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

by Brock Deskins

  Miranda greeted Azerick’s friends as he introduced them. “Magus Allister, did he teach at The Academy in Southport?”

  “He did, but he is on sabbatical for the time being,” Azerick informed her.

  “I believe I recall seeing him at the banquet that was held there a few years ago. He was involved in a bit of a ruckus if I remember correctly,” Miranda said thoughtfully.

  “I am sure I wouldn’t know. I was not a student at that time,” Azerick replied, wondering if the heat he felt in his cheeks showed. “Was the good Captain Brague unable to grace us with his presence today?”

  Miranda gave Azerick a conspiratorial smile. “The good captain seems to have a problem with his armor, refuses to leave the castle until he is able to repair it, and will not go out on official business without it.”

  “What a pity. So what brings you to see me, Lady Miranda?”

  Miranda’s answer was cut short as Colleen burst from her room wearing an elaborate gown, her hair done up, and a bit of rouge applied to her cheeks.

  Rusty leaned over and whispered to Azerick. “It takes her three hours to get ready for me! They must do it on purpose to drive us mad.”

  “Your Grace, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance!” Colleen gushed and made a less than graceful curtsy due to her very pregnant stomach.

  “Lady Miranda, I have the pleasure to introduce you to Rusty’s wife, Lady Colleen,” Azerick introduced with a small smile at Colleen’s anxious entrance.

  Miranda darted to Colleen’s side and took hold of her by the arm, lifting her out of her curtsy. “Please, my mother is, Your Grace, I am just Miranda, Lady Colleen,” she insisted.

  “Oh, and I am just Colleen.”

  “Oh my goodness,” Miranda said in astonishment. “You are very much with child!”

  “I know, I look awful in this dress with my fat belly stretching out the fabric,” Colleen pouted.

  “Nonsense, you look wonderfully radiant. I am jealous. Have you had a baby shower? When are you due?”came the typical barrage of questions when one woman meets another who is pregnant.

  Azerick let the two women cluck it up, as he called it when women started rambling on with one another, for a few minutes before interrupting.

  “There was something you wished to see me about, Lady Miranda?” Azerick interrupted.

  “Oh yes, my mother was concerned that you may be trying to undermine her authority and asked me to come up here in the guise of informing you of the winter festival to investigate the disposition of the citizens you led out of the city,” Miranda answered straight-faced.

  Miranda’s guards shifted uncomfortably at her words.

  “Lady Miranda, I fear your frankness makes you a terrible spy,” Azerick informed her.

  Miranda waved it off with the brush of her hand. “The entire thing is preposterous. Captain Brague actually thought you may be using them in some dark ritual to summon demons to take over the city,” Miranda laughed.

  “The captain always was a sharp one. That is why I keep the demons in the basement.”

  Miranda chose to ignore the sorcerer’s sardonic humor. “You did help mother decide she needed to do more for the people this winter so she created soup lines and got many of the homeless off the streets. For that I must thank you profusely.”

  “It is good to see that the threat to her image was sufficient to motivate your mother to do something for the less fortunate,” Azerick said dryly.

  “Azerick, behave!” Colleen scolded him.

  Miranda gave Azerick a reproachful look. “Azerick, you judge my mother too harshly. She has completely drained our coffers to help the people through this winter. She even ordered many of the nobles to volunteer some of their time to help prepare and hand out bread and soup.”

  Miranda laughed gaily at the memory. “You should have seen the looks on their faces when mother called them all in and told them what she required of them. When several of them protested, mother told them they could either serve the soup to the homeless or they could become one of them and wait in line to receive it!”

  Everyone joined Miranda in laughter except Azerick and Jansen, but even they could not help smiling at the image it created.

  “So, was there actually something you wished to tell me concerning the winter festival,” Azerick asked, “or was it entirely a ruse?”

  “I wanted to tell you that the winter festival will not be held until the end of winter due to the late snows and freezing weather. We shall hold the festival to mark the end of winter and the start of spring. The spring festival shall also be pushed back to the end of spring.”

  Miranda’s face dropped dejectedly. “I am afraid that due to an extreme shortage of funds, this year’s winter festival will be a poor example of our usually glorious event. North Haven has always been lauded with having the most spectacular winter festival in the kingdom.”

  “I would imagine that most of the people will find the fact that they did not starve during the winter quite spectacular on its own,” Azerick replied.

  “Azerick, you are so morbid!” Colleen admonished once again. “Festivals are a time of happiness and rejoicing. It lets the people put their hardships to the backs of their minds for a time so they can experience a little joy in their lives. It is often the most miserable and hopeless that benefit the most from such occasions.”

  “Very well said, Colleen,” Miranda smiled graciously. “I was hoping I might see you at the festival, Magus Azerick.”

  Azerick shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe, it is a large city so who knows?”

  “Well, I have delivered my message and performed my intelligence duties for mother. She will be relieved to find that the children are doing well and not about to lay siege to the castle unless it is with snowballs. It was a pleasure to meet you all. Good day, Magus Azerick.”

  Miranda bid them all farewell, disappointed that Azerick either did not catch her hint, or worse, chose to disregard it.

  “Let me walk you out, Miranda,” Colleen offered while shooting daggers with her eyes at Azerick. “I doubt any of the men are capable of such courtesy.”

  The two women walked out of the hall preceded by Miranda’s guards. Azerick watched them depart, seemingly as uninterested in her departure as he was her arrival. He had just taken a bite out of an apple he had been holding the entire time when the chunk suddenly flew out of his mouth as something struck him in the back of his head with a meaty slap.

  “Ow, what the heck was that for?” Azerick cried as he spun towards Rusty, rubbing the back of his head.

  “What in the eight levels of the abyss is wrong with you?” Rusty demanded as he shook his stinging hand.

  “What do you mean? And there are six levels in the abyss, not eight.”

  “They’re making two more just for you. They are called the levels of the hopelessly stupid,” Rusty replied in a ghostly voice and waving his hands.

  “What are you talking about?” Azerick asked irritably.

  “What am I talking about? The most beautiful woman in the kingdom—,”

  “Besides your wife,” Azerick whispered as he saw Colleen coming back through the door.

  “—besides my gorgeous and intelligent wife whom I love more than life itself—thank you,” Rusty replied quietly.

  “No problem, nice save.”

  “—invites you to what is normally the most spectacular festival in the kingdom because she obviously likes you for some unknown reason. Probably due to some dire affliction of the brain brought on by living in this cold for too long.”

  “Rusty, you do not understand,” Azerick told his friend.

  “I think I do, Az. I know what it is to love. Do you think I love Colleen any less than you did Delinda? Do you think that I have not thought what it would be like if something happened to her?” Rusty sincerely asked. “I worry about her and the baby all the time. I also think about how great it is to be with someone I love unconditionally, someone I can confide in and tell
them anything without fear of judgment. To have someone who will follow me unhesitatingly and without complaint to a bitterly cold city far from home with little explanation beyond the fact that a friend needs my help, even though she is far along with child.”

  “But you have that, Rusty!” Azerick cried out in remorse. “I had that and I lost it!”

  Colleen and Rusty both held their friend as he broke down in tears.

  “Yes, Azerick, you did lose it and it hurt terribly. You lost something wonderful, but are you so determined to never find it once more?” Colleen asked through tears of her own.

  Azerick felt several more hands and arms touch him. He looked up and saw Ellyssa, Roger, and several more children pressing in to hug him, to comfort him until there was a huge circle of bodies showing their love and support for him. Azerick looked over the heads of the children and locked eyes with Wolf who was standing a ways away from the rest of them.

  Wolf furrowed his brow as he met Azerick’s gaze. “Don’t look at me, I already saved your life and plucked a hawk for you in the dead of winter. I think we know where we stand.”

  Azerick burst out in laughter at Wolf’s proclamation and kept laughing until his stomach ached. “Thank you, thank you all. Maybe it is time to move on.”

  Colleen dropped her embrace and slugged Rusty in the shoulder. “Nice save, Rusty,” she said mockingly with a smile while Rusty rubbed his bruised shoulder.

  Three days later, Colleen arranged a memorial for Delinda to give Azerick a chance to say a proper farewell. Allister created a statue using a stone form spell dedicated to her memory. The statue was of a woman, although it looked nothing like Delinda, which was not the intent. The woman held a child in her arms, her expression showing hope, strength, determination, and most of all love, and that captured Delinda’s spirit better than anything could.

  “It is marvelous, Allister,” Azerick told the magus.

  “Well, when you have lived as long as I have you pick up a hobby or go mad.” Allister responded in his gruff old voice. “But thank you, son, I appreciate it.”

  ***

  The dark form flitted from shadow to shadow without making a sound. Most people avoided the streets at night but not him. He was a creature of the night. The dark held no secrets and even fewer dangers for one such as him. He was what terrified those who caused everyone else to fear the dark streets of Southport.

  He was of the shadows more than simply in the shadows. Not even the snow dared betray him by crunching under his soft-soled feet. Dogs that barked into the night quieted when they sensed him near lest they attract his attention. He was the Rook, he was death given physical form to walk unseen among mortals.

  This night found him in the wealthy noble’s district, which lay in the shadows of the castle of Southport as well as the prestigious Academy. The Rook scaled the elaborate wrought iron fence and its sharply pointed pickets with contemptuous ease. Most would call any man a fool who would dare assail the home of some of the most powerful wizards in Valaria. The Rook was no fool nor was he just any man, if man he even was. No one really knew and no one dared ask.

  He checked the door and found it strongly warded and locked. Neither really posed much of a challenge for him, but removing them always contained a small risk of exposure and the Rook never took unnecessary risks. He was the consummate professional. He did not boast, nor fall victim to his own ego trying to do something just for the sake of doing it. Murder was a business and he was the best in the business. That was not a boast nor a claim but simply a fact.

  The Rook saw the warm glow of a lamp through the window of the very room he sought. Excellent, he preferred it when they were awake. It generally caused less confusion and the victim did not waste his precious time. He hated it when people wasted his time.

  The dark form chose a side of the tall tower that was opposite any street lamps, pressed his hands onto the smooth stone surface of the wall, and began scrambling up the face with the ease of a gecko. Right hand and left foot rose in tandem, pulling and pushing the lithe figure up the wall then repeated the movement with the opposite pair of limbs. The Rook climbed higher and higher until he could see the lamps burning on some of the ships anchored in the bay. Still higher, he climbed without a hint of fatigue.

  Within a minute, he clung to the wall just below the window of the room he desired, some one hundred feet above the dark cobblestones. He raised himself just high enough to peer over the ledge and look through the glass into the room beyond. Excellent, the wizard was still working at his desk with his back to the window. Had he used the door, even with his skills, he would have been hard pressed to enter the room unseen.

  The Rook detected another strong ward upon the window but that was of little consequence. With a wave of his hand and a few whispered words, the ward unraveled with a stealth that few could mimic. The wizard failed to notice the destruction of his protective ward from just a few feet away. Nor did he hear the sound of the window opening just behind him. The Rook’s own magic kept any stray breeze from blowing into the room thus alerting the wizard as he worked. It also prevented him from hearing the assassin step through the opening and onto the floor, not that he would have made any noise without the spell.

  The wizard was no novice however. Far from it, he was the master of this school and one of the most respected, if not powerful, wizards in the kingdom. He raised his eyes from the book before him as he felt the Rook’s magical sphere of silence wash over him. His reaction was precisely what the Rook expected of one so well practiced in the arts. His relatively short but wide-bladed knife slipped instantly under the wizard’s throat, just above the Adam’s apple.

  Headmaster Dondrian froze immediately as the wickedly curved, razor-sharp blade cut through the first layer of skin, just enough to create a hair thin red line against his white flesh. He felt the sphere of silence disappear and heard the smooth deadly voice whisper in his ear.

  “One of your instructors left here not long ago. Why is that?” the Rook smoothly asked.

  “How dare you invade my sanctum like this?” Dondrian hissed. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Of course I do, and I could care less. Now answer the question,” the assassin ordered without raising his voice or changing his tone in the slightest.

  The headmaster hissed as the blade parted the next thin layer of skin. “I know who you are, Rook, and I know your masters. Do not think they will not hear of this outrage!”

  If the wizard could see behind him and perceive anything of the Assassin’s face other than the cold blue eyes under his dark hood, he would see the Rook’s humorless smile. “You mistake my affiliation with having some sort of authority over me. I have no Master, Wizard. Now answer the question.”

  All remaining bluster fled from the wizard as the blade parted another layer of skin and he felt the trickle of blood run down his neck. “Allister, you mean Magus Allister. He went on sabbatical,” Dondrian quickly answered.

  “Why did he go?”

  “I don’t know, he did not say, I swear!”

  “There is no need to swear. I know if you are lying to me. The truth is right here in the veins and arties that, for now, carries the vitally important blood to and from that thing you call a brain. How long did he say he was going to be gone?”

  The head master tried to swallow but the knife to his throat made it unwise. “He did not say. He just said he would be gone for an indefinite period of time.”

  “You do not seem to have much control of your wizards, Headmaster. Do none of them confide in you?” the Rook asked in his sinister tone.

  “Only Allister, he has always done as he pleases. He is jealous of my position and flouts my authority!”

  “I am sure,” the Rook patronized. “Did anyone else leave the school recently?”

  “Some of the magus left for their homes while the school is closed as well as most of the students. There is one student that Allister often spoke to,” Dondrian suddenly recalled. “His nam
e is Franklin Cossington. He said he would not be returning to the school, at least for a while. His father is one of the duke’s finance ministers.”

  “And how long ago did Franklin leave?”

  “Maybe two weeks after Allister did. He said he had to go north on some personal business. That is all I know, I swear!”

  “What is their connection to a young wizard by the name of Azerick?”

  “Azerick, what has he to do with any of this?” Dondrian asked. “Ah, I think I see now.”

  “No, you do not,” the Rook emphasized his statement with a bit more pressure of his blade.

  “Allister sponsored the boy’s admission into The Academy and Franklin was his dorm mate and good friend from all accounts.”

  Dondrian waited several moments for the Rook to ask another question but only felt a breeze on the back of his neck. He tentatively raised a hand to find that the blade was no longer at his throat even though he would swear he could still feel its merciless bite. The headmaster spun about to find nothing but the open window behind him.

  He darted his head out then back in, fearful that the assassin was right outside the window ready to finish him with that devilishly sharp blade of his. Dondrian saw nothing on his quick glimpse and looked out the window more deliberately but saw nothing beyond streetlamps and shadows.

  The headmaster closed his window, reset his useless wards, and dropped back down into his plush leather chair. He picked up the book he had been reading and saw that his hands were shaking so badly it made the text swim about in his eyes. The headmaster hurled the book at the wall and cursed bitterly.

  The Rook hurried down the well-lit streets of the wealthy district, passing several roaming guard patrols yet not one even caught so much as a glimpse of the deadly assassin. He crouched in the shadows of a large hedgerow that grew just inside the wrought iron-topped stone wall of one of the smaller manors just a few minutes after the short detour he had taken after he had departed The Academy grounds.