The Sorcerer's Return (The Sorcerer's Path)

by Brock Deskins

  “My soldiers are the best trained in the kingdom!” Brague shouted indignantly at what he felt was a slight against his proficiency. “I do not need some wizard telling me how to fight or train my men!”

  “Calm yourself, General. I am sure Lord Giles meant nothing of the sort.”

  “I did not, Your Grace. General Brague, I have twice fought beside you and your men and know you to be an excellent commander with top-notch soldiers, but you do not understand the enemy we face. You can be the greatest antelope hunter in the world, but your skills will be inadequate when hunting plains lions or flesh reavers. You and your men are the best fighters I have ever known, but your methods of combat are ill-suited to the enemy we face. I have spent the past several months studying the Codex Arcana in order to learn as much as I can about the Scions and their minions. I have taken that knowledge and written a detailed training manual for both arcane and martial combat, particularly in combining those two forces into a cohesive force to maximize their ability to kill our enemies and survive.”

  Another nobleman stood. “Are you suggesting we arm and train every citizen in the city?”

  “I am telling you we must arm and train every citizen in the kingdom.”

  “And who will pay for all of this?”

  “You will. We all will. I have ordered my treasury opened to support this effort, but I am not foolish enough to think I can fund it on my own.”

  “That is preposterous! Maintaining an army is why we pay taxes!”

  “And now you must pay more.”

  “We already paid a levy for the commissioning of the city’s ships!”

  “For which you enjoy increased security and trade. Both these things have increased your wealth even greater than it was before the tax increase. Your trade vessels are no longer being plundered by pirates, and import and exports have nearly tripled. Now is the time to invest again, and this time it is not for useless bits of metal but for your continued existence. I would think such a thing would encourage you more than the prospect of increased income, since a rich dead man is still a dead man.”

  The assembly was abuzz with words of support for the nobleman and scoffed at the sorcerer’s pronouncement until Duchess Mellina stood. “Quiet! Lord Giles has saved this city from invaders and kept our beloved Jarvin on his throne, both of which would have been lost without his intervention and foresight. I will hear any words of evidence refuting his claims, but I will not risk my city and its people for petty bickering and greed. Until I see evidence proving he is mistaken, I will trust in his judgment and act accordingly. I hereby order a state of martial law. Conscription will begin immediately. All tradesmen will receive instructions detailing their support of the war effort. None of you are to travel far, for I am assigning many of you to oversee much of our preparations.”

  “But, Your Grace, the Council of Lords…,” the vocal nobleman sputtered.

  “Exists as a courtesy, and one in which I am revoking until the danger to our kingdom is at an end. This audience is over. Lord Giles, you and my daughter will join me and General Brague in the parlor for further discussion.”

  The court stood and bowed as General Brague escorted the Duchess from the dais by way of the door hidden behind the thick curtains covering the wall. Azerick and Miranda made their way to the parlor through another hall. Duchess Mellina quickly crossed the parlor floor the moment couple walked in and slapped Azerick soundly across the cheek.

  “How dare you return from the dead and make your first visit one of formality?”

  “Forgive me, Your Grace, things have been happening rather quickly.”

  The room echoed with the sound of the Duchess’ second slap. “In court you refer to me as Your Grace. In private you will call me Mother.”

  Azerick could not suppress his smile. “Yes, Mother.”

  “And wipe that smirk off your face. It makes you look like a simpleton.”

  Azerick did as he was told but still received another slap. “What was that one for?”

  “That one was for General Brague. He said you deserved it, and I trust in his judgment.” Mellina left Azerick standing as she reclined on a sofa. “Do you have any idea what you put my daughter through by running off and dying?”

  “Again, forgive me, Mother.”

  “It was damn selfish of you. Next time you die, you had best stay dead or incur my wrath. Now tell me and the General more of these failed gods set on destroying us. I do not give a whit about why. I need to know what we are looking at from a tactical standpoint.”

  Azerick nodded as he gathered his thoughts. “There are five Scions, each of whom lorded over their own realm: what we call Valeria and Sumara, Lazuul, the land beyond The Great Barrier Mountains, and two that must lie far beyond wherever we have sailed.”

  “Why are they so dead set on coming here if there are four other kingdoms from which to choose? Will they be dividing their forces?”

  “They will not, and the reason is twofold.”

  “Why divide and weaken your army when the kingdoms are separated by impassable mountains and unexplored seas,” General Brague stated as he handed Mellina a glass of wine.

  “Precisely. The reason they will destroy us first is due to a particular hatred of me.”

  General Brague poured himself a glass of brandy. “I can certainly understand that. Never one to rest on his accomplishments, Lord Giles has traveled to other worlds and found an entirely new host of people to infuriate.”

  “Darling, be civil. What are we looking at in the way of their army and ability?”

  “The Scions themselves are the gods before our gods. They wield all the power of our gods, without the restrictions put on them by the All Mother.”

  “What kind of restrictions? How can anything put restrictions on a god?”

  “To be honest, it goes into some huge cosmic thing I will not pretend to fully understand. Suffice it to say, there is a power greater than the gods with a consciousness far beyond our understanding. It is the force guiding the universe and does not exist on the same level we or the gods, do. Our gods must work through us, which is why we will face the brunt of this invasion. The Scions also have an army of creatures they have spent the past two millennia creating, which number probably a million or more. It was impossible for me to count. They are bigger, stronger, and faster than humans.”

  “All right, five gods and a massive army of creatures better suited to killing than we are. What else are we facing?” the Duchess asked.

  “They have several ships that can fly through the air like ours sail on water. I also expect them to call the dragons to their aid as well.”

  “You are just full of optimistic tidings.”

  “There is one thing we have in our favor. Scions abhor magic users like nothing else. Other than their own magic, I expect them to attack us with nothing more than brute strength and whatever dragons may still exist in the world. That is why having our wizards train amongst the soldiers is so important. Neither wizard nor soldier can hope to stand alone, but together, they can become highly formidable.”

  “What good does that do us if these Scions can simply obliterate us at a whim?” Brague asked.

  “Because they cannot. We may be insects to them, but we can sting. Enough stings can bring down the largest of animals. Moreover, the Scions disdain us and will not seek to lower themselves to engage the rabble directly. Such a thing is left to their underlings. Also, they will not want to weaken themselves before they face our gods. Our gods may be limited upon our plane, but they are still gods and pose a threat, particularly when backed up by a couple thousand wizards.”

  Duchess Mellina set her glass down and scrubbed the fatigue from her face. “You say we are not alone, that you have contacted Sumara and other races. Can we reinforce the walls to withstand a siege long enough for them and the rest of the kingdom to come to our aid?”

  Azerick shook his head somberly. “You do not understand. No walls can save us from this kind of a
ttack. I have a plan to create stable gateways that will allow us to evacuate our populace to Brelland.”

  The Duchess sat up straight. “You do not think we can hold North Haven?”

  “I know we cannot hold it. I will create a similar gateway in Southport that will transport them to Brightridge. From Brelland and Brightridge, we will retreat into a valley I know of near the Witchcrag Mountains, where we will combine the might of all our forces in a final battle for survival. This will be a war of attrition with neither side willing or able to offer or accept terms. Our only hope is to bleed them so severely, that by the time they reach our final field of battle, we can crush them decidedly. Have no illusions; we will lose our cities, and our people are going to be brutalized. What I am trying to do is create an army that will be more brutal than our enemy and crawl from whatever wreckage in which our kingdom may lie. This is not about glorious victory, but bloody and horrible survival.”

  Duchess Mellina grimaced. “Well, I am glad you saved that part of your speech for closed doors. Should the people hear it, they would likely flee in terror.”

  “And they would get to witness the death of our species before they too were found and crushed.” Azerick pulled a book from his satchel. “This is the training plan I devised. It details what I want and what I hope to accomplish by doing so. General, I meant what I said about my opinion of your battle prowess. If you see ways to improve upon what I have written, I will certainly welcome your input. I will warn you now, it is brutal in training and execution, but that is what is necessary.”

  “We will do what we must. When will you speak with Jarvin?”

  “I sent a courier yesterday. You should have issued him a license to use the Blackguard’s relay stations.”

  “Yes, the short young man.”

  “I expect him to reach the capital the day after tomorrow. Allow four days for a reply, and I expect to engage him and his council within the week.”

  “Good luck with that lot. They are twice as arrogant and prickly as mine are.” Mellina stood and approached her daughter and son-in-law. “I had best get busy then, and I am sure you have plenty to do as well.” The Duchess hugged Miranda and then Azerick. “Do not go off and get yourself killed again. After all this, I cannot afford another state funeral.”

  “I will do my best,” Azerick replied as he returned Mellina’s embrace.

  Miranda turned and looked to Azerick as they walked the halls on their way out. “Darling?”

  “It would seem your mother and our esteemed general has become close.”

  “Can you imagine if they marry? That will make for some very interesting dinner conversations.”

  “I expect so, but I will return to the abyss before I ever call him Father.”

  ***

  Duncan spent several sleepless days and nights in the archives in search of something to support Azerick’s claim. He did not doubt the human’s concern and the belief they were all in danger, but dwarves needed more than belief to act. They were a people of hard facts, and that was what he needed to find before taking it to the clan heads.

  Dwarven studies were as physically taxing as mental. He had spoken true when he told Azerick dwarves kept anything worth writing forever. Some books and scrolls were printed on vellum, their characters permanently burned into the skin where ink would absorb and fade over time. Many of them, almost all the most important words, were carved and etched in acid upon sheets of paper-thin gold or slices of stone. A moderately-sized book could weigh upwards of a hundred pounds. The big ones took two or three dwarves to tote about. A dwarven library was the only kind a studious person brought a lamp and wheelbarrow.

  It had not taken long to find the complete story of The Great Revolution. The dwarves all remembered Dundalor Ironforger and the suits of armor he crafted to fight the dragons, but no one he knew was aware of the Guardians and their battle with the Scions. What he discovered made his blood run cold.

  Being a citizen of high-standing, Duncan was able to call for a meeting of the clans. He spent the next three days drawing up plans for war machines to fight a battle unlike any in their history while waiting for the assembly to gather. He burned his designs into velum until his eyes blurred to the point he could not continue.

  On the day of the assembly, Duncan stood in The Hall of Equals with his wheelbarrow laden with the golden archive and dozens of battle plans and war machine diagrams burned onto velum. A hundred dwarves from the ten clans engulfed him on three sides of the amphitheater-like hall.

  “Duncan Runecarver, the clans have agreed to gather for your call to emergency assembly. We will hear you now,” the Master of Assembly formally declared.

  “Thank you all for hearing me. I bring to you word of impending war,” Duncan stated without preamble.

  “Who is foolish enough to consider assaulting us in our mountain?” a clan leader called out above the grumbling voices.

  “We all remember The Great Revolution, but we do not recall it in its entirety. There was another battle being waged while we were fighting the dragons alongside the humans and lower races. While we thought the elves remained detached from the frontline bloodshed, they were in fact battling the greater foe.”

  “What foe was greater than the dragons and their slave army?” another dwarf asked.

  “Before the creation of the gods we know now, there were others called Scions. These gods controlled the dragons. It is against these Scions that the elves created creatures to be used as weapons against them. The elves and Guardians banished the Scions and stood guard over their prison. But now the Guardians are dead, and the Scions are soon to escape to enact a terrible revenge upon us all.”

  “A fanciful tale. Who brought you this story of doom, and what do they want of us?” a speaker called down derisively.

  “You have heard of the young sorcerer called Azerick, named Dwarf Friend, for his acts of valor and contributions to our people?” Several bearded heads bobbed up and down while those who heard of the human second and third-hand through the dwarven grapevine gave little more than a twitch. “Through a series of incredible events only a wizard could possibly find himself in, Azerick had a brief stint in the abyss where he spoke with the goddess Sharellan. The goddess sent him to the remaining Guardian, who showed him the face of the enemy before she died. He is now working to gather the races together in an alliance to save us all from annihilation.”

  Coarse grumbling and arguing instantly filled the hall and more than one fistfight broke out. So far, the meeting was going much like any other assembly, which made Duncan hopeful of convincing his kin of the threat they faced. Once the individual disputes were settled and the assembly returned to their seats, one of the clan heads returned to the point of discussion.

  “We know how humans are prone to flights of fancy, and wizards are all crazy. You would have us gear for war on the tale of a boy wizard? Friend or no friend of the dwarves, I’ve eaten rocks easier to digest than this story.”

  Duncan opened the book of gold resting in his wheelbarrow. “I quote from the writings of Ferrous Lorekeeper: ‘Even as the blood of our fellows in battle turned the rivers red, I met with Tuharhuln Oakroot, new king of the elves, thrice removed from the throne as his mother, father, and grandsires have given their lives in battle against the gods called Scions. They succeeded in banishing the Scions but feared their prison was insufficient. Tuharhuln bade me to immortalize this history, knowing the forgetfulness of humans and the easily distracted ways of the elves. So I etch this history upon pages of gold to serve as a permanent reminder that our revolution has not achieved victory, but only a temporary cessation in battle. It is up to we dwarves to remember for all the races and to never let our vigilance falter.”

  Duncan looked up from the golden tome and struck the assembly with a gaze like a hammer forging steel. “We have failed to maintain our vigilance. We have allowed ourselves to forget, and now we find ourselves woefully unprepared to do our part. Such laxity is an embarrass
ing affront to dwarfkind. We have become as fanciful as the elves and as forgetful as the humans. It took a human to remind us of our duty; I only hope it shames you all as much as me to motivate us into action.”

  “Is there more of these Scions within the lore?”

  “There is. Ferrous goes on to advise future generations that the second revolution will be far more savage than the first. During The Great Revolution, the Scions had only the dragons, the slaves too cowardly to stand against them, and themselves to bring to the battle. This time, they will have an army two thousand years in the making to scour the land like a plague of locusts.”

  “We can seal the doors, dig deeper, and collapse the tunnels behind us,” a dwarf suggested.

  Duncan’s rage boiled to overflowing in an instant. “You speak like a coward and a fool! The Scions raised the Great Barrier Mountains during the Revolution; they can surely bring them down upon us! If we abandon the races, we abandon the only hope we have of surviving. Will you let the few who survive live as slaves to these false gods, or will you pick up hammer and axe and fight to the last breath of the last dwarf as our dignity and honor demands?”

  The hall reverberated with the call to arms even as several more fistfights broke out as each clan member laid claim to glory well before the first axe was swung.

  “What would you have of us, Duncan?” the Master of Assembly asked as the ruckus died down.

  “This will be a battle unlike any we have faced and on a scale none can imagine.” Duncan handed out his diagrams to the clan heads and chief engineers. “I have some ideas of war machines to better our odds, but it relies heavily upon rune lore. I need you all to search within your clans for those showing the propensity for rune carving and send them to me. When we march into battle, we will make the world shake beneath our boots and remind man, elf, and gods what it means to awaken the mountain!”