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

by Brock Deskins

  Your Lord and Master,

  Duke Ulric Stanbury III

  General Baneford read the scalding missive twice more before he set it down on his field table. He knew it was never wise to respond to such insults, particularly to your superiors, while in a rage or intoxicated. Doing so often resulted in saying things that you will likely regret whether you actually meant them or not. However, General Baneford’s anger served to burn off much of the effects of the liquor. He grabbed his quill, dipped it into the inkwell, and carefully and deliberately penned his response.

  He would have to speak with his men after this and make plans. General Baneford knew he could rely on the support of those with him. He was a good commander and well respected by the vast majority of the soldiers under him. The general would have to act fast and put together the finer details of his plan later.

  For now, he just needed to set this first part in motion. He blotted and sanded the ink so it would dry then sealed it with his own mark. He then called for one of his most loyal men. A few minutes later, his man stood at the position of attention while General Baneford gave him the letter addressed for Duke Ulric’s eyes only along with several verbal instructions. The soldier took the letter, put it in a waterproof tube, saluted, and departed camp immediately.

  General Baneford sat back down as soon as the messenger left his tent. He imagined the duke’s response upon reading his reply and chuckled. Quietly to himself at first, but it quickly built to a loud belly-shaking bout of hysterical laughter. He looked at the liquid in his glass, saluted the empty air, and downed the remains.

  The rider rode through the gates of Southport without slowing. The guards had no trouble making out General Baneford’s colors and made no attempt to stop him. He rode hard until he reached the stables where all of the duke’s cavalry horses were stabled. The lieutenant had strict orders from the General and hastened to ensure he carried them out.

  “Remove the tack from this animal and prepare me a fresh mount!” the lieutenant barked at the stablehands that jumped up to meet the rider.

  Lieutenant Desmonde strode into the barracks where he looked for the men that General Baneford told him to seek out. He found two of the officers playing cards and motioned them over where they could converse privately. After relaying the message from General Baneford, the two officers ran off in search of the other men on the General’s list while Lieutenant Desmonde headed for the Duke’s treasury minister.

  He found the minister in his office pouring over tally sheets and accounting slips. He busily flicked the beads of an abacus as he wrote the sums in a thick ledger. When the minister finally looked up from his accounting book, lieutenant Desmonde handed the hawk-nosed accountant the funds request signed and sealed by the General. The minister broke the wax seal and read the contents. His bushy grey eyebrows rose as he came to the sum requested.

  “That is a rather substantial amount, Lieutenant,” the treasurer said.

  “His Grace is anxious for the General to complete his mission, and General Baneford requires these funds to do so. His Grace was most adamant in his latest missive, but if you wish to delay me, the General, and the Duke even further with your dallying then let the Duke’s wrath fall on your head,” Lieutenant Desmonde told the clerk and showed him the angry letter that Duke Ulric had written, displaying his impatience.

  The clerk looked over the second letter and made his decision. “Please wait here. I will get the gold the General requires.”

  The clerk returned with two men carrying an ironbound chest. He opened the chest with a large key that he produced from the inside of his shirt and lifted the heavy lid. Lieutenant Desmonde could not hide his look of surprise at the amount of gold the chest contained.

  The treasury minister began piling gold coins onto a large balance scale by the handful then set very precise weights on the other end until it balanced perfectly. The minister wrote the number down in his ledger, dumped the coins into a strong, canvas sack, and then repeated the process several more times until he pronounced that the entire requested sum had been distributed.

  The Lieutenant signed for the withdrawal, and with four small but heavy sacks of gold tucked under his arm, returned to the stables where he found nearly a hundred men mounted and ready to depart. He distributed the gold between the two other officers before handing another sealed letter to one of the stablehands.

  “You are to ensure that the Duke himself gets this letter no sooner than one hour from now,” he ordered the groom. “If you cannot deliver it yourself, then get one of the Duke’s pages to bring it to him, but no one but the duke is allowed to read it. I have men watching you. If you try to deliver the message before an hour has expired, I have given them orders to kill you. Do you understand?”

  The groom swallowed hard and nodded. The young man sat down nervously as the soldiers rode out into the night. The stablehand waited nearly two hours before he moved from his stool just to be certain that enough time had passed.

  He walked slowly to the castle where a pair of guards stopped him at the large door that led inside. One of the guards called for a page and waited. Within moments, a young man came to the door where the groom gladly passed along the letter addressed to Duke Ulric.

  The page sprinted down the corridor with the missive in hand until he came to a stop in front of the Duke’s study. Taking a deep breath, he rapped loudly three times on the dark mahogany doors and waited for permission to enter. The page pulled down on the brightly polished brass door handle and walked in. Duke Ulric stood in front of a large stone fireplace burning brightly and filling the study with its warmth. Another man was standing nervously a few feet away.

  “My Lord Duke, I have a message for you from General Baneford,” the page recited formally.

  Ulric motioned for the page to bring it to him and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. As soon as the page left and closed the door, Duke Ulric turned back the travel-worn man.

  “Now explain to me exactly how you and your men bungled a simple kidnapping,” the Duke demanded menacingly.

  The bandit leader cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “Everything was going exactly to plan, Your Grace. We disabled the coach and killed most of the guards within seconds, but then a wizard suddenly attacked my men and me. We tried to slay him as well, but he was exceptionally powerful and he killed nearly all of my men with magical lightning and hellfire,” the man answered nervously.

  “Get out of my sight, you useless sack of excrement before I lose what little patience I have left and have you strung up and beaten to death!” the Duke seethed.

  The bandit leader made a hasty bow and fled from the room.

  Duke Ulric hoped that the General was going to tell him that his mission was almost complete. He was in far too foul a mood to read anything else. He broke the wax seal and read its contents. The more he read the redder his face became. By the time he reached the end of the message, his hands shook and his eyes bulged in rage.

  The guard raced down the hall in search of Lord Alton, the Duke’s chamberlain. He pounded furiously on the chamberlain’s door until it opened.

  “What is all this commotion?” Alton demanded.

  “Milord, the Duke is in a rage and we do not know what to do,” the guard stammered.

  “What has happened?”

  “I know not, milord. The Duke received a missive, and since then we have heard only screams of rage and destruction from within His Grace’s study,” the guard explained.

  Alton lifted the hem of his robe and walked as swiftly as his old legs would carry him towards the Ulric’s study. As he drew near, he could hear the Duke’s shouts of outrage and fury and the crashing of furniture. Lord Alton reached out tentatively for the door handle when the door suddenly swung inward with a crash. Duke Ulric stalked out cursing, tearing down tapestries, paintings, and kicking over planters as he unleashed his rage down the hallway.

  The chamberlain crept into the study and gasped in shock as he behel
d the level of destruction. Not a single book remained on the shelves. Several of the bookshelves themselves lay toppled onto the floor and lay on their face amidst the scattered books they once held.

  The curtains and tapestries that decorated the walls were all torn down, paintings had been slashed, and the furniture had been hacked apart with one of the decorative weapons that once hung on the walls but were now strewn about the destroyed study. Lord Alton saw a piece of parchment bearing a broken wax seal sticking out from under a pile of books and pulled it out. He quickly saw that it was a missive from General Baneford and was shocked at what he read.

  Duke Ulric of Southport,

  For fifteen years I have been your ever-loyal commander of forces. In that time I have carried out every command you have issued without failure or question, no matter how dubious that order may have been.

  For the past six years, my men and I have scoured the countryside on your orders so that you may ascend the throne and rule over all of Valaria. I have raided tombs, delved through caverns, and killed the King’s own guards to recover your precious armor so that you may usurp the King for his throne. I have watched many of my men die valiantly in the name of your cause, yet all I have ever received from you was complaint after complaint for how long it was taking me to secure your throne.

  Well, no more. No more will I squander the lives of my men. No longer will I trek about swamps and wastelands for your cause. I am close to completing the suit so that its full power may be used, but it will not be for your benefit. You want to be king? You are welcome to that headache, but you can do it on your own merits, without my help and without your precious artifact. I will use the power that the armor provides to carve out my own little fiefdom. The only way I will ever give you Dundalor’s armor is if I come back to Southport and shove it up your arse one piece at a time!

  General Ronald Baneford

  Commander, Baneford’s Brood

  Lord Alton covered his mouth with a trembling hand at the words written on the parchment. He could not believe that the General had turned his back on his lord and master like that. He also never knew that the General had such an artistic talent, for at the bottom of the page were several detailed sketches of the General carrying out that last threat. The likenesses were quite uncanny, although the chamberlain knew them to be physically impossible.

  Lord Alton ordered the guards to round up some servants to clean up and repair the study as best they could and to avoid the Duke at all costs for the next few days until he was able to speak with His Grace, although that may not be for a couple of days. Even Lord Alton was not about to approach the Ulric while he was in this state. The chamberlain sighed, stepped over the mounds of destruction, and went to mitigate whatever damage he could.

  ****

  EPILOG****

  Six dark figures dressed in black robes with hoods concealing their features sat around a circular table somewhere deep underground. Crypts lined the walls holding the bones of those who had once walked the lands a very long time ago. The air was dry and full of dust, and the only sounds were those made by the six gathered around the raised stone disc.

  “How much longer must we live with this abomination upon the throne?” one of the cloaked figures demanded.

  “Patience, all is continuing as planned, albeit not as fast as we had hoped. These things cannot be rushed. All of the pieces must be gathered for a smooth transition,” another replied.

  “I am growing less certain of Duke Ulric’s ability to accomplish his task. What of this General Baneford? His man holds several pieces of Dundalor's Armor. What is to keep him from acquiring the entire set and seeking the throne himself?”

  “His Grace has assured us that he has the General’s utmost loyalty. Besides, without the backing of the church, any claim he would make would be wrought with strife, even with the artifact. Nor does he have the army needed to try to take the throne by force.”

  “With the armor he would be an army unto himself, if the legends hold true.”

  “The armor does not make one as invincible as the legends make it sound, although he would most certainly be a formidable force. Obviously, the last person to don the armor was defeated, hence it ordered scattered throughout the realm. No, the greatest difficulty would be if this General Baneford withheld the armor for ransom and, considering what is at stake, it should be no problem to grant whatever he wished, within reason. The General is a commoner, and anything he would desire would likely be common as well. Gold, women, a title of nobility; these things would be a small price to pay and, given his years of faithful service in fulfilling his task, I see no reason not to grant it. We might convince the Duke to preempt such treasonous thoughts by hinting at the rewards that await him upon completion of his task.”

  “But how much longer must we abide this bastard king? He is an embarrassment to the kingdom! What if Duke Ulric fails? What if we cannot find the final pieces? Are our men in place to take the throne by force?”

  “We have multiple agents already in place. We will continue to replace men loyal to the King with our own as swiftly as we can. When the time comes, the transition should be relatively bloodless as long as Ulric succeeds on his end. Should he fail, the coup will be more difficult, and much more blood will be shed, but it will be a small price to pay for our kingdom’s dignity.”

  “What of these pet adventurers the king has employed to help him gain the artifacts? They pose a threat to our plans and should be eliminated!”

  “They are a bunch of fools. How they even succeeded in surviving that farce with the Pescaran’s is beyond me.”

  “They may be fools, but they have the fool’s luck as well. It would be best if we eliminate them.”

  “I expect even their luck will be insufficient to allow them to survive Lazuul’s jungle. However, should they return, I shall take more direct actions. So, despite a few minor setbacks, our goals will be accomplished. It is the will of our sun lord.”

  “Speaking of our shining lord’s will, what off these tales of undead? Many claims have now been substantiated by our own people, and can no longer be dismissed as folk tales.”

  “Indeed. Begin sending out our members trained to deal with such things. In the coming times, it is more important than ever for the people to see us as a symbol of strength and reliability.”

  “Blessed is the light of Solarian,” everyone around the table chanted in unison.

  The End

  Maude’s Marauders

  (Bonus story)

  Maude stalked down the halls of Castle Stonemount in search of the rest of her adventuring party. She had just come from King Jarvin’s study where he had commanded that she and her group seek out a piece of Dundalor’s armor on the advice of his two advisors.

  She found the elven wizard’s room first and entered without knocking, manners not being one of her stronger traits. Tarth was sitting cross-legged, bent over a rack of burning incense, and dressed in immaculate robes of silk. His robes were layered and flowed in brilliant oranges and reds making him look like a living sunrise, his long hair colored to match.

  Tarth looked up at the sound of the door opening and smiled vacuously. “Oh, hello Maudeline. Aren’t the butterflies beautiful?” he asked, grabbing at things in the air only he could see.

  Maude let out a loud sigh and rolled her eyes. “Pack up your things, Tarth, we have a mission.”

  Maude turned around to leave to continue informing the rest of her group.

  “Oh, Maudeline,” Tarth called out to her.

  “What, Tarth?”

  “When did you grow a tail?” the wizard asked with a giggle. “It is quite splendid!”

  Maude sighed and rolled her eyes once more as she stalked off in search of the other two misfits that completed the adventuring group known as Maude’s Marauders. She found the room that the cleric, Malek, was staying in next. At least he stayed in this room when he was not staying in the room of some random woman of the castle. Maude entered
the room to multiple writhing forms and a series of giggles coming from under a silk sheet that covered a huge canopied bed.

  “Malek! What do you think you are doing?” Maude asked in exasperation.

  Several attractive female heads suddenly popped out from under the sheet at both ends of the bed. Long, golden-blond, wavy locks adorned the top of the handsome man’s head that appeared between two pairs of feet and next to a red headed woman at the foot of the bed.

  “Oh, hi, Maude. I’m uh, holding mass—” the cleric answered with a grin. “—and giving benediction!”

  Maude sighed deeply and rolled her eyes. She did that a lot. “Pack up, we have a mission.”

  “How long until we leave?”

  “As soon as everyone is ready to go. How long will it take you to get ready?” Maude asked.

  Malek made a quick count of the women in the bed. “About an hour—better make it an hour and half.”

  “You’ve got thirty minutes!” Maude barked in frustration.

  “All right.” Malek disappeared back under the sheet. “You ladies better hold on, it’s going to get pretty rough!”

  Maude slammed the door amidst a chorus of giggles and stalked off in search of her final party member. She looked in his room but found it empty, so she decided to search downstairs. Instinct led her towards the kitchen, and given the gruff shouts that echoed down the hall and into the dining room, it appeared as though her hunch had been correct.

  As she pushed open the swinging door that led into the kitchen, one of the castle’s hounds raced out of the door with a large sausage trapped between its jaws just as an axe embedded itself in the doorframe, clipping the hairs off the end of the mutt’s tail.