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

by Brock Deskins

  Azerick’s mind reeled as he tried to process the fact that a twin he never knew existed was trying to kill him. Even the clothes looked to be the same from what he could tell in the gloomy room.

  The assassin took advantage of Azerick’s temporary distraction and hooked a foot behind the sorcerer’s heel, tripping him to the floor. The killer landed atop his struggling target and slowly forced the sharp blade down towards Azerick’s throat.

  Azerick released his grip with his left hand in a wild gambit, hoping to keep the blade from slicing into his neck with only the strength of his right arm pitted against the stronger arms of his attacker. He only needed a second and that was about all the time he was going to get.

  Azerick called his staff to his hand and grasped it in a short grip just below the arcanum sphere. He mentally forced the orb to elongate into a twelve-inch spear tip and thrust it deep into his twin’s side. The assassin’s mouth gaped open impossibly wide, letting out an inhuman screech of pain.

  With a thought, one of the many runes engraved onto the staff flared brightly, releasing a massive surge of power through the spear tip. With a clap of thunder, pieces of the assassin’s entrails blew completely out if his left side making a wet, sickening slap as they struck the wall and dropped onto the floor in a reeking, smoking pile.

  A hesitant knocking sounded at his door followed by the voice of the woman that ran the boarding house.

  “Master Giles, I heard a commotion. Are you all right? Should I call the watch?”

  Azerick rolled the very dead body off him, staggered to a chair, and sat down heavily. “No need, madam. Everything is fine.”

  He reached into the special pockets sewn into his cloak, plucked out a small metal vial, and drank the contents after he pulled the cork out with his teeth and spat it onto the floor. He waited as the healing potion made his wounds itch as they knitted together. After a couple minutes, he popped a second potion and drank it down as well.

  Azerick sat in the chair, forcing himself to steady his breathing and waited for his heart to quit racing. Once he felt in control once more, he conjured a bright white light and went to examine his twin. The man on the floor was his exact copy, down to the scar on the top of his head usually concealed by his hair. Even the man’s clothes were nearly identical as if he had purposely purchased them to match his own, which he almost certainly did.

  Azerick lamented that he had stabbed the man in the side. He could have replaced his own ruined shirt, but the assassin’s was now in worse shape than his was. Azerick was more aggravated at the loss of one of his favorite shirts than the attempted assassination. He was becoming accustomed to people trying to kill him. He only had the one black silk shirt and there was no way he was going to find another one in this backwater town.

  Azerick wondered if it even counted as a backwater town since there was probably not an open source of water for fifty miles in any direction. He pulled a deep burgundy silk shirt from his travel pack and replaced the ruined black one after washing the blood off himself then returned to the mystery of the assassin.

  Azerick knew he did not have a twin brother. The creature must be a doppelganger, a shape shifter. He had probably even met the creature at some point during his travels, shook hands, or came into some other physical contact that allowed the creature to mimic him with such precise detail.

  Azerick knelt down next to the doppelganger and felt through his pockets. He found a small pouch of coins and tossed it onto the bed. He had several more knives and a shortsword of good quality but was otherwise unremarkable. He discovered a small, hard lump in the lining of the creature’s cloak and found the hidden pocket. Inside was a large, facetted, black gem about an inch in diameter, identical to the one he had found on the assassin’s body back at the keep.

  It radiated with a feint aura of magic. Azerick gripped the gem tightly and focused his mind into it. He had a good idea what the stones were used for, but even so, was startled as a tinny voice emanated from the gem with a slight buzz of vibration.

  “What is it?”

  “The sorcerer is dead,” Azerick spoke into the gem “What do you wish me to do now?”

  “Excellent work, you are to be commended. You have succeeded where the Rook has failed. General Baneford has failed to fully eliminate the king’s pet adventurers. You shall rectify that problem, but not until they have proven themselves useful to us. You will infiltrate their band, retrieve Dundalor’s helm, and take it to General Baneford. You may eliminate Maude and her brood once you acquire the helm. I will leave the timing to your discretion.”

  “Does the woman or her companions know the location of the helm?”

  “I am uncertain of that, but the late headmaster sent me the location of the helm before he was killed. That should provide you with an additional excuse to join them.”

  Azerick received an image in his mind of a very detailed map showing the precise location of the artifact.

  “I will give this speaking gem to Baneford shortly, along with the rest of his promised trade. You may contact him directly for his location once you find the helm. I will know when he has taken possession of it and will retrieve Dundalor’s armor from him at my leisure.”

  Azerick smiled triumphantly with his newfound knowledge. He now had a direct link to this newest assassin, the artifact, the name of General Baneford, and an unknown wizard. If this wizard was giving Baneford something in exchange for the armor, the General must know who the wizard is. Azerick was almost giddy at the prospect. He felt so close to the truth now, so close to getting his long-awaited revenge, he could taste it. And it tasted good.

  He thought his desire for revenge had been dulled with the starting of his school. He thought he had moved on, had grown beyond the need for such violent retribution. He had thought wrong. Azerick’s longing for justice may have cooled, but it needed only a small amount of air to fan the flame once again with a fiery intensity.

  Azerick picked the purse up from his bed and peeked inside, finding a rather substantial sum. He was sure it did not contain the full payment for his assassination, at least he hoped not or he was very disappointed. Granted, the amount the pouch contained would keep a simple man living comfortably for a few years, but he liked to think he was worth far more than this. If not, he would just have to try harder.

  Azerick walked downstairs and approached the proprietress of the boarding house.

  “I will require a different room, madam,” Azerick said as he approached the large desk that she was sitting behind.

  The woman looked up over her spectacles. “Is there a problem with the room, Master Giles?”

  “Yes, I am afraid mine has become—despoiled and no longer fit for occupancy,” Azerick replied and tossed the assassin’s pouch of gold onto the desk.

  “What is this?” she asked as she opened the draw cord and gaped at the contents.

  “Call it a cleaning deposit. I suggest you hire a couple men with a strong fortitude to take care of the matter. I will return later this evening.”

  Azerick left the woman wondering what he meant and was nearly halfway back to the Sandy Bottom when he heard the scream.

  I told her to get someone else.

  Azerick stepped inside the tavern to be greeted by a wall of silence that lasted until he crossed the room and took a seat at Maude’s table.

  “I have reconsidered your offer, Maude, if you would still like me to accompany you and your friends on this quest of yours,” Azerick said politely.

  “Of course we would. We recently suffered the tragic loss of our wizard and could greatly use your assistance,” Maude almost gushed.

  “Yeah, tragic is a word I suppose,” Borik grumbled into his beer. “It’s almost as tragic as drinking this waste-warm beer.”

  Maude tried to kick him under the table but aimed at where the ankle would be on a normal sized person. Since Borik’s feet did not even touch the floor, she missed completely.

  “Was there a problem with yo
ur wizard,” Azerick asked, “or is it simply a dwarf’s general dislike of all spell casters?”

  “Borik’s just surly because of the lousy warm beer in this place. Between that and his rats nest of a beard, his head tends to overheat and it makes him stupid,” Maude informed her new member.

  “Here, Borik, try this.”

  Azerick conjured up his tiny frozen ball of ice and dropped it into the dwarf’s beer. Borik felt the cup grow cold in his meaty hand and glared at the sorcerer suspiciously.

  “Don’t worry, it is safe,” Azerick told the dwarf in his own rough language.

  Borik took a small sip of his beer and his eyes went round. He drained the mug in one hard pull, slammed the empty mug onto the table, and wiped the foam from his beard with his sleeve with a satisfying smack of his lips.

  “Good gods on donkey-back that’s good! Maude, can we keep him? I’ll feed him and everything, I promise!” Borik shouted gleefully and yelled for Louis to bring over three more mugs then asked if anyone else needed a refill.

  Maude could not help but grin at the surly dwarf. “I thought you hated magic, Borik?”

  “I never seen any that was worth anything before! Now this is pure genius! Go on, magic boy, and make with the ice,” he ordered Azerick as Louis came bearing a tray full of filled mugs and a full pitcher. “So where’d ya learn to speak dwarf like that, wizard?” Borik asked.

  Azerick did not bother to correct him. “I met some dwarves a couple years back and stayed with them for a while. I picked up a few words while I worked with their rune carver, Duncan.”

  “Well shave my beard and call me an elf, Duncan was rune carver of my old clan! How’d ya like the old hole in the ground?” Borik asked, friendlier than Maude had ever seen him.

  Azerick chilled everyone’s mugs. “I thought it was amazing, but after a few months I needed to be going. The surface was calling me back I suppose.”

  “Yeah, it’ll do that, let me tell you.”

  “So tell me what it is you are all after,” Azerick said, directing the conversation to his goal.

  “I told you that we were working on behalf of the king. He needs us to find and return as many pieces of Dundalor’s Armor as we can. Are you familiar with the artifact?” Azerick nodded affirmatively and Maude continued. “We know his enemies have at least some of the pieces. We are trying to prevent them from obtaining the completed set.”

  “Because once complete it becomes several orders of magnitude more powerful,” Azerick replied knowingly.

  “Yeah, you could almost say godlike,” Maude agreed.

  “Do you have any information on where any of the pieces are now?”

  Maude’s face dropped at the sorcerer’s question. “No, we almost had the boots a few days ago but we were ambushed by someone. That was when we lost Tarth.”

  “It would seem our meeting was a small part of fate in the grand scheme of our destiny. It so happens that I know where to find the helm. We may yet be able to break up the set,” Azerick grandly proclaimed.

  “You do? That’s great—so long as it’s not on the other side of world, or worse yet, on the moon,” Maude said, quickly quelling her excitement.

  Azerick smiled. “As an even greater sign of preordained good fortune, the helm is only a few days ride from here.”

  “I knew this was far too good to be true,” Borik mumbled as he drained the third cup of cold beer.

  Maude looked at the dwarf with some confusion. “What do you mean? This is great news. No boats and we might even be finished with this by the end of the month!”

  “Not the stupid armor, that all sounds great. I’m talking about this.” Borik grumbled twirling his cup in his hand. “I’m all out of cold beer!”

  Azerick let out a laugh, almost not recognizing the sound as coming from him, and filled Borik’s cup from the pitcher and dropped in another ice ball.

  “One thing I have been meaning to ask you,” Maude said, leaning forward interestedly. “How did that sheepherder beat Butch?”

  Azerick allowed himself a small triumphant smile. “I spiked his wine with a potion that gave him more confidence, improved his reflexes, made him a little stronger, a little faster, and basically let him fight a little better than his natural talent would normally allow.”

  “So you did cheat!” Maude exclaimed but the smile on her face showed that she did not find the thought offensive to her morals.

  “Did I? Does a warrior cheat when he sharpens his sword? Does an archer cheat when he waxes his bowstring? I do not feel as though I cheated, I merely waxed my bowstring.”

  Right about then was when the watch captain returned with his squad of watchmen and tromped up to Maude’s table.

  “Captain, I hope you are not here to arrest me again,” Azerick said wearily, not even bothering to face the man.

  The captain shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know, I really don’t know! You know, I have been with the watch since I was sixteen years old. I made captain at twenty-three. In all that time, I have never had to deal with the amount of carnage as you have brought to this town in one night. Sure, we’ve had a few fights that ended up with some serious wounds, a few dead. In one hour, you not only kill a local citizen, with magic, you have apparently managed to kill yourself with what looks like a flaming arbalest bolt and left your own dead body in your room. What am I supposed to do! Can you tell me?”

  “Captain, there are plots within plots raging throughout the kingdom and the time is going to come when we will all have to choose a side. Greater powers than you and I are determined to clash. The ensuing calamity is going to devour small towns like this. If I were you, I would go home, kiss my wife and tell her I love her, pack up everything I own, and move to North Haven to get out of this awful heat. That is what I would do, Captain,” Azerick calmly replied.

  The captain ground his teeth, turned on his heel, and stomped out of the tavern.

  “You killed yourself in your room?” Maude asked, confused. “So are you a ghost or something?”

  “Who cares, hey spooky, pour me another cold one,” Borik slurred.

  “I was attacked by what I am certain was a doppelganger in my room as soon as I left here earlier. It got kind of messy.”

  “Does this sort of thing happen to you a lot?”

  “You know, far more often than one would expect,” Azerick said and sipped his own beer.

  **** EPILOG****

  Flickering shadows of several dark robed men cast by large candles and torches danced upon the dull grey walls of the musty, ancient chamber where they sat around the rough-hewn stone table plotting the overthrow and death of King Jarvin, the lawful ruler of Valaria.

  “Ulric’s man has betrayed him and now holds the armor for himself. One of the very concerns I raised previously has come to pass,” one of the hooded figures stated hoarsely.

  “Our associates within the black tower have assured me that they are still in contact with the General and are guiding him to the other pieces. Not only will they secure the entire set for us to present to whomever we support for the throne, but they have also assured me that the elimination of the king’s pet adventurers is only days from being accomplished,” the head of the cabal returned.

  “Bah, I say it is bad business collaborating with that pack of vipers from the black tower. How can we trust them, given their heritage?”

  “The wizards know they cannot succeed in their own plans without our support. The people would tear down their towers just as they did those many decades ago when they sought to abuse their power. They have no one to don the armor and lead a force sufficient to take, much less hold, the throne.”

  “What of the General? He commands loyalty and could gather the king’s opposition to him and take the throne for himself. That shrew, Duchess Paullina, would throw herself at any man she thought might get her closer to the throne.”

  “The General is not widely known outside Southport. Any attempt of his to raise an army sufficient
to challenge Jarvin would take a great deal of time. Neither does he have the financial support to pay for an army the size needed to do so even if he did gain access to Paullina’s coffers. I would not worry. The black tower will retrieve the armor and turn it over to us in exchange for our support.”

  “What of this mercenary rabble Ulric has hired? He has them sacking towns and raiding caravans within Valaria. His foolish actions will risk bringing Jarvin’s attention down upon us all! All that blasted Blackguard needs is one whiff of treachery and they will run us all to ground like bloodhounds on a spore trail.”

  “Ulric’s contingency plan is rather audacious and fraught with risks, I agree. However, with him and his trained dogs terrorizing the countryside, Jarvin’s attentions are completely deflected from anything happening right under his very own roof. That makes our own contingencies that much easier to put in place and remain undetected. Fear not my brothers, Solarian shields us in his divine light, it will not reveal us.”

  “Speaking of Solarian’s light, what of the undead problem?”

  “Although the problem appears widespread, the church is doing well at returning the creatures to rest. I am certain they will keep the problem under control and will have no problem eliminating it once we cleanse the tainted blood from the throne. Such foulness cannot survive the radiance of Solarian’s light for long.”

  “Blessed is the light of Solarian,” everyone around the table chanted in unison.

  DELETED SCENES

  This is the scene where Maude and her crew have just discovered the temple entrance and are discussing how best to deal with the two idiotic guards standing at the entrance. I had intended for Morton and Nobby to be reoccurring characters for no more reason than providing a bit of levity. I don’t think I will do that but I might bring them back in deleted scenes, even those I have yet to write just because I think they are funny.