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

by Brock Deskins

  Hell’s Legion charged the Valarian forces with a loud battle cry, waving their curved swords over their heads. Duke Ulric’s pikemen knelt, seated the butts of their long spears into the ground, and braced them with their foot. Archers stood behind the pike formation and knocked arrows in anticipation of the mercenaries’ charge.

  As the charging invaders rode into range, the archers loosed their deadly swarms of arrows. Dozens of riders fell from their mounts or hung loose in their saddles as the dark rain of blunted shafts fell into their ranks. A second volley brought down scores more before the archers had to step back and allow the swordsmen to come forward. The remaining Hell’s Legion riders pulled up on their reins as they came into range of the pikemen and fell to the ground, many pulling their horses down with them and trying their best to lay still.

  To the people of Edmonton watching a mile away, it appeared that the pikemen and archers had slain a number of the invaders and now the swordsmen and spearmen were engaged in a vicious battle. A bugle call announced the charge of Ulric’s own smaller force of cavalry as they burst from the wood line and crashed into Kayne’s flank.

  Kayne shouted for retreat and his bugler sounded the order on his horn. Ulric’s cavalry gave chase while his other men cleaned up the battlefield, stacking the “dead” in wagons and tying up any they captured. Duke Ulric and a small contingent of cavalry rode towards the town proudly displaying the Duke’s colors.

  Above the wailing of women and children, Duke Ulric heard the cheering of men. One man separated himself from the crowd. His clothing was of decent quality but torn and bloodstained.

  “Duke Ulric, is that you?” the man asked looking from the Duke’s standard to his face.

  “Yes, citizen, it is I who has liberated your town and driven off the godless barbarians,” Duke Ulric proclaimed loudly.

  “Your Grace, I thank the gods you and your men arrived when they did, but what are you doing out here? We are under Lord William’s rule and far from your borders,” the man said, a little confused.

  “I consider all Valarians my people and when word reached me that outsiders had invaded our lands and were plundering and murdering my people, I set out to send them all to Sharrellan,” Ulric replied grandly.

  Duke Ulric basked in the praises of the people of Edmonton as they cheered him and his men even as they mourned those who had fallen. His pursuing cavalry returned to Edmonton perhaps an hour later and declared that they had slain at least half of the raiders before the rest scattered and fled once more.

  “Fear not, citizens, my men have slain and driven off the host of vile raiders and I shall not rest until all of our enemies are gone or dead and our borders secure,” the Duke of Southport declared as he led his men out of the town amidst the cheers of the people.

  Ulric and his troops rode for an hour before the “dead” men sat up in the wagons that brought up the rear of the column. Kayne’s men remounted their horses while Ulric’s infantry fell into formation and marched along with their fellows. There were still a few men who did not get out of the wagons. Even in a mock battle like the one they had performed there were bound to be casualties.

  Three hours after the mixed army left Edmonton, they pulled off the road and traveled up an old woodcutter’s path. After traversing two miles of the rough narrow path, they came upon a large clearing cut in the small but densely packed trees that grew in abundance in this region. Three hundred horses were picketed at the far end of the clearing while an equal number of men sat gathered around dozens of small campfires.

  Kayne swaggered over to meet the leader of the incoming army as his men in the Duke’s company tied their horses up alongside the others and joined their comrades around their fires.

  “Congratulations on your great victory, Your Grace,” Kayne humorously greeted the Duke. “I hope your people were properly grateful for their deliverance.”

  Ulric smiled down at the mercenary leader. “They were at that, Kayne. My sincerest appreciation to you and your men for performing their roles with exceptional competence. I realize that we are unlikely to be spotted out here, but I would recommend we post sentries just in case.”

  “Fear not, Ulric, my men are in place,” the mercenary leader smiled proudly.

  Duke Ulric narrowed his brows, perplexed. “I did not see any posted along the trail leading up here.”

  “A good thing, if you had I would have had them executed. I noted several empty saddles. I assume there were real casualties?” Kayne observed.

  “There were. Two of your men failed to pull up in time and took a pike to the chest, three broke some bones falling or pulling their horses down. Five of my own men failed to block a stroke or got trampled and several others sustained injuries but will live. When all is said and done, the casualty count was remarkably low.”

  “Even counting the men I lost to the defenders’ crossbows, my losses were light. If only all my battles resulted in so few wounded, I would conquer my own nation,” Kayne laughed loudly. “Come, those cow herders had some surprisingly good alcohol I would share with you.”

  The men ate field rations while they passed around bottles of looted alcohol to celebrate their victory. Ulric and Kayne sat with a few of their officers discussing strategy.

  “What is our next move, Ulric?” Kayne asked as he took a pull from the bottle of strong spirits before he passed it to the duke.

  Duke Ulric tilted the bottle back but plugged the mouth with his tongue and passed it to one of his officers. “You and your men will sack the homes around Brightridge herself. I have a man on the inside that is going to create a great deal of confusion for those in the castle. It will be a repeat performance of what we did today but the battle will be within sight of the castle walls.”

  Kayne looked thoughtfully as he ran the plan through his mind. “What happens if William sends his own men after us? He has a rather formidable force.”

  “There will be too much confusion within Brightridge to form a cohesive plan. William and his chamberlain will both be dead and in the ensuing chaos, you will strike. My men will drive you away just as we did today. Without William to lead them and speak against me, my victory will win over the people of Brightridge whose support is vital to my success.”

  “Are you confident of your man’s ability to kill both the duke and his chamberlain?”

  “Absolutely, the man I hired does not fail. Of that you need have no fear,” Ulric assured his accomplice.

  “There won’t be much plunder in this raid. It’s one thing to lose men when there is a profit involved, but neither my men nor I care to risk our lives even in a mock battle for nothing more than burning a few farms,” Kayne informed the duke.

  Ulric smiled reassuringly at the mercenary. “Fear not, my good Kayne. The next little ruse will make it all worthwhile, I assure you. You and your men stand to make a very tidy sum in the coming weeks.”

  “I’ll drink to that!” Kayne shouted as the bottle came back around to him.

  ***

  Allister opened the door and took the missive from the young man that delivered it, tipped him well, and broke the wax seal.

  “Azerick!” the old wizard shouted once he read the letter.”

  A moment later, the sorcerer appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the basement level.

  “What is it, Allister?” Azerick asked his old mentor.

  “I just received this letter insisting that you appear before the Duchess immediately. Apparently you had some kind of altercation with some nobleman,” Allister replied.

  “I have gotten into several altercations with these so-called noblemen; you will have to be more specific.”

  “Apparently this happened a few days ago,” the magus answered.

  Azerick scratched his head and thought. “You still need to be more specific.”

  “Gads, lad, how many nobles have you gotten into squabbles with in the past week?”

  Azerick closed his eyes and counted off on his fing
ers as he recalled the events. “Four,” Azerick supplied after a moment of deliberation.

  Allister shook his head and mumbled something that the sorcerer could not quite make out. “Does the name Lord Ebenezer Crowley ring any bells?” Allister paused a moment. “Isn’t that the dog’s name?”

  “Yes, but he was not the original. The original Lord Crowley is a much more repulsive creature.”

  “Son, you cannot go and fight every lord that looks at you wrong. You need to go clear this up with the Duchess. I just hope she does not have you locked up,” Allister told him in exasperation.

  “I don’t think so, Magus, I was in the right this time,” Azerick assured him.

  “You always think you are in the right!”

  “Yeah, but this time he really deserved what he got. I guess I may as well go now,” Azerick told Allister.

  Lord Crowley, the cur, rested by the fire and was loath to move, but Azerick insisted that he was a material witness and made him get up and follow him into North Haven. Azerick and the mangy mutt, who still smelled but not nearly as foul, entered the castle and were escorted to the Duchess’s audience chamber. The guards tried to insist that the dog stay outside but Azerick insisted that he was necessary for his defense.

  “Good gods, what is that thing?” Duchess Mellina asked as Azerick and the dog walked down the green and gold strip of carpet that led to the base of the dais.

  “It is a dog, Your Grace,” Azerick answered.

  “I see that, Magus. What is it doing here?”

  “He is part of the reason I am here so I thought it prudent to bring him.”

  “That is the one! That is the man that cast his foul sorceries upon me and caused my own men to bludgeon me nearly to death!” Lord Crowley shrilly declared as he entered the audience chamber and stood next to Azerick and the four-legged Lord Crowley.

  The lord’s head was wrapped in heavy gauss and one arm was in a sling.

  “Did you use your magic on Lord Crowley?” the Duchess asked.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Azerick answered.

  “Did we not have a similar discussion a few weeks ago regarding your using magic against my people?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Azerick again answered.

  “Then why are we having this discussion again?”

  “His men, upon his order, threatened me with bodily harm and I defended myself,” Azerick calmly explained.

  “Is this true, Lord Crowley?” the Duchess asked.

  “He insulted me and my family name, Your Grace! I simply instructed my men to teach him respect for his betters,” the nobleman defended.

  “How is it that the magus insulted you?”

  “He named that miserable beast after me!” he accused, pointing at the dog.

  The Duchess looked from Lord Crowley to the dog and then at Azerick. “What is the dog’s name, magus?”

  “Lord Ebenezer Crowley, Your Grace,” Azerick replied with smile.

  Miranda covered her mouth with her hand to hide the smile that crept upon her face.

  “You see, he even admits it!” Crowley cried.

  “Why did you name the dog after Lord Crowley?”

  “He nearly ran me down with his coach, endangering everyone on the streets, and when his driver crashed the coach into a fountain, cursed and insulted me. I felt the name appropriate given his unpleasant disposition,” Azerick explained.”

  The Duchess gave the sorcerer a withering look. “Magus, Ebenezer Crowley is a horrible name for that disgusting beast. It is rude and completely unacceptable and you should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “I completely agree, Your Grace but I fail to see how I can be held responsible. Should his parents not be the one’s held accountable?” Azerick asked straight-faced.

  “I am talking about the dog!” Duchess Mellina forced through clenched teeth.

  Miranda had to press her hand firmly against her lips to keep from laughing aloud.

  Captain Brague stepped forward from the side of the dais with a loud screech. “Your Grace, he is making a mockery of you and your court. Allow me to show him to the dungeons.”

  “Stand down, Captain, I am perfectly capable of maintaining order in my hall. Magus Azerick, you will apologize to Lord Crowley at once. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Certainly, Your Grace but do you think such an ugly, stupid, and disgusting creature would even understand, much less appreciate, such a gesture?” Azerick asked in all seriousness.

  The Duchess’s face colored and her voice strained. “I am talking about that Lord Crowley,” she seethed, jabbing a finger at the nobleman, “not the dog.”

  Azerick held his arms slightly out with the palms facing forward. “As was I, Your Grace,” Azerick said innocently with a wink at Miranda.

  Lady Miranda lost her battle and retreated behind the thrones, wrapped herself up in the heavy blue drapes covering the wall, and laughed hysterically.

  “How dare you mock the Duchess?” Captain Brague shouted, his armor squealing its own protest.

  “You see, Your Grace, even now he insults me before your august presence!” Lord Crowley cried shrilly.

  “Enough!” the Duchess screamed in outrage. “Magus Azerick, if you wink at my daughter while in my hall again I will remove the offending eye! Lord Crowley, I have received numerous complaints from my citizens regarding your mistreatment and dangerous driving. Those shall both cease or I will have your coach and every horse you own confiscated so you will have to walk like everyone else!”

  The infuriated Duchess turned almost sideways on her throne and glared at Captain Brague. “And you, Captain, will repair that gods-awful armor or I will have you dressed in motley! It sounds like a wild hog being impaled up its backside by a boar spear! Magus, you will stop magicking my citizens whenever you find them unpleasant! Now everyone get out of my hall!”

  Lord Crowley departed with the help of a servant as Captain Brague came and took Azerick by the elbow to personally escort him out, his armor screeching painfully with every step. Miranda unrolled herself from the curtain and dabbed her tearing eyes with a kerchief.

  “Quite frankly, Miranda, I fail to understand what you see in that infuriating young man. I swear he will drive me to an early grave,” the Duchess said to her daughter, trying to massage out her headache.

  “Oh come now, Mother, everyone is gone now. You cannot tell me that you did not find at least a small amount of amusement in that discourse.”

  A slight smile spread across Mellina’s stony face. “Well, perhaps a little, but don’t you dare tell anyone.”

  Captain Brague escorted the infuriating sorcerer down the halls toward the exit. “You may think you are above the laws of this city, but let me assure you that you are not. Take justice into your own hands again and I will have you brought up on charges. How dare you mock the Duchess and her court!”

  The pair stopped in the anteroom just inside the large double doors leading out. “I am on to you, wizard. You may have everyone else fooled with your acts of kindness, but I know a power play when I see one and I will not let you get away with it. Cross me or the Duchess and I will see you pay dearly for it!”

  “Well, nice talking to you again, Captain. Good luck with that armor,” Azerick said with a finger-twittering wave of farewell.

  The captain stared with hatred in his eyes at Azerick’s retreating form. He turned around just in time to see Lady Miranda step into the anteroom.

  “Captain Brague, has the magus left already?” she asked.

  “Thankfully yes, My Lady,” Brague answered.

  Miranda gave a small sniff in the air and hastily covered her nose with the kerchief. “Captain Brague, at least have the decency to step outside to do that!” Miranda castigated.

  Captain Brague’s face flushed scarlet as the foul smell reached his nose as well. “My Lady, I assure you it was not me,” the Captain insisted. “It must have been that wretched mongrel the magus had with him.”

  “Rea
lly, Captain, the dog? I would expect better than excuses from you,” Miranda told him and walked away, hiding her smile with her handkerchief.

  Great acts of violence passed through the Captain’s head about what he would like to do to that wizard and his dog. He took a step forward and suddenly realized his armor was no longer making that horrid din. Captain Brague smiled in relief and began walking out of the anteroom when he heard the sound of tiny bells and stopped to listen.

  A great feeling of trepidation stole over him as he took another step and heard the tinkling of small bells that sounded a great deal like the bells of a jester. Brague stomped angrily down the hall, the jingling of tiny bells marking every step.

  ***

  After several days of hard riding, the assassin reached the walls of Brightridge. The Rook did not go through the main gates; he never did. He tied his exhausted horse in a thicket about a mile from the gates. He would pay a stableboy to retrieve it once he was inside the city just as he had paid one to take the horse out of Southport to await his departure.

  The assassin timed his arrival so he would reach the city well after dark. He stayed within the stands of scattered trees as he made his way around to the least trafficked side of the city walls with the smallest amount of open ground he had to cross.

  The Rook was soon standing in the shadow of the eastern wall. He waited with the patience of a master hunter, learning the schedule of the roving patrols atop the high walls. After nearly two hours sitting perfectly still, he embraced the base of the sixty-foot high wall and began climbing as easily as if he were using a ladder.

  Once he reached the top, the assassin peered between the crenellations and listened for any sounds of approach before stepping between the protrusions, crossing the wide walkway, and slipping over the far side. He climbed down the inside of the wall every bit as easily as he had scaled the outside and was soon crouching at the wall’s base. Once more, the Rook waited for any signs of roving patrols before darting from shadow to shadow and quickly making his way down the streets of the city.