying to catch a soap bubble in his hands.

  As he gently touched the tiny spark, he blew upon it with his consciousness and was astounded at the amount of power that suddenly flowed about him. The energy of the earth was subtle, unlike the raging torrent of the Source, but it was vast! The energy of the earth and air stretched out from horizon to horizon in a soft constant glow. If the Source was a raging river, these elemental energies were an ocean.

  Much further down, he could sense the burning energy of the molten hot fires deep within the ground. He could see and feel the rivulets and rivers of lava bubbling and coursing through fissures in the hard rock the stone like blood through his veins and arteries.

  Azerick reached out, pinched a small measure of the ethereal energy with his mind, and attempted to guide it into one of his rune carvings. The energy felt slick and insubstantial, slipping between his fingers like so much smoke. When he came out of his trance, he looked upon the stone chit sitting on his crossed legs where he sat upon the floor. The sorcerer traced a finger over the rune and felt the slight tingle of energy that it contained. Elated at his discovery, he rushed out of his dark room and into Duncan’s workshop.

  “Aye, I think you’re finally getting it, boy,” Duncan rumbled as he studied the rune Azerick handed him. “It’s faint, but it’s there. Ha, I’ll make a rune carver outta you yet!”

  Over the next several weeks, Azerick continued to practice, but with only minor improvements. He was able to touch the energy trapped within the elements almost easily, although still not with the natural affinity that he could tap the Source. However, getting it to work his will was another matter entirely. Earth was stubborn and was loath to do anything except what it wanted to do; which was to do nothing at all. Air was flighty and raced away like a startled bird the moment Azerick tried to catch it. Fire was openly hostile and fought him for control. Water was probably the most confusing and contentious of them all and displayed the characteristics of all three depending upon its mood.

  Duncan judged most of his efforts passable, but he finally had to confess that Azerick would likely never become a true rune carver, at least not by dwarven standards, but he had a small talent and there was no such thing as a useless skill no matter how minor his ability.

  “Well, I’ll tell you, lad, you’ve done well. Better than I expected from a human, and a young one at that. I told you that I’d put you up through the winter. I thought I’d let you know that the snows are clearing out of the passes and traveling ought not be too difficult in the coming days, but you’re a likable sort and you’re welcome to stick around a bit longer if you’ve a mind to.”

  “I appreciate the offer, and I have enjoyed my stay here. I have really learned a lot from you, but it is time for me to move on,” Azerick told him sincerely.

  Duncan nodded his understanding. “I’ll help you get a bag packed that will see you well enough through your travels. Where will you be heading to if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I think I will go to North Haven. That was where I was heading before we got lost at sea. From there, who know? I have some friends sailing about up there that I will need to get in touch with.”

  Azerick and Duncan spent the next two days gathering supplies they thought he would need to make a comfortable trip. His pack was heavy and Azerick was glad that he had stayed in decent physical shape while he was with the dwarves. It promised to be a long walk home and something best not taken by the ill prepared.

  Duncan and several other dwarves offered to take him a couple of days closer towards North Haven through their tunnels, which he gladly accepted. Although he was anxious to return to the surface and feel the sun on his skin, he knew that he would cover far more distance in less time underground than he would crossing the several leagues of rough terrain above ground until he found a road of some sort. As the small party gathered at the entrance of one of the main tunnels heading westerly, Azerick heard someone calling his name.

  He turned towards the source of the call and saw Togar running towards him with a long staff in his hands. “Hold up there, lad! I’m glad I caught ye. I told ye that I owed ye for my life, twice, and I settle my debts.”

  “I was glad to help. You do not owe me anything, Togar,” Azerick assured him.

  The dwarf suddenly turned serious. “It be a poor thing to refuse a gift, boy. Now I made this for ye outta my appreciation for what ya done. Now ya can take it in yer hand, or ya can take it upside yer head and that’s all there be to that!”

  “In that case, Togar, I will gladly accept your gift, and with great pleasure.”

  “Good, that’s more like it!” Togar shouted, a smile leaping back to his bearded face. “I just happened to find a nice vein o’ arcanum when that big cave bug jumped out at us, and I used a goodly portion of it on this here staff.”

  Azerick took the staff from Togar and marveled at its craftsmanship. It was just over six feet long, the bottom two feet capped in arcanum, while the top sported an arcanum sphere the size of an apple. The wooden shaft was made of a burgundy wood so dark it was almost black. It was surprisingly light, but he could tell by the feel of it, as well as a certain intuition, that the staff possessed extraordinary strength. By far the most impressive features were the vast assortment of runes carved throughout its length to include the brilliant ball of
arcanum that topped the end.

  “Togar, this is incredible. I don’t know what to say,” Azerick said as he stared in awe at the weapon. There was no doubt in his mind that the staff was far more than a mere decorative walking stick.

  “O’ course it’s amazing! It has to be to cover the debt I owe ye on account that I’m pretty damn amazing myself!” Togar roared with laughter along with the assembled dwarves.

  Azerick looked at the runes that adorned the staff before turning his gaze at Duncan. “Duncan, did you carve these runes?”

  “Aye, boy, I did at that. You saved more lives than just Togar’s, and when he told me about the staff he was making, I figured I would add my own touch on account of everyone you helped. I know I got more from that big book of yours than you probably got from my rune teachings, so I figured I’d pitch in.”

  “Thank you, Duncan. Thank you all. You have all been most hospitable.”

  “Well, if we’re all done lollygagging and getting all weepy over a stick, let’s get on our way,” Togar bellowed and led the procession down the tunnel.

  It was an uneventful three days of tunnel crawling. The large, well-sculpted tunnel quickly turned into a smaller, much rougher sort with rough-hewn wooden beams supporting it. The entire journey was easy going if incredibly boring. As much as Azerick enjoyed the dwarves’ company, he was eager to see the outside again beyond the few trips he had made to the surface with Duncan to see their grazing pastures. As they came to the end of the tunnel, one of the dwarves ran up to the end and jabbed the handle of his pickaxe up through a small hole in the cave ceiling.

  His prodding brought down dust and clumps of earth followed by a warm beam of sunlight shining down through the hole. The dwarf then pulled a metal pipe about three feet long off his shoulder and stuck one end up through the hole he had cleared. He turned left and right while peering through an eyepiece set into the end of the pipe and announced that the way was clear.

  Three more dwarves raced up, turned a handle, and pulled. Azerick was amazed to see a four-foot section of the cave wall swing in on concealed hinges. He thrust his hand before his eyes as bright sunlight suddenly washed over him.