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

by Brock Deskins

  The Rook waited patiently as another patrol marched past him not more than ten feet away. He waited a full minute for the patrol to move further down the street before climbing up and over the low wall with the same ease of grace that he displayed at The Academy. Without a second’s hesitation, the Rook sprang from the top of the wall and beyond the thick hedge to land in the shadow of an evergreen plant some twenty feet beyond the wall.

  He paused to examine his surroundings to make a mental map of the route he planned to use then flitted from shadow to shadow until he reached the side of the spacious house. The Rook crouched below a shuttered window on the first floor and took stock of his surroundings once more to ensure there was no one about that might catch a glimpse of him.

  He stood up, slipped a slim blade between the shutters, and released the catch. The assassin repeated his actions with the glass-paned window on the other side and slipped silently into what appeared to be a sitting room. He crossed the floor and peered through the crack of the door before gliding across the marble floor of the reception hall.

  The merciless killer paused at the foot of the sweeping staircase and listened for any sounds of movement within the house before cautiously creeping up the stairs. The stairs were often a thief or assassin’s greatest source of trouble. The squeaking of a loose step has caused the failure, and even the downfall, of more than one intruder. The Rook was nearly three quarters of the way up the staircase when he found the loose board, but he lifted his foot back off it before it had a chance to betray him.

  He extended his leg over the problem step and gained the second floor landing a moment later. The assassin paused once again to listen and observe his surroundings. He identified the door that should belong to the master bedroom and flowed like a ghost down the hall. The Rook could hear the deep, steady breathing of sleeping forms just beyond the door. He tried the handle, and finding that it was unlocked, gently pushed the door open feeling for the slightest bit of resistance that preceded a squeaking hinge.

  The doors were well constructed and balanced, opening without a sound. The Rook stepped into the room, closed the door behind him, and strode across the room. He could clearly see the two forms that occupied the bed halfway across the large room. The closest form was rather large and breathed heavily. The other was much slimmer but nearly as tall.

  The assassin walked unconcernedly to the far side of the bed where the tall, slender form of Rusty’s mother slept peacefully and moved a chair next to the bed. He sprinkled a pinch of fine sand over her and whispered the words of an incantation. Another quick spell and wave of his hand lit the oil lamp resting on the nightstand next to Rusty’s father.

  The Rook let out a sigh of annoyance when the sudden light failed to wake the man. This was one of the many differences between a sheep and a wolf in the assassin’s mind. The assassin plucked a small stone from one of the many pockets sewn to the inside of his cloak and bounced it squarely off George’s prominent forehead.

  Lord Cossington’s eyes fluttered open, first looking to the lit lamp flickering next to him then to his wife where he saw the black-garbed assassin. George stifled a gasp of surprise, which would have immediately been followed by a bellow of outrage, as the Rook lifted a finger to where his lips would be if they were visible while caressing the exposed throat of his wife with the back of a heavy curved blade.

  “Cooperate, Lord Cossington, and you and your wife might just survive this visit,” the Rook told the angry and frightened lord.

  “I am one of Duke Ulric’s ministers,” George informed the intruder. “The magistrate will not rest until he catches you if anything happens to me or my wife!”

  “You lords all sound alike. Death does not give a wit about the rank structures of mortals. You all die, some old, some young, some natural, and some by design so save your threats, they are meaningless to me.”

  “What do you want and what have you done to my wife?” George demanded in a harsh whisper knowing his wife was a light sleeper.

  “She is simply sleeping. There was no need for her to take part in our friendly little conversation. Women can be so over reactive when awakened abruptly. So much so that I am forced to silence them just as abruptly. As to what I want, I would simply like to know where your son, Franklin, ran off to in the middle of this rather severe winter.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Lord Cossington lied.

  The Rook gave George a look of disdain. “Come now, Lord Cossington. You know full well that your son left the city some two weeks ago and headed north, of all directions, deeper into even harsher climes. Why would he do that?”

  George shook his head. “I don’t know, he said he wanted a change of scenery.”

  The assassin flipped the blade of his knife around so the razor-sharp edge was now resting on Lady Cossington’s white throat. “George, may I call you George? George, please remember what I said about the two of you living through our conversation. Your lies will make that very hard for me to help you do just that. Now, where is your son?”

  “We would both die before we betrayed our son, you soulless bastard!” George declared with vitriol.

  “What a noble sentiment and I am certain you mean every word of it. It is fortunate for us all then that it is not your son I seek. I have no intent to harm Franklin, so there is no need for your obstinate behavior. It is a young wizard by the name of Azerick that I seek. Did Franklin depart to see his friend?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know why he left nor do I know where he went. We fought and angry words were exchanged. Franklin said he wanted to get away from me,” George told the Rook.

  “Again with the lies. We are both gentlemen, George, lies do not become us,” the Rook said as he made a small pinprick at the base of the woman’s throat.

  Seeing the tiny bead of blood well up from the prick fractured George’s resolve. “How do I know you are not going to kill my son?”

  The assassin smiled within the dark confines of his hood. “I give you my word on it, if that gives you confidence, which it probably does not because you do not believe a man in my profession understands such a thing. It makes me laugh when men like you think you are so morally superior. I am honest in my dealings, far more so than most all so-called nobles. There is no greater truth than death. So if it calms your fears, be content with the knowledge that I do not intend to harm your son simply for the fact that I have not been paid to.”

  “What kind of assurance is that, from a murderer?” George asked.

  The man in black shrugged his shoulders. “For one, I am not a murderer. Murderers are oafs and buffoons who kill out of anger or for the sheer pleasure of it. I am an assassin. It is simply business. I would no more kill someone unnecessarily that I was not paid to than a ship’s captain would transport a merchant’s goods at no charge.

  “I believe your son went to see his long lost friend somewhere to the north. You will tell me his destination so that I do not have to waste my time searching every town and city between here and the northern outposts. I have already been paid to kill this wizard, so his death is imminent. Now where did he go?” the Rook asked again, raising another tiny bead of blood on the woman’s throat.

  “He went to North Haven,” George capitulated. “Franklin never told me who he was going to see,” he said despondently.

  He felt wretched telling this man anything and he meant it when he said he would die before turning on his son, but he could not jeopardize his wife’s life for a young man he had only met once.

  “There, that was not so hard was it?” The Rook asked silkily. “How did your son find out the whereabouts of his friend?”

  George shook his head again. “A message was delivered by some strange hand-crafted bird. I did not read it but it must have told Franklin where he was, if it was his friend that sent it.”

  A magical construct of some kind; this was excellent news. Only a wizard would be able to fashion such a device and that greatly narrowed th
e odds that Franklin did indeed go to see his target. Now what was he to do with this man?

  “I want you to lay back and relax, Lord Cossington. Do not attempt to resist what I am about to do.” The Rook reached into his cloak and pulled out another pinch of sand and a small piece of mushroom from a fairy ring. “You will fall back asleep and remember nothing of my visit or our conversation,” The assassin said as he rolled the two items between his thumb and forefinger and uttered the incantation.

  The lord fell back against his pillow and slept. The Rook left the room with the sound of George’s deep breathing behind him. Within minutes, he found himself back on the snowy streets, darting from shadow to shadow. He would not hazard the journey north at this time of year, particularly with the amount of snowfall they had experienced thus far. The seas were especially rough even staying close to the land and few if any ships would be heading north for weeks at the soonest. From what he garnered from his quick trip past Franklin Cossington’s home, it looked as though he and his wife planned to be gone for quite some time so there was no hurry.

  George awoke to find his wife still sleeping soundly next to him even though it appeared that the sun had been up for at least an hour. It was not unusual for him to sleep past sunup but his wife had always awakened the moment the fiery orb broke the horizon. George swung his legs over the side of the large, canopied bed and slipped his feet into his house slippers. With a puzzled look, he removed his left slipper from his foot and dug for the object he felt inside it with his foot.

  “What is it, George?” his wife asked behind him having woken up at his movement.

  “There was small pebble in my slipper. I wonder how that managed to get there,” Lord Cossington said as he held the smooth little stone between his fingers.

  Lady Cossington sat up, rubbed at a point of irritation on her throat, and saw a bit of dried blood on her fingers.

  “I must have scratched myself in my sleep last night,” She said as she rubbed the irritated pinprick.

  CHAPTER 11

  The snow was still thick on the ground thanks to winter’s last-ditch attempt to claim at least half of the year for itself by sending in a final winter storm. Winter’s efforts were finally thwarted when the sun burned away the dark clouds and brightened the land. Standing under any of the snow-covered trees was akin to standing out in a rainstorm as the snow melted the frozen shroud.

  The streets were crowded with winter festivalgoers. The small army of homeless children ran amok in small groups as they always did when the streets were packed with patrons ready to spend money on the festivities. However, this year few of the street rats were lifting purses or pilfering food from the street vendors since Azerick had given all in his care their own bit of spending money so they could actually enjoy the shows instead of working the streets.

  Azerick could sense the mood of the crowd as he, Rusty, Colleen, and Jansen, who glared at everyone that jostled or bumped the pregnant woman, walked amongst the crowd. He could tell that the people’s festive gaiety was forced.

  There was a shortage of food, few entertainers that lived outside the city were able or willing to make the journey, and although Miranda did her best to decorate Festival Park, the shortage of funds created a rather paltry display.

  Azerick and his party stepped out of the streets and into Festival Park where jongleurs and acrobats performed their stunts, musicians played their instruments, and actors put on plays. They found Miranda and the Duchess judging ice sculptures and handing out prizes to the winners. Miranda smiled grandly as she looped the beribboned medal around the winners’ necks but her smile fell as soon as she turned around and walked back to the raised platform where she and her mother sat in plush, gilded chairs to watch over the festivities.

  Lady Miranda caught Azerick’s eyes and made a detour towards him and his friends.

  “Magus, I am glad to see you not only made it to the festival but managed to run into me even though it is such a large city. It would seem the odds favor me today,” Miranda needled the sorcerer.

  Azerick smiled sheepishly at the barb. “I suppose I deserve that, Lady. I wish to apologize for my less than genteel behavior.”

  Miranda smiled warmly finding it impossible to pretend to be mean or angry. “It is all right, I understand, Magus Azerick.”

  “I doubt that you truly do, but it was not all right regardless, rudeness rarely is,” Azerick responded sincerely. “And please, just call me Azerick.”

  “Colleen, it is nice to see you again, you look radiant,” Miranda greeted and gave Colleen a quick hug before welcoming Rusty and Jansen.

  “You look even more spectacular today, Miranda. I have never before seen such a gown,” Colleen told Miranda in admiration of her winter fest dress.

  The ensemble was made of several layers of blue, white, and light blue silks and lace, flowing widely over the hips. The tight-sleeved kirtle continued the design with puffy silk covering the shoulders. The most remarkable aspect of the gown was the hundreds of pearl-sized crystals sewn into the fabric that glittered like ice crystals when the sun struck them.

  “Thank you, Colleen; I would gladly trade it though if it would bring back the usual splendor of the festival. I fear this year is a very poor example of itself,” Miranda replied sullenly.

  “Perhaps something will happen to improve the mood and atmosphere of the holiday, perhaps even setting it apart from the previous in a positive manner,” Azerick told Miranda.

  Before she could ask the sorcerer what he meant, Duchess Mellina approached the group. “Magus Azerick, how good of you to come. I assume these are your guests?”

  “Your Grace, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Colleen greeted anxiously and did her best to curtsy.

  “For goodness sake, child, stand up straight. A woman in your condition does not need to indulge in that kind of foolishness, especially in this slippery snowmelt,” Mellina admonished but in a friendly manner. “I hope that having a proper Lady about will rub off on the magus and make him a proper gentleman.”

  “I do work diligently to do so, Your Grace, no matter how hard he seems to resist,” Colleen answered with a smile.

  “Magus Azerick, I feel I must thank you for what you have done for my less fortunate citizens,” the Duchess told Azerick.

  “Well, if you feel you must,” Azerick replied with a wry smile.

  Duchess Mellina pursed her lips wondering if the sorcerer was teasing her. “It was a noble act taking in so many of our city’s poor souls. I wonder what you plan to do with them now.”

  “Well, we have spent the winter educating them in various subjects and thought to apprentice some of them to several of the skilled laborers once work resumes on the keep,” Azerick answered.

  “An interesting proposal, Magus. So do you plan to house the children and young men and women indefinitely?”

  “Until they are ready to make their own way in the world I suppose.”

  “Orphanages and schools for the poor are usually financed by the state. What is it you are going to want from me, Magus Azerick?” the duchess asked suspiciously.

  “Absolutely nothing, Your Grace. I am sufficiently able to take care of the details and expenses with the help of my friends and those that I hire.”

  “It costs an exorbitant amount of money to finance such a school as you propose. I hope you will forgive my rudeness, but how is it that a man as young as you came into such a fortune?”

  “Mother, you know it is not proper to ask someone that kind of question,” Miranda chided her mother.

  “No, it is not, but I have a responsibility to my people to protect them and if that requires me to ask rude questions then so be it,” Mellina returned curtly.

  “If you are concerned that I am a slaver, please be rest assured, Your Grace, I am not.”

  “Did you come into a large inheritance then?”

  “No, if you must know I killed the original owner of my fortune and took it for myself,” Azerick replied wi
th another wry smile.

  The Duchess pursed her lips again and narrowed her eyes. “Are you mocking me, Magus? That is something I would not recommend.”

  “I would not dream of such a thing, Your Grace.”

  “Very well, Magus, I shall take you at your word that your actions are benevolent and I do offer whatever support I can for your school. It is my citizens who are benefiting from it after all. Good day, Magus, Lady Colleen.”

  The Duchess inclined her head in farewell to each of Azerick’s guests and departed.

  “Azerick, you should not tease mother like that, she lacks the humor for it,” Miranda warned.

  “Who said I was joking?” Azerick asked, cocking his head and raising his eyebrows. “Rusty and I and Magus Allister worked on something that we thought might make the festival more enjoyable.”

  “What is it? Is it something magical?” Miranda asked excitedly.

  “Something like that, yes,” Azerick answered and pulled a scroll out of the inside pocket of his cloak. “You all may wish to stand back for a moment,” the sorcerer advised as he unfurled the scroll.

  Everyone took a couple steps back as Azerick and Rusty began reading the words of magic off the scrolls they each held. Miranda and those not familiar with magic watched in amazement as the words burned away as each was read aloud. When the final word vanished, Azerick and Rusty threw their hands into the air with almost perfect symmetry and released bolt after bolt of brilliant streaks of light that burst in spectacular displays hundreds of feet over the heads of the people that stared up at the sky in wonder.

  Instead of the bright sparkles falling back down towards the ground that each bursting flare created, they zipped about like massive swarms of fireflies before converging into the shapes of dozens of luminous, armored swordsmen tens of feet tall. The swordsmen were obviously of two opposing forces as they ran across the sky and engaged in a furious battle.