The Sorcerer's Legacy (The Sorcerer's Path)

by Brock Deskins

  Azerick immediately began pulling the wicker chair apart and tying the light-weight but strong twigs together as he had imagined in his mind. With knife, twine, and glue, Azerick constructed the body of a bird out of the wicker reeds with a rather remarkable resemblance to a real falcon. If he covered it completely in real feathers, he doubted that anyone would be able to tell it apart from a real one from more than a few paces away. The only thing that would disrupt the illusion was the rather stiff mechanical movements.

  As Azerick was remarking on his work, he realized that Wolf never did answer how it was that Ghost supposedly knew he needed the boy’s help. Azerick set the mystery aside knowing he would find no answers within his own head and seriously doubted he would pry them out of Wolf’s. It was perhaps two hours before sunrise so Azerick decided he would try to catch some sleep with what little time he had remaining.

  Azerick’s subconscious noticed some foreign irritant assailing his right nostril. His hand involuntarily brushed the pestering object away but it returned seconds later. His subconscious, severely annoyed at the intrusion, decided to smite the annoyance once and for all. His own hand slapping him firmly on the face rudely awakened Azerick.

  He bolted upright in his bed and saw Wolf holding a hawk’s feather and grinning from ear to ear. Azerick forced himself to swallow the scolding that was on the tip of his tongue.

  “Did you get them, Wolf?” Azerick asked as he rubbed the grit from his eyes.

  “Of course I did, I’m Wolf of the wild not some pampered lordling cozily tucked away in his mansion,” Wolf chided the still groggy sorcerer.

  Azerick looked into the bag Wolf handed him and was pleased to see the number of feathers it contained.

  “Wow, Wolf, where did you find so many feathers?”

  Wolf broke into a devilish smile. “Let’s just say there are some very cold and angry hawks around here.”

  “You plucked these from the birds last night?” Azerick asked incredulously.

  “Of course not, I collected them all summer and had them stashed away. What do you think I do with all my time in the woods, count pinecones?” the half-elf asked sarcastically.

  Azerick shook his head and let out a deep breath. Talking with Wolf was always a test of patience.

  “So have you figured out what you’re going to give me?” Wolf asked.

  “Not yet, Wolf, I have been a little busy,” Azerick answered with forced patience.

  “Okay, but it had better be good. Those hawks weren’t happy donating those feathers, especially in this kind of weather,” Wolf informed the sorcerer with a deadpan face.

  Azerick was about to remind the boy that he had just said he collected the feathers over the summer but brushed it aside knowing that he would not get a straight answer from him. The sorcerer swung out of bed and sat at his desk where the wicker falcon rested and began gluing the feathers on it.

  “Hey, you made a bird! Does it fly?” Wolf asked with excited curiosity.

  “I hope so, because it would take it forever to get to Southport walking,” Azerick answered and smiled when Wolf puckered his face in annoyance, having gotten a taste of his own sarcasm.

  “Why are you making a fake bird?”

  Azerick’s grin grew larger. “Because a real one would chew up my message and make a nest out of it.”

  “C’mon, Ghost, let’s go to the kitchen and get something to eat. At least down there people only throw stuff at us,” he told his wolf and stomped out the room.

  Azerick continued to smile as he glued the feathers onto his wicker construct. It was rare that he won that kind of word war with Wolf and it felt good. He might have felt a little childish relishing such petty revenge, but after last night, he felt Wolf probably deserved it.

  No, he definitely deserved it, Azerick thought to himself as he recalled the assault on his cloak.

  It was another morning of fasting for Azerick as he methodically brought his construct to completion. After magically hardening the glue, he slipped his letter inside the wicker body of the falcon along with a small crystal that held the magical energy and the instructions that it needed to complete its task.

  He had no idea if Rusty was still at The Academy or if he had moved on to other things. If he was not still apprenticing he could be anywhere. Azerick remembered eating dinner once at Rusty’s father’s manor one night. His father was one of Duke Ulric’s finance ministers and most likely still lived in the same place.

  Azerick had liked Rusty’s father. He was a large man with an open and friendly demeanor. Azerick slipped the message out of the falcon, scribbled Rusty’s name on the outside, and returned it to its wicker compartment.

  He then concentrated and let a measured amount of magical energy flow from his hands into the crystal, imparting the necessary spark it required to simulate life. Azerick pictured the route to Southport in his mind as well as images of Rusty, his father, and his father’s home with as much detail as he could recall. The construct flapped its wings in a parody of life and flew off to the south the moment Azerick launched it out of his bedroom window.

  The sorcerer breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the wicker falcon first flap its wings and gain altitude as it soared away from the keep. Azerick wanted nothing more than to return to his bed, but he had more important things he needed to do and pushed aside thoughts of his own comfort.

  He had nearly one hundred and forty children to test and see if any of them had the gift of magic within them. It was unlikely, given that Ellyssa had already discovered five of them. Finding five people with the ability to tap the Source in a group this size was already at the high end of the odds spectrum.

  Azerick wondered how his apprentice had found so many able to channel magic. She was a long way from being able to sense the latent power of another. Most likely it had simply been a case of amazing luck to be playing with a group of children who just happened to have the gift when she showed them the simple cantrip.

  He also wanted to check on Roger. Azerick had a much better understanding of what Ethan had gone through as a bone cutter. He could still feel the way the saw grated against the boy’s bones as it cut through them. Just the thought of it made Azerick’s teeth clench and his stomach flutter. The thought of Ethan having to have done the same thing on dozens of men, and without his patients even being put to sleep, made him truly sympathize with the man.

  CHAPTER 9

  Thirty-two. Azerick sat at his desk in his room with his elbows propped on its hard surface, his face buried in his hands. Thirty-two children with latent magical talent out of one hundred and forty-three. Just over a quarter of all the children. Such a high percentage was unheard of. Why were there so many and what did it mean?

  Were there really more people born recently with the ability to wield magic, or was it simply because only the wealthy and privileged ever got to go to a school like The Academy where one of the magus could identify their talent? Or, was it something that had awakened within them due to the harsh living conditions of being homeless at such a young age as a potential survival mechanism?

  All of these questions weighed upon Azerick’s mind as if a horse were sitting on his head.

  “I thought having to instruct five children was going to be a demanding task,” Azerick said into his hands and laughed.

  Well, it cannot be helped, and the hard part should not be for several months at the very least. It will all be lectures on the principles of magic and magic history. The Academy did not even begin to teach applied magic until a student’s second or third year.

  Of course, Azerick was not running a school on the level of The Academy either. Since when was he running a school?

  Since you took these children in and became responsible for them, you idiot, his brain told him.

  That was just to get them off the streets so winter did not kill them.

  What were you going to do then, kick them all back onto the streets? What about next winter, were you going to scoop them
all back up, give them a sense of comfort and security, and then kick them back out again?

  Hm, put like that Azerick felt like a right bastard. What about those who are not magically talented? That question at least was an easy one. He had the staff to teach them a basic education.

  And then what? So they can read, write, do basic mathematics, and have a basic knowledge of history. What are they going to do for a living?

  Azerick did not know.

  Teach them a skill. You have blacksmiths, stonemasons, bricklayers, and carpenters swarming all over this place for most of the year. You also have a weapons master that you could employ full time.

  Of course, why didn’t he think of that?

  You did, you idiot, whom do you think you have been talking too?

  “I really need to get some sleep,” Azerick said to himself aloud.

  Sleep came swiftly but it did little to bring him comfort. Once again, that haunting yet alluring voice disturbed his rest.

  What do you think you are doing, my hand? Do you really think you can stop being my instrument of death by rescuing a bunch of filthy little strays? Do you think death will stop seeking you out simply because you stop seeking it?

  “I am done with you, goddess. I am done with death, I am done with the machinations of men and their greed, and most of all I am done chasing a revenge that I know in my heart will do nothing to bring back my family or take away the pain,” Azerick growled at the goddess of death.

  Sharrellan laughed deeply. You silly boy, you claim to be finished with all that, but they are not finished with you. If you will not seek death, death will come seeking you. You have brought all these lives closer to you, which means you will be sending more souls to me. Everyone around you dies. It is inevitable.

  “I will protect them!” Azerick shouted in fury. “I will protect them with my life!”

  No, silly child, you will protect them by taking the lives of those who threaten them.

  The next morning Azerick split the children who would be learning magic into three different classes. Ellyssa was a fantastic aide, passing on what she had already learned and helping any student that was having difficulty with anything. The class was primarily lectures since many of the kids were still learning how to read in one of the other classes. Azerick thanked the gods daily for Simon, Teresa, Evan, and the three other women that taught the standard education classes.

  Azerick let Roger awaken the day after his surgery. He felt some residual pain, but after a soft meal and another dose of healing potion, he was back to his usual chipper and determined self. Roger was also one of Azerick’s best students, learning with the determination and rapidity that was nearly equal to Ellyssa, and in some instances, even faster. By the end of winter, Azerick would have to be mentoring a separate advanced class for both children.

  Today was the one day that there were no classes, giving both the students and their teachers a much needed day off to relax and focus on their own personal pursuits. Azerick walked down the stairs and found Ellyssa, Roger, Wolf, and several other children in the main hall running about playing some sort of game.

  “What are you all doing?” Azerick asked his apprentice.

  “We’re hunting bogglebers!” Ellyssa replied with enthusiasm.

  “And what are you doing with the rope?” he inquired, indicating the large coil of rope slung over her shoulder.

  “Making a boggleber trap!”

  Azerick shook his head with a smile of amusement at the children’s imagination and energy as he descended the stairs to his laboratory. He tried to remember himself at that age, which on reflection, was not so long ago. Let the kids have their fun, he thought. They will grow up soon enough.

  He thought about how his hard life forced him to grow up so fast, missing the simple pleasures of playing silly games with no purpose other than to have fun. His games always comprised of stealing enough food to eat and watching his own back for fear of someone trying to hurt him or take what was his.

  Ellyssa and the other children had been playing hide and seek and hunting bogglebers all morning. They thought they had caught one of the elusive creatures in one of the traps that Wolf had shown them how to make but it was just Grick going to bed after hunting rats all night. He was not in the mood to play with them so they had to let him go.

  A hard knocking sounded at the front door. The children ran to the door to see who it was. Ellyssa climbed onto Wolf’s shoulders so she could see out the small view hole behind a small brass door. Through the tiny window, she saw an old man with a long grey beard with bits of food caught in it and wearing worn robes with stained spots upon them.

  “Who are you?” she asked the old man.

  He looked up at the small viewing portal. “My name is Allister. I am here to see Azerick. May I come in?”

  “No,” Ellyssa’s short reply came.

  Magus Allister was taken aback at the child’s curt reply.

  “Did you say no?”

  “Yep.”

  “And why not?” the old mage asked.

  “Because you’re a stranger,” Ellyssa said in a snide voice that made it apparent that he should know why.

  Allister smiled at the girl in amusement. “I assure you, my dear, I am not a stranger. I am a very good friend of Azerick’s and he will want to see me. Now, may I come in?”

  “No,” Ellyssa repeated.

  “And why not? I told you I was a friend of Azerick’s!”

  “You look like an old beggar,” Ellyssa answered.

  The magus was quickly losing his patience with the impertinent child. “I am the Magus Allister. I was Azerick’s teacher and his sponsor to The Academy!”

  “Who is it?” another child’s voice sounded through the door.

  “Some old beggar who says he knows Azerick,” Ellyssa replied, looking away from the peephole and to the unseen speaker.

  “I am not a beggar! I am a magus of high standing! Now, let me in or at least go fetch Azerick; he will let me in,” Allister insisted.

  “No, you might be a boggleber. They’re tricky and you’re not going to trick me,” Ellyssa said firmly.

  Allister’s face was turning red in frustration. “I am not a boggleber!

  “Is there really a boggleber out there?” a child asked.

  “He looks like a boggleber. He has a long grey mane, a wrinkly face, a big red nose with long hair growing out of it, and big flappy ears with grey hairs sticking out like pussy willows,” Ellyssa explained to the unseen speaker.

  “I am not a boggleber nor am I a beggar. I am a powerful wizard and a friend of Azerick’s. Now open this door, please,” Allister said slowly between clamped teeth.

  “No.”

  “All right that’s it! You had better get away from that door because I am coming in!” the old mage shouted.

  “Run, the boggleber is coming!” Ellyssa shouted and disappeared from the peephole.

  Magus Allister heard a multitude of children shrieking in their high-pitched, shrill voices and shouting that the boggleber was coming. The old wizard cast a simple spell and the locking mechanism sprung open just as though he had used the key. The heavy door flew open with a crash and the angry old magus stormed into the main hall.

  “Now, who is the one that said I looked like an old beggar?” Allister demanded as children ran in every direction screaming ‘boggleber’.

  “I did, and you still look like an old beggar,” Ellyssa stepped up and said.

  “Is that so? Well how about if this old beggar puts you over his knee and—!”

  That was as far as he got. As he took a step forward, Ellyssa shouted, “Now!”

  Wolf kicked out the retaining pin that was holding the rope secure, which caused the heavy chandelier to race for the floor and pulled the rope taut. As the weight of the chandelier pulled the rope through the pulley, the noose tightened around the wizard’s feet and jerked him off the floor, hanging him upside down.

  “We caught the boggleber
!” children began shouting and dancing around the suspended mage.

  “I am not a boggleber!” Allister shouted through the folds of his robe that he was struggling to pull away from his face.

  “That’s exactly what a boggleber would say,” Ellyssa told him, bending down at the knees to look Allister in his bright red face.

  “I am not a boggleber! I do not even know what a boggleber is!”

  “Are you sure you don’t know what a boggleber is?” Ellyssa asked quizzically.

  Allister forced himself to calm down as he felt the child was finally listening to reason. “No, I have no idea what a boggleber is or even looks like.

  “Then how do you know you’re not one?”

  “You better let me down, you demon spawn, or so help me—!”

  “Now, I know I have seen those wrinkly old legs somewhere before,” Azerick said as he mounted the top of the stairs.

  “Azerick, lad, is that you?” Allister asked with relief.

  “Azerick, we caught a boggleber!” Roger cried from halfway up the stairs leading to the tower.

  Azerick walked across the room, bent down, and turned his head upside down to peer into the wizard’s ruddy face. “Now this looks very familiar,” Azerick mused with a grin.

  “I am glad to see you, boy, and I’ll be even gladder to see you right side up,” Allister told his former pupil.

  “And I am glad to see you wearing underclothes this time,” Azerick responded. “Wolf, would you please let the good magus down—,”

  Wolf released the rope from the catch dropping the old wizard in a heap onto the floor.

  “—slowly,” Azerick finished with a sigh.

  “That must be one of yours,” Magus Allister said as he picked himself up pointing an accusing finger at Ellyssa who stood nervously chewing her bottom lip a short ways away.

  “That would be my apprentice, Ellyssa. Ellyssa, say hello to Magus Allister, my friend and former mentor. And as far as I know, he has no relation to bogglebers, although I can see where you might make that mistake. I made it once myself,” Azerick said in introduction.