The Sorcerer's Abyss (The Sorcerer's Path)

by Brock Deskins

  Ellyssa struck the black water poorly and the impact nearly pulled her into unconsciousness. Dazed and in enormous pain, she fought against the blackness of the water and the void within her own mind as she sank toward the sea floor. Hanging tenaciously onto consciousness with all her strength, she willed her shield back into place, forcing the bitterly cold water away from her. She then directed the Source to push against the water, slowly propelling her toward the shore and away from the slavers who now crowded along the rail of the ship, ready to fire crossbows into her body should she surface.

  The battered and defeated young wizard was able to get nearly a hundred yards from the ship before having to reach the surface and pull in some much needed air. Forcing the water away from her body with her shield created little more than an empty space, leaving virtually nothing to breathe in. Fortunately, it was a cloudy night and she made it beyond the slavers’ range of view before breaching the top of the water.

  Ellyssa looked behind her and saw the crew had hacked away the mooring lines and were pushing out to sea. Already she could hear the whistles and the pounding feet of the watch as they bore down on what must have been quite a racket. Coughing up a mouthful of blood, Ellyssa pushed painfully for shore, dreading the long walk back to the tower.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Have you had any luck finding that for which you have been searching, Magus?” the old librarian asked.

  Allister looked up from the books piled in stacks all around him. “Not much more than I already knew, which is largely folklore and fairytales.” Allister looked at the Master Librarian standing nearby in nightclothes. “Forgive me, Morvin, I let the hours slip past me once again.”

  Allister had been spending his days and most of his nights within the walls of North Haven’s impressive library in hopes of finding more information about the book that had always held Azerick’s, and now his apprentice’s, attention.

  Morvin waved his swollen-knuckled, liver-spotted hand dismissively. “Nonsense. It pleases me to see my library delved into so thoroughly. I was growing rather bored here until young Master Azerick opened his school up there. May the gods keep his soul. Now I have dozens of studious young minds all devouring my books as they were meant to be. Shall I expect you in the morning, Magus?”

  Allister sighed heavily and rubbed his exhausted eyes. “No, Morvin, I think I have discovered all I can here. As great as your library is, I think what I am looking for is only to be found in The Academy archives.”

  “You do not sound eager to go back there.”

  “No, I am not. There are those who look upon what Azerick created as an affront to The Academy and its laws. We had a run-in with an Academy delegation a few months ago, and it did not end on a pleasant note.”

  “Surely they would not reject you?”

  “Not as a body I don’t think, but there are a few who will seek to make my visit unpleasant. Well, there’s no helping it, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let a few rabble-rousers keep me from what I damned well earned.”

  The front doors of the library crashed open and several men wearing the uniform of the Watch burst in. Morvin jumped and nearly dropped the small oil lamp he carried. The squad of guardsmen crossed the library and stopped just before the table where Allister sat.

  “Magus, I am so glad you are still here,” the lead guardsman said. He was visibly agitated.

  “Is there a problem guardsman…?”

  “Cruthers, Magus, Lieutenant Cruthers. There has been an incident at the docks and Inspector Orson requests your assistance. He feels there is a magical element involved.”

  A chill spread down Allister’s spine. “I see. Please lead the way, Lieutenant.”

  Allister followed the Watch Lieutenant out of the library and into a waiting coach where he and three of his guardsmen stepped in. Allister was glad of the transport as it was a long walk to the docks and it had started to drizzle. All was silent inside the coach except for the clopping of horse hooves upon the cobbles and the pattering of the light rain as it struck the roof of the carriage. It took about ten minutes to get to the docks thanks to the empty streets of the late hour.

  A man held an umbrella for the Magus as he stepped from the coach and onto the dockside street. The old wizard nodded his appreciation and followed the umbrella to where several more men loomed over what appeared to be four bodies laid out side by side. A short, portly man of perhaps fifty years detached himself from the group as the newcomer approached.

  “Magus Allister, I’m very glad you accepted my plea for assistance. I am Inspector Orson,” the man said as he extended his hand.

  Allister gripped the man’s hand. “It sounded urgent. What was it you wished to show me?”

  Inspector Orson turned to the four bodies. “My men heard a great racket about an hour ago. Several say they heard thunder and even spotted a bright flash they took to be lightning. Only it was low and these aren’t thunderheads. By the time the Watch arrived, whatever had happened was over. Some witnesses say they saw a ship depart with what looked like a few small fires on her deck, but I guess the crew got them put out. We fished these four out of the harbor. At first, I figured there was a big row between some sailors or our more nefarious citizens, but then I took a closer look at the bodies. Three look as though they were run over by a wagon and this one is burnt all across his chest, but not by fire. Three of his toes exploded and blew the nails right off.”

  Allister nodded and knelt to examine the bodies. A guardsman held a lamp but the mage conjured his own light, which did a far better job of illuminating the area. Inspector Orson was right. Three of the men suffered severe damage resulting in most of their ribs being smashed, which likely puncturing several organs. The fourth man had a jagged burn line across his chest and down his left leg. A great deal of electricity obviously exited from his foot.

  The old mage cast an enchantment that picked up the residual emanations of magic sticking to all four men and detected trace bits of it still floating around the area. Someone had cast a great deal of magic here not long ago. A chill not born of the foul weather ran down his spine once again. He refused to believe that Ellyssa was capable of such a thing. She was angry, hurt, and distraught, but to come out here and do this was hard for him to accept.

  “Do you know who these men were, Inspector?” Allister asked somberly.

  “Sailors, not locals though. I’m guessing they belonged to the ship that took off. Two of them bear tattoos marking them as affiliated with smugglers and likely slavers. I don’t think too many people are going to mourn their passing, but such violence, particularly if it is magical in nature, gives me great cause for concern. If that is the case, I figured you would want to know about it. That school of yours is the only place I know of where people practice such things.”

  “You think someone from the school is responsible?”

  Orson shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Whether they are or not, you people will have far more luck deciphering what happened here than I will. So was it magic that killed them?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Did anyone say if they saw the person who did it?”

  “Not yet. It’ll take a couple of days to talk to everyone that may have seen what happened. It’s more likely we’ll get more just by listening to the tavern gossip. People talk to their barkeep more than the Watch.”

  “I will look into it, but I must travel to Southport immediately. Should you need any assistance while I am away, Magus Aggie Sharpe or Magus Cossington can help you.”

  Inspector Orson thanked the Magus for his help. Allister used all of his, and a fair amount of Lady Miranda’s, authority to commission a courier ship to Southport. The crew did an excellent job of suppressing their displeasure at being roused in the middle of the night. Allister was under sail and headed south just over an hour after parting company with the inspector. He wondered if Ellyssa was capable of such a thing and quickly realized he was trying to convince himself she was not, despite kno
wing better.

  His first instinct was to rush back to the school and take away the book but discarded the idea. It was important to her and one of the few links she had to Azerick. Azerick wanted her to have access to it, and he could not take it away without knowing for certain if his fears were valid or not. It was almost inconceivable that they were.

  It was a swift ship and the journey took just under three days. His heart felt the burden of duty with every step. The arduousness of his task did nothing to alleviate that pressing weight of responsibility. The Academy library was even vaster than North Haven’s, but he dared not ask for help. Even a rumor of what he sought would throw the entire magic community into turmoil.

  Allister was unable to accept even the possibility that the book could possibly be what he sought: the Codex Arcana, the entire repository of all magic that ever existed. Created by the gods to help overthrow the dragon overlords, the Codex was more than just a book; it was an archive of every spell and technique any creature of magic ever inscribed. Its existence was almost mythical. No one had even heard so much as a hint of its existence in centuries. Now it could be in the hands of an angry child.

  He knew little about the book, few if anyone living did, but the book’s true power could not be accessed without the Codex choosing the individual possessing it. At least so he thought. He certainly hoped that was the case. There was just too much he did not know. The more he gnawed on his worries the more he doubted his choice in not securing the tome before he left. Why did he not take the book? Allister told himself it was to respect Ellyssa’s sole source of succor in these times of emotional turmoil, but he could not shake the feeling that it was something more.

  Allister pushed his dark thoughts aside and focused on his task. What was done was done, and the only thing to do now was to find out what was really happening and deal with whatever the resulting facts revealed. He did not relish the task ahead of him. He knew that any real information on the Codex Arcana would be located in the archives, but the archives were sealed and only opened after a wizard provided significant proof that what he or she needed was located within and was of intrinsic value. That likely meant weeks of scouring the library and possibly begging access to private books and scrolls from some of the most prestigious members of The Academy.

  He had been gone several years and few of the students recognized him, but the established wizards nodded and called out short greetings. A few looked at him with partially veiled hostility. Obviously, Magus Parkes and his two associates were not the only ones who disliked the concept of The Orphans’ Academy. Allister had traveled over half the sparsely populated hallways on the way to the library before someone finally accosted him.

  “Have you come to surrender your student, Allister?” Magus Harvey called out as he stepped from a side passage.

  Allister paused and took a deep breath. “I have not. She has done nothing to warrant the disciplinary attentions of The Academy. I had thought the matter settled when you departed my school.”

  The wizard sneered contemptuously. “I departed under duress. You are in my halls now, Allister. I am watching you and your school, and when that little rogue of yours steps out of line, I will be there to hold both of you accountable.”

  Allister had gotten little sleep on the trip over and his exhaustion destroyed what little sufferance he had for fools. He called up the Source and lashed out at the upstart mage, lifting him from the floor and pinning him to the wall with enough force that he could not take a breath.

  “You listen to me, Wizard Harvey!” Allister said with a dangerous tone. “Like it or not, I am a senior archmage of this academy and you will do well to remember it. Threaten or disrespect me again at your own peril!”

  The furious archmage released his hold on the Source and let the man crumple to the floor, gasping for breath. “This is precisely the conduct I would expect from that haven of miscreants!” Harvey shouted after the retreating magus.

  Allister regretted letting the man get under his skin, but he was tired and torn between his duty and protecting Azerick’s legacy, even when it appeared that his prodigy was heading down a dark path and threatened to bring the full weight of The Academy down upon them all.

  CHAPTER 5

  Sharellan, dark goddess of the abyss, sat upon her alabaster throne strumming her long, black nails against its pristine white armrest. Drak’kar awaited her presence just beyond the doors, and she was in no mood to hear his petition. She knew what he wanted. She knew everything that happened within her realm. However, she had left Drak’kar fuming out in the antechamber for what were several mortal weeks, and she could not ignore him any longer without risking the demon lord doing something foolish.

  “Krade, show Drak’kar in,” she commanded her devil attendant.

  Krade, tall, lean, and horned with coal-grey skin bowed deep enough that his pointed beard nearly brushed the floor. “At once, Mistress.”

  The devil practically glided across the white marble floor and threw open the tall doors. Only Krade’s amazing agility kept Drak’kar from bowling him over as the demon lord bolted into the room and threw himself prostrate onto the floor in front of his queen.

  “Speak quickly, Drak’kar. I have little time and less patience for nonsense,” Sharellan told the demon.

  “Mistress, Klaraxis has returned in failure,” Drak’kar said hurriedly.

  Sharellan looked down at the demon in annoyance. “Are you wasting my time with pointless updates? I know Klaraxis has returned, and I know he did not accomplish his goals.”

  “Mistress, he is weak! He is infected with the soul of a pitiful human. I beg you, give me leave to cast him down and take over the rule of the Fifth Circle.”

  “Such actions would interfere with my goals, Drak’kar. Now is not a time for division,” the goddess told her minion.

  Drak’kar rocked back on his heels in surprise. Never had a petition for advancement been denied when a lord has shown such weakness and failure. “Mistress, it is my right! It is the law.”

  Drak’kar did not have time to register his brash misconduct before Sharellan sent him flying the full length of the enormous hall and smashing into the far wall with so much force even cruel Krade winced sympathetically at the sound of breaking bones.

  “Do not presume to lecture me about the law!” Sharellan seethed. “I made the laws! I made those laws to bring order to this chaotic place before you all destroyed each other, and you have never enjoyed such strength before the law!”

  “Mistress, forgive me,” Drak’kar pleaded. “I only wish what is mine by your own divine providence.”

  Sharellan released the magic pinning the demon in place and sat back down upon her throne. Drak’kar lay where he fell, not daring to move or utter a sound as his goddess sat in contemplation. Sharellan closed her eyes and used her godly powers to look upon the weave of fate guiding all living things. In the span of a few breaths, she scanned and weighed hundreds, thousands, of possible outcomes and the forks each of those choices created within the timeline.

  “Very well, Drak’kar. I grant you your right to ascend—if you can take it.”

  Drak’kar pressed himself against the floor in supplication. “I will not fail, Mistress.”

  ***

  Azerick spent the past several days painstakingly etching complex sigils on the walls, floor, and ceiling of the chamber. The room looked a great deal like the laboratory he created beneath the old tower of his school. Only a few bookcases jammed with books, scrolls, and loose parchment upon which various topics of lore were written adorned the room. A large alchemy bench sat against one wall, along with a cabinet full of various parts and liquids.

  The largest sigil was a complex web of runes meticulously drawn in demon blood in the center of one otherwise bare wall. This is where Azerick hoped to tear open a rift between the abyss and his home realm. He had grown amazingly adept at tuning out Klaraxis’ unending stream of complaints, but it did not keep the demon from voi
cing them in the least.