The Sorcerer's Ascension (The Sorcerer's Path)

by Brock Deskins

  Azerick stepped quietly across the room to a large wardrobe. Slowly opening it, he peered inside but found nothing but empty space. He opened several drawers of a dresser and found the same.

  It must be a guest room. Just my luck.

  A truly lucky man would have climbed right into the master’s bedroom and found piles of jewels that had not matched the Lady’s evening attire laying on top of the nightstand just waiting for him to pluck them up and drop them into his bag. Nevertheless, Azerick had never considered himself a terribly lucky man and that continued to hold true tonight.

  Azerick crossed the room and listened at the door. Still no sounds emanated from within the house. He pulled the handle down ever so slowly and eased the door open. The ornate, solid-wood door opened on well-oiled, perfectly balanced hinges without a sound. Azerick darted his head out and checked both directions of the hall. The floor was clear as far as he could see.

  He stepped out into the carpeted hall, silent as a ghost. The young thief closed the door behind him but did not latch it. With his luck, it would lock behind him and he would have to take precious minutes picking the lock. Azerick looked at the lock and was reasonably confident he could pick it if he had to just in case. There were two more doors on each side of the hallway with a large set of double door at the end.

  He slipped past the two sets of doors on the side figuring the double doors to be the Master and Lady’s bedroom. Once again, he gently pulled down on the highly polished brass door handle. It was locked. With a quick glance over his shoulder, Azerick went to work on the lock with his picks. Unlike the locks he practiced on, this one was a better quality, but it was just a bedroom door, not the King’s treasury.

  In a few minutes, he heard the satisfying click of the lock surrounding to his picks. Azerick gently closed the door behind him as he entered the large, elaborate bedroom. Dim light filtered through the ornate plate-glass window. The window alone would pay for everything he needed with a fair bit left over.

  Azerick immediately spied the decorative jewelry box sitting out on a bureau made of rich mahogany. It was an impressive affair made of gold and silver with elaborate scrollwork swirled between gemstones affixed to a lid inlaid with ivory. Azerick reached his trembling hands out to take the entire box then stopped.

  Something felt wrong in the air. He could feel a sort of static making the hairs on the back of his hands stand on end. He turned his head left and right, looking at the fancy box out of the corners of his eyes. He could almost make out a faint glowing, swirling pattern of light similar to smoke, twisting and writhing like snakes around the box. It was a strange sensation similar to what he felt when he made the light in the dark passage of his home. Only this filled him with an enormous sense of unease.

  He tried to study the strange emanations coming from the box, but his eyes failed to decipher its mysteries. Just as he did with the silvery strands of energy before, he closed his eyes and focused on the strange swirling webs of energy surrounding the box. He closed off all of his other physical senses; seeing, hearing, and feeling. He saw, felt, and heard only with his mind.

  With his hands held out in before him, he slowly began to unravel the smoky webs of energy. Azerick could not fathom how he was able to see and feel the emanations from the box, but he knew he somehow possessed some intrinsic understanding for unraveling its mystery even though he did not really understand what it was. He knew it was a trap of some kind, magic to be sure, but he went about unlocking it like he would a lock made of common iron; only his mind was the pick, and picks of far better quality than the crude set he had fashioned out of metal.

  After what seemed an eternity, he knew he was done and that the box no longer posed a threat. Azerick thought of stuffing the whole thing in his bag, but it was large and he did not want to take anything so bulky on a run like this. It had a small lock built into the elaborate wood and silver front.

  Azerick slid his knife blade in the tiny gap between the box and the lid and gently pried it open. The top popped open with a slight cracking of wood. He lifted the lid and stared for a moment at the glittering jewels facetted in gold.

  Rings adorned with rubies, emeralds, and diamonds winked at him, reflecting even the tiniest light within the room. Necklaces of elaborate designs and of varying lengths and thickness lay coiled in felt-lined nooks.

  He lifted out the top shelf and poured the contents into his bag, then pulled out each of the three drawers and did the same. He looked around the room but saw nothing else within his immediate view worth taking that was small enough to carry in his bag.

  Azerick made a quick circuit around the room but still saw nothing of interest. He did take a moment to stuff a handful of silk shirts and well-made trousers into his bag as well as a fur-lined cloak he found in the master’s large, standing closet.

  He crossed the room back to the big double doors and slowly pulled it open, more than eager to make his escape. As Azerick opened the door, ready to duck back into the hallway, he suddenly found himself face to face with the stubble-bearded countenance of one of the house guards.

  With a look of utter surprise on both of their faces, each reached for a weapon at their hip. The guard drew his short sword, but Azerick was faster. He flung another handful of the fiery red powder straight into the eyes of the unfortunate guard.

  The guard let out a loud curse, dropped his blade at his feet, and fell back, wiping at his eyes with his hands. Azerick darted past the momentarily incapacitated guard and ran down the hall and into the guest room where he had made his entrance.

  The guard shouted an alarm that was quickly repeated throughout the house. The teary-eyed guard burst into the room behind the intruder just as he reached his rope. Azerick did not bother to even slow down on his dash across the room toward the open window. Azerick grabbed the rope at a dead run, his momentum swinging him out of the window and into the darkness just beyond.

  The guard, with his eyes still burning and nose running profusely, loped to the window ledge to call out another alarm and to help guide the guards patrolling the grounds in the direction of the fleeing burglar. Azerick’s feet caught the guard dead in the chest with the force of his entire weight as the thief swung back to the window after having just reached the apex of his initial outward swing and brutally cut short the guards shout of alarm.

  The guard flew back into the guest room, rolled over halfway across the room, and sprawled into a heap. Azerick slid down his rope so fast it gave him a slight rope burn. He hit the ground with a roll before springing back onto his feet. With a skillful twist and tug, his rope let loose from where it was anchored at the top of the mansion. Azerick slipped the bag off his shoulder and stuffed the rope inside before tearing off across the yard.

  The angry shouts of men and the braying of hounds came around the corner of the manor house and took up a hasty but determined pursuit.

  Azerick tore the bag holding the rest of the red spice from his belt and upended it behind him, covering his tracks and slowing the dogs. He came to the stone and wrought iron wall and scaled it like a cat treed by dogs, which was not far from the truth.

  He paused for just a moment before jumping down the opposite side onto the street and saw that the hounds did indeed get a snout full of the powder that wreaked so such havoc to their sensitive noses. With a grin of triumph, he dropped lightly to the street and sprinted down the cobbled avenue then turned down the dark alleyways. In just a matter of moments, the shrieking whistles of the city watch grew fainter as he made his way back to his hideout.

  Azerick sat on his pallet with the glittering pile of jewels between his legs. He knew he could get a good price from Azeel, assuming that the merchant had that much money on hand. He was certain Azeel had it despite the constant lamenting about his dire financial straits. He would have to. Azerick did not know how much everything he needed was going to cost, but poison like the one he required did not come cheap, and neither did the alchemic equipment needed to make it.<
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  Azerick had considered buying the poison outright, avoiding the cost of the equipment and saving a bit of gold, but he feared to leave a trail of any kind that someone could follow back to him. If the thieves’ guild ever so much as assumed that he played a part with what he was going to do he knew his life would be forfeit. Assuming he even succeeded.

  Exhaustion came on with surprising suddenness now that the rush of excitement, and maybe just a bit of fear, had worn off. He scooped his loot back into his bag and instantly fell asleep.

  Morning came quickly and Azerick rolled off his pallet to start his day. At least he assumed it was morning. He really needed to get an hourglass or clock of some kind. He decided to wait a few days before seeing Azeel with last evening’s haul. His stomach soon reminded him that he needed to get some food. Azerick decided to take one of the more simple gold necklaces to sell and get himself enough money to stock his larder for at least a few days.

  He went to the merchant’s shop and Azeel broke into a big grin as soon as Azerick entered.

  “Ah, my favorite customer comes back. I heard that your late evening meal turned out especially well.”

  “I am sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, Azeel.”

  “Oh really? I thought maybe it was you who dined on some minor lord’s fare last night up in the rich quarter. I heard the meat was especially fine, but the guards and their dogs found it a bit too spicy for their taste. But you wouldn’t know anything about that would you?” Azeel asked under his bushy raised eyebrows.

  “As it so happens, I found the food especially tasty once a little special seasoning was added. In fact, I found it so good I brought you back an appetizer,” Azerick said grinning and handed the gold chain over to Azeel’s waiting palm.

  “Hm, that does look good.”

  Azeel broke out a small balance scale, placed the gold chain in one of the small brass disks, and started placing small, iron weights on the other. Once the scale reached its balance, Azeel gave him a price.

  “It’s a nice chain, decent weight, good gold if somewhat plain. I’ll give you three gold crowns for it.”

  “I’ll take it, but that makes us square for that horrid spice you sold me.”

  The fence tried to act offended but accepted. “Bah, that’s a hard bargain for good spice but all right. So this is just an appetizer you say, and from what I’ve heard, a tiny little bite it is eh?”

  “Yes, it is a very tiny bite and rather plain in flavor compared to the rest. Do you think you will have the money to cover it, or will I need to see someone else?” Azerick asked.

  Azeel frantically waved his hands. “No, no, don’t go anywhere else with it! just wait a couple weeks. I already had a constable asking about it when I opened up, but don’t you worry about old Azeel being short of coin. I want that meal and every course served. I am the only one who will come close to giving you a fair price. What are you going to do with that much gold anyway, if I may be so bold to ask?”

  “I have to buy some equipment for my studies that are going to cost quite a bit. The rest, if there is any left, will get me through the winter in reasonable comfort.”

  Azeel’s face took on a very interested expression. “What kind of equipment is going to cost that kind of gold? If you tell me, perhaps we can come to an agreement that will benefit us both eh.”

  “I need a complete alchemic set. I have a book on alchemy and I wanted to start working with it. I don’t want to be a thief forever, and anyone who can brew some decent potions can make a pretty good living for an honest man,” Azerick answered with only half a lie.

  “Mayhap I can get you this and we can make a good deal. Maybe with less coin leaving both of our pockets eh? You come back in about ten days and we show each other what we got and make a good deal.”

  “Sounds good to me. Take care, Azeel. Oh, Azeel, not one word to anyone about the jewelry or that equipment, right?”

  “The only thing greater than Azeel’s honesty is his discretion, gods be witness if I am lying,” the fence replied.

  Azerick left the pawnbroker and pondered his words and was unable to determine if they were reassuring or not. After a few minutes, he gave it up as a mystery that only time would answer. With a coin pouch fuller than he has had in some time, Azerick headed to the market district. Once there, he loaded up enough food that he had to buy another bag to carry it all.

  He stuffed the bag full with a smoked ham, several loaves of fresh bread, wheels of cheese, fresh fruits, and a few vegetables on top. He also bought a kettle, tea, coffee, sugar, salt, pepper, and a few other seasonings he was not familiar with but which the merchant assured him was necessary for decent food. Definitely none of Azeel’s spicy red pepper made its way into the bag, however.

  Azerick took all this back to his home, taking a circuitous route and constantly looking over his shoulder. Occasionally he would duck into an alley or a doorway and wait to see if anyone passed by who may be trailing him, but no one ever did. Over the next several days, he turned it into a routine that he would maintain with exceptional vigilance. No one must ever discover his lair.

  Once safely ensconced in his home, he packed the cupboard he had made full with the food he had bought. There was a small stove built into the wall that vented its smoke into the sewer. Azerick figured this was rather clever, thinking it being the best place for a chimney with the least likelihood of discovery. He would really need it come full winter. It was already starting to get cold in the evenings. He boiled some water in his new kettle, made some tea, and settled in for a couple weeks of routine boredom while the Watch’s aggressive investigation of the break-in slowly ground down to a crawl and was eventually filed as unsolved.

  Azerick let two weeks pass before he brought the rest of his cache to Azeel. He had stopped by on occasion and was assured by the merchant that he would have what he was looking for when Azerick brought in the jewelry.

  He made his way through the city once again, picking his way randomly through the squatters’ quarter then navigating through the common quarter to Azeel’s with his precious prize stuffed inside his shirt. Azerick found it remarkable that so much wealth was so easy to conceal and transport. He wondered why people would place such value on what were essentially useless items. Gems were nothing more than pretty bits of glass. Gold was useless for forging blades or armor. They were valuable to him only because he would be able to get something of true worth—revenge.

  Azerick finally reached Azeel’s shop and went inside once he saw the last customer leave. Azeel flashed him his usual friendly smile and then immediately walked past him and bolted the door.

  “You have it today, don’t you boy? Let’s see what you have for Azeel, eh.”

  “You have what I asked for?”

  “Of course, my friend, of course. What Azeel says he will get he gets,” the fence said with an incredulous look, as if anyone should ever doubt him. “Here, it is a very nice set,” he said and placed a small trunk on the table.

  The trunk was about thirty inches long, twenty inches tall, and eighteen inches deep. Some sort of reptile skin covered the case, silver cusps protected the corners, and it possessed an elaborately engraved ivory handle secured at the top.

  “Behold every alchemist’s dream,” he said as he popped open the silver clasps that held the two sides together with a flourish.

  Inside was the grandest set of glassware Azerick had ever seen. A crystal-clear retort, beakers, glass rods, three sizes of hourglasses, some clear glass containers, opaque ceramic containers, a small balance scale with counter weights, oil-fueled burners, rubber hoses, glass tubes, and a marble mortar and pestle. It took Azerick all of his will to resist showing his amazement and giving Azeel the upper hand in their inevitable negotiations.

  “I think it will suffice, although it is a bit more than I was thinking of; cumbersome-looking really,” Azerick said and even managed a yawn just for affect.

  A broad grin stretched across Azeel’s
swarthy face. “Oh ho, you have started the duel already, have you? Very well, let me see this paste and tin you call jewelry. Mayhap you will have to do a second run to earn this magnificent glass and crystal.”

  Azerick pulled the small bag of jewels out of his shirt and spread them out on the counter. He had spent several hours polishing the gold, silver, and the stones they held to a brilliant shine.

  “It is fortunate we are inside your gloomy shop and not outside lest the brilliance of these dazzling jewels burn out your eyes. Might be that you will have to take out a second mortgage on whatever shanty you call a house to even make me a fair offer, even with that scullery maid's cookware you have in that fish-scaled box.”

  “A shack you say! Azeel is no street rat taking shelter in whatever shipping crate he can drag off to an alley to sleep in! I own, own mind you, a beautiful home of stone, plaster, and marble! Why, Azeel’s neighbors are none other than Counselor Trant and Barishan the money lender!” Azeel squealed with indignity, his face coloring brightly.

  “Good, then you should have no problem meeting my price for this rare collection. I bet your wife is looking forward to wearing a few of the pieces herself,” Azerick slyly replied.

  Azeel turned even more scarlet as his eyes crossed and his heavy brows drew together before bursting out in loud, raucous laughter.

  “You got me, boy, right in the pride! Oh the humility, the great barterer Azeel is brought down by a lowly street rat not old enough to shave.”

  “I could shave if I wanted to!” Azerick declared with indignation as he rubbed the soft hint of stubble on his chin.

  “Yes, yes, lad, sure you can. Maybe in a year or two Azeel will gift you with a nice razor, eh.”