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

by Brock Deskins

  With a heavy sigh of resignation, Azerick climbed the stairs out of his lab and headed for the infirmary. Miranda and Thomas were already there, as well as Rusty and Allister. He was glad to see his old friends. Their presence would stifle Miranda’s desire to revisit their argument.

  Rusty and Allister nodded a greeting when Azerick entered the room, Thomas smiled, and Miranda looked pointedly away. Her rejection felt like a knife plunging into his heart. He wanted to apologize, wanted to somehow bring them back together, but the words would not come to him. He nodded to Brother Thomas who then began working his divine magic.

  “This should not take long. Most of the significant healing has already occurred,” Thomas explained as he worked. “The long rest and natural healing has helped prevent any lasting damage and residual pain.”

  Daebian began to stir. Miranda pushed closer and laid a hand on his chest. When his eyes fluttered open, Miranda practically threw herself on top of him and hugged him tightly.

  “Mother, what are you doing?”

  Miranda straightened up and wiped the tears of relief from her eyes. “You took a fall and have been unconscious for nearly a week. I have been sitting next your bed day and night, praying for you to wake.”

  “You have spent hours on end doing nothing but watch me sleep? Why?”

  “Because I was worried. Because I thought it important to be with you. It is called love.”

  “I would call it a colossal waste of time. Did not Grandmother need your help during this past week organizing and preparing the people? In case you have not heard, war is approaching and there are more important matters to attend to than watching someone sleep.”

  Miranda’s face flushed as a multitude of emotions assaulted her. “You sound like your father.”

  “I am surprised to find myself admit that even Father occasionally gets something right. I too have things to do. May I go now?”

  Brother Thomas answered. “I would recommend you stay here for at least another day. You will likely have a bit of a headache for a few days and some slight disorientation. I do suggest you get up, stretch your muscles, and walk about the room, but I strongly recommend against any exertion. You are still injured, and any knock to the head could cause some serious harm.”

  “I do feel a bit out of sorts. I am also starving. Mother, would you bring me something to eat?”

  “Of course.” Miranda hesitated, not wanting to leave her son, but she forced herself to hurry to the kitchens.

  “I am glad you are well, son,” Azerick said.

  “Are you really? There is no need for false platitudes. Mother cannot hear you now.”

  “Daebian, I know I have not been an attentive father to you, and I truly regret it. But I want you to know it is not because I do not love you. We walk different paths, you and I, and it can be hard to cut through the foliage and brambles separating us.”

  “Do you truly mean that?”

  “I do.”

  “I understand, Father. I understand what you must do and the sacrifices we all have to make. I understand a great deal more than anyone gives me credit for.”

  Azerick nodded. “I believe you do. I have work to do now. I will check in on you again later.”

  Brother Thomas followed Azerick out of the room. “I think we can agree his injury has caused no lasting damage or change in his character.”

  “Yes, an unfortunate thing that—his character I mean.”

  Your father has become an accomplished liar, almost as accomplished as you.

  “Was he lying? Was I? Father believes most of what he said, at least he wants to. And I understand far more than people think I do, including you, demon. You had best remember that if you think to control me like you try to control my father.”

  I would not dream of it. Ours is a mutually beneficial arrangement, whereas the one I share with your father is not.

  “I care far more about the beneficial than the mutual, demon.”

  Of course you do. You are my son, and I would expect nothing less.

  Most of the horses were out with the martial students doing maneuvers. Only Newmoon and a few swift messenger mounts remained in the stables. It was the best time to muck out the stalls. Normally, Peck had assistants to do the menial labor of cleaning the stalls, but Daebian was awake and the simple work helped distract him from the anxiety of their inevitable confrontation. Peck was certain Daebian would want to punish Newmoon for throwing him, but now Peck had the authority to deny him that, or at least the legal authority. He wondered how long Daebian would wait before exacting his revenge. As fickle as the fates were, it was not long.

  “There once was a stableboy named Peck,

  Who lived his life shoveling drek.

  He trained his horse to kill,

  A true testament of his skill,

  A feat worthy of my respect.”

  Peck gripped his shovel tightly with both hands, but Daebian continued to lean casually against the stall’s doorframe.

  “It seems I underestimated you, peck. That is a dangerous habit to get into, and one I will certainly work hard to break. You are neither as spineless nor dull-witted as I thought you were. There may be some value to your life after all.”

  “What do you want?” Peck asked nervously as he futilely looked for a way out of the stall.

  Daebian pushed off the doorframe. “I want you to saddle that mangy beast of a horse so I can properly break him once and for all. I may even feed him to…my blade.”

  “No, I will not let you take my horse.”

  “I thought we already had this conversation regarding ownership? Perhaps it was with someone else. Once things become redundant, I tend to lose interest and do not pay much attention.”

  “These are my horses. I bought them. I decide who takes them out and for what. Ask Azerick if you want, he’ll tell you.”

  A wide grin split Daebian’s face. “You surprise me once again, Peck. You truly are a clever little muck shoveler aren’t you? Well done, Peck. I will have to find a new game to play now.” Daebian began to walk away then turned back. “I meant what I said earlier. You caused me grievous injury in our little game. You earned my respect for that—once. A second time will get you killed.” Daebian walked away, whistling an off-key trilling of a pine thrush.

  ***

  “Lord Giles, I have a message for you.”

  “Thank you, Marcus.” Azerick took the sealed letter and closed the door to his laboratory.

  He sat at his desk and read. Consternation lines appeared on his forehead as if a tiny farmer was tilling a field across his face. He heaved a sigh, tossed the paper on his desk, and tried to rub the worry lines from his face with his hands.

  “What is it, Father?” Raijaun asked.

  “The Academy is having trouble connecting their gates with Brightridge and humbly requests my assistance.”

  “Humbly?”

  A wry smile appeared on Azerick’s face. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? Yet there it is.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I do not know. I have yet to truly put our students, our warriors, through a proper test, and we still have to erect the gates in the valley where we must make our final stand.” Azerick thumped the desk with his fist, holding back his anger so he did not shatter it into kindling. “An entire academy of this kingdom’s greatest wizards, and they beg the help of one man and his son!”

  “You could send me.”

  “What?”

  “I am not needed here nearly as much as you are. Send me to help The Academy connect their gates. They must have a team of wizards in Brightridge. I should not even have to leave Southport.”

  “I do not like the idea of sending you into their clutches.”

  “Would you send me if I was human?” Azerick’s answer was evident when he looked away. “We are allies now, tenuous at best, but we must place some trust in each other. If you cannot trust the Academy, at least trust in our mutual desire to survive. At the very l
east, trust in the fact you scare the ever-living crap out of them.”

  Azerick laughed and squeezed is son’s shoulder. “How did you get so wise so fast?”

  “The popular consensus is I got it from my mother.”

  Azerick laughed again at Raijaun’s rare show of humor. “Who said that?”

  Raijaun shrugged. “Miranda, Allister, Aggie, Rusty, pretty much everyone who has bothered to express an opinion.”

  “Far be it from me to refute the masses. All right, go to Southport and help these fools align their gates. It would be good if you could get a firsthand assessment of their preparations as well. Take one of the speaking stones with you. If you even suspect treachery, contact me immediately, and I will come and show them their previous fears were but a tiny goose bump compared to the terror I will unleash upon them if they harm you.”

  Despite his and Raijaun’s confident words, he could not help but worry for his son’s safety. Standing taller than Azerick now, it was easy to forget he was still just a boy. No matter how quickly he grew, how smart he was, or how powerful he had become, he barely had three years of life to learn how treacherous and illogical the human race could be. And those three years had been rather sheltered ones. Raijaun was right, however; they had to start trusting one another or none of them had a chance.

  Azerick found the core of his school’s instructors waiting for him in the main hall. Today was the largest combined forces training they had yet to attempt. It was time to see what almost three years of training had produced.

  “Is everyone ready?” Azerick asked as he entered the room.

  “I don’t think anyone can possibly be ready for what you have in mind,” Rusty replied, “but the field is prepared.”

  Rusty had long been a voice calling for an easing of Azerick’s rigorous and injurious training. Injuries were common, and seven people had died during some of the more intense maneuvers. Rusty was like a brother to Azerick, but he was too kindhearted for this kind of thing.

  “You are right, we cannot possibly be ready for what is to come,” Azerick agreed. “However, we must work as hard as we can to get as close to ready as we are able.”

  There was little more discussion as Azerick led a procession across the grounds and out onto the periphery of the huge eastern training field. Alex, always the dutiful general, filled Azerick in on their troops’ disposition and tactical plans. It was largely redundant since they had all spent the last several days finely tuning and choreographing the event.

  Thousands of men, women, boys, girls, and horses covered a large swath of open field. They stood in ranks a dozen deep and two hundred wide. The cavalry lined up behind and to each side in anticipation of striking the invaders at their flanks. Three hundred archers wielding powerful longbows stood only a few paces behind a double row of mages. The spell casters aligned themselves behind the ranks of swordsmen and shield-bearing spearmen. It was their job to provide magical barriers to slow and shield the warriors while the stronger wizards used their power to thin the gruesome horde of ravagers enough so they would not be overwhelmed and crushed by sheer numbers.

  Azerick felt his heart soar when he looked upon the perfect ranks of his people. They had all worked so hard to become a powerful force against those who wished them all dead. Then just as quickly his heart plummeted when he remembered the reality that many, probably most, of them would die.

  He opened a gate and stepped in front of his army. “I am very proud of you all,” he said, his voice booming over the masses. “You have shown the true spirit of humanity by standing against those who would oppress you and seek to destroy us all. You do so knowing that many of you will not live to see the freedom your sacrifices will bring. Some have already given their lives in this endeavor. You have endured the hardest, most bitter training I could devise and you did not bend. You stand taller and stronger than ever before. You will need that strength today and in the days to come. I want you to fight with all your heart and strength, but remember, today is a day of training. Stay steadfast, but stay safe.”

  Azerick gated back to the leaders and nodded. “Let us begin.”

  Alex stood upon a raised platform with flags in each hand. Horns sounded across the battlefield as he whipped them about in a series of commands. Rusty, Allister, and Aggie used speaking stones to issue orders to their battlefield leaders.

  It took only moments for the army to fall into their defensive positions. The sidelined wizards bent their magic and conjured the enemy they all awaited. Thousands of ravagers materialized out of the ether barely a mile away and raced toward the human army on legs almost as swift as a horse.

  The massive catapults and trebuchets struck first, the largest of them flinging three-hundred pound stones nearly a thousand feet. Mages unleashed their firestorms shortly after. They spread their arcane attacks wide to disperse the charging ravagers and prevent them from gaining too much mass at any one point that could cause a major breach in their infantry’s line.

  Allister reminded his mages to pace their magic. There was little in the way of reserves to rotate out wizards who became too fatigued. This was going to be a war of attrition, swift but bloody with neither side likely to rest until the other was obliterated. The winner would be the one with survivors at the end.

  The ravagers struck the first rank of spearmen with what would have been a hellish clash of flesh on wood and steel. Alex signaled the first three ranks to fall back to simulate the effect such a massive impact would cause. The rear ranks pressed forward, stabbing their short spears between gaps and raising shields overhead as illusory ravagers leapt over their brethren and landed in the rear ranks. Despite the intensity of the attack, their people held well—too well.

  “There are not enough attackers,” Azerick stated as he watched the battle rage on.

  “Not enough? They are so thick there is hardly any open space between them,” Rusty argued.

  “The fact I can see any ground between them shows there are not enough to pose a true test. Double the number of ravagers.”

  Rusty bit his lip to stifle further protests and passed the word to increase the number of illusions. Allister, Aggie, and the other instructors conjured more ravagers and threw them mercilessly at the defenders. It was a feat of amazing concentration to play puppet master to so many phantasms. Not only did they have to make them move, they had to react to the real people’s actions.

  It was convincing enough that the lines began to bend under the assault as the humans slowly fell back to keep their foes from trampling them. Soldiers pushed forward and stabbed with more vigor to try and win back the ground they lost, or at least keep from losing more. Mages shook the ground and set the very air on fire with their magic.

  “They are holding!” Rusty shouted excitedly.

  “Yes they are,” Azerick agreed. “Let us throw in a couple dragons.”

  Rusty’s elation at his people’s success vanished. “They cannot take more! Their lines are already bending!”

  “And now we will see what it takes to break them.”

  “You can’t do this! Why do you want to take this victory from them?”

  “I am not taking anything from them. I am giving them a clear picture of what they will face and the opportunity to learn from defeat.”

  “Don’t do this, Azerick! Show a little compassion.”

  “Our enemies will not show them such, and neither can I.”

  Azerick took charge of conjuring the dragons himself. Two enormous, scaly monsters circled overhead for a few seconds before swooping and raining down chaos. They belched great gouts of flame over the massed army, immolating entire ranks with a single fiery breath. The giant wyrms raced skyward and began circling once again, but they were far from idle. A strong wind picked up and became a near-hurricane force gale in seconds. Lightning arced across the sky and struck the ground and the panicked army below.

  The illusions were wrought with such mastery that the smell of burning grass and flesh mad
e the simple act of breathing a caustic and painful endeavor. Fear, real fear, ran rampant through the ranks of defenders. The stalwart among them tried desperately to hold the line and form a cohesive defense, but they were fighting against their own people just as strongly as they were against the enemy.

  “Stop this right now!” Rusty demanded, grabbing Azerick by the front of his shirt.

  “They must fight through their fear and suppress their panic.”

  Fueled by rage, Rusty turned back to the illusionary slaughter, attacked the illusions, and began unraveling the strands of magic holding them together. Allister and the others did not try and stop him and quickly banished the illusions they controlled. Admitting to himself that the battle was over, Azerick dismissed his dragons. Shouting rang out over the battlefield and several of Brother Thomas’ Chosen ran to help the wounded.

  Azerick stood resolutely as Brother Thomas and his acolytes tended to the injured. Allister and the other leaders huddled together, getting reports through their speaking stones, and leaving Azerick an island unto himself. Azerick glanced over and saw his instructors were engaged in an animated discussion. Rusty separated from the group and stalked toward Azerick, his face flush with anger.

  “Four more dead and more than a score injured! For what?”

  “So the others will become stronger.”

  “You are killing them! These Scions of yours will not have to destroy us; you are doing it for them. What was the point of this?” Rusty demanded, encompassing the battlefield with a wave of his hand. “They were doing well, but you had to break them. Why? Why put on this farce knowing you never had any intent on allowing them a victory?”

  “Allowing them a victory would have been the farce! Do you think the Scions are going to allow them a victory? They fought against illusions, and they knew they were illusions. They even knew the dragons I sent were illusions, but they were convincing enough to break the nerve of entire squads. How will their courage hold, how level-headed will their thoughts be when the enemy and the death they bring is real, when they are slogging through mud created by the blood of their fellows?” Azerick shouted back. “Had this been a real battle, everyone you see down there would be dead now. Our people will be a major bulwark against an implacable enemy. If we fail, we leave tens of thousands open for slaughter! We cannot break because of fear!”