“Get out of here before I give you a lot worse than my boot, boy!” the guard threatened, pushing him to the ground.
The other thief kicked him in his backside as Azerick tried to regain his feet, which sent him sprawling once again into the street.
“Bastards,” Azerick mumbled as he staggered away.
He circled around the block, ducked back into the distant end of an alley, then crept up to the end that opened just down and across the street from the guild house.
Azerick had just gotten back into position when the guards slunk to the ground, one with his back pressed against the doorjamb, the other laid out with his head propped against the door.
Azerick walked across the street and recovered the dropped wineskin still clutched in the hand of one of the comatose men. He then slipped down the side of the house down a narrow alley toward the back of the thieves' den, certain that there was more than one entrance that needed guarding. As he turned the corner at the back of the house, he felt a knife pressed into his ribs.
“What are you doing here, boy?” came a voice hidden in the deep shadows.
Azerick replied nervously but confidently, "Slyde sent me, sir. Said he found this fine wine in some uppity lord’s house and thought you might want a taste on this cold night.”
“Why didn’t he bring it hisself?” the man asked dubiously.
“Said he and Merik had a thing tonight, he did. He didn’t tell me nothin’ though. I just run errands for them, but he and Merik says they are gonna teach me everything they know and take me with em on jobs, they said,” Azerick answered enthusiastically.
“Well you done as you were told, boy, now get outta here with ya,” the man ordered with a lazy swipe of his boot.
Azerick ducked around the corner and waited. Within minutes he heard the thump of the thief’s body hitting the ground. He retrieved his wineskin from the unconscious door guard before crossing back to the alley for his bag. Azerick pulled out the iron spikes before hefting his bag onto his shoulder.
He stayed in the alley for a few minutes studying the street and the house. After seeing no sign of activity, he crossed back to the house with the unconscious guards. He shoved an iron spike between the door and its frame, wedging it closed so that it could not open from the inside.
Azerick then made his way to the back of the house and secured that door with a second spike. He gently set his bag down and pulled out one of the clay jugs of liquid fire. He pulled the stopper and sloshed its contents upon the door, wall, and sleeping guard. He pulled out two of the other pots and emptied them along the side of the house in the alley.
The building next to it was made of brick and did not appear to be a dwelling of any kind. Azerick hoped it would not burn, but if it did, it did not look like anyone lived in it. In fact, most of the buildings appeared to be workplaces of some kind. He guessed not many people wanted to live next to a den of thieves.
He went back to the rear of the house, pulled out a small candle, broke a bit off the end, lit it, and set it on the iron spike wedged in the door. When the flame consumed enough of the candle, it would touch off the liquid, incinerating the house and every thief in it. They would all burn just like Jon, William, Patrick, little Beth, and the others. He set the same sort of candle-type fuse on the side of the house then made his way to the front. He poured the contents of the last clay jugs around the front of the house and set his candle fuse before disappearing back into the alley across the street.
Azerick waited and watched the little flame burn on the candle for several minutes before it finally reached the deadly liquid now soaked into the wood and brick of the house. The instant that the flame burned close enough, the entire street lit up in a brilliant glow of orange light. The flame was so intense it lit the whole street and made him night-blind for several minutes.
Flames raced across the wooden door and porch while the brick started to crack under the intense heat. A moment later, another whoosh of super-heated air sounded in conjunction with a second burst of brilliant light from behind the house followed almost immediately by the ignition of the demon fire in the narrow alley.
White-hot flames quickly consumed the two guards who had stood watch at the door. The slight evening breeze blew the smell of smoke and charred flesh to Azerick’s hiding place, but to him it was a sweet smell of vengeance, although he never thought that justice would nearly make him gag.
A few people were now walking up the street to see what was happening. In the distance, Azerick heard the cries of fire. Hellishly intense flames nearly engulfed the entire house as the porch collapsed in on itself, burying the remains of two men who had been guarding the door. Azerick imagined a similar fate had befallen the guard at the rear of the house as well.
A crowd was now beginning to form. People watched the dancing flames, several running to nearby inns or perhaps homes and coming back with buckets. A horse-drawn wagon with one of the large cisterns in it that he had seen trying to douse the flames of the fire that took his friends and home came racing down the street, a bell clanging in warning for people to clear the way. It stopped on the far side of the street directly across from the burning house.
Men jumped off, opened a valve, and started filling buckets and thrusting them into waiting hands. The crowd started throwing buckets of water onto the flames in hopes of extinguishing them. However, this was no ordinary fire. When the water struck the flames, instead of extinguishing them, it only served to cause the fire to flare up and spread. Now thin rivulets of fire were crawling out into the cobblestone street.
One of the men that operated the fire wagon called for the bucket brigade to stop throwing water on the flames at the same time a scream and the shattering of glass sounded from a second story window. A man, his back wreathed in flames, struck the ground rolling. Like out of a nightmare, the burning man jumped to his feet and, in a panic, started to run right toward the alley from where Azerick was watching the chaos unfold.
The crowd cried out in horror as they jumped out of the terrifying man’s path. Two of the firefighters grabbed heavy leather cloaks and rushed after him in hopes of smothering the flames that enshrouded the man’s back.
Azerick stared at the horrifying sight rushing toward him and knew in an instant that the man was Merik. Without pausing to think, he ripped off his own dark cloak and ran at him even as Merik and the two firefighters ran toward him.
Azerick shoved the cloak out in front of him, wrapping Merik up within its folds as they collided. He slowed the terrified man long enough for the two men with their leather cloaks to catch him from the rear. Merik was already on his way to the ground when the two men threw their cloaks and atop of the burning figure, quickly smothering the flames beneath the heavy leather.
“That was a brave thing you done, boy. Might be that the constable may have a small award for you,” one of the men told him as he held his cloak over Merik’s smoldering form.
Azerick did not even meet the men’s gazes. Instead, he grabbed his scorched cloak, ran down the alley, snatched up his bag, and retreated into the night leaving behind the shouts of the firemen telling him to come back.
The people in the streets saw a hero risk his own safety and tackle a burning man to help smother the flames, but no one saw the knife Azerick had gripped in his other hand, or how that blade had come away bloody when he ran off.
Azerick ran until he thought his lungs would burst before he even started to slow down. With heavy breaths, he walked along the docks, stuffed his cloak and several stones into his bag, and tossed the entire bundle into the harbor after securing the opening shut.
He turned and started to walk back home, slinking through the shadowed streets and alleys that were such a natural part of his environment. The young assassin had just gotten control of his rapid breathing and his racing heart when an arm wrapped around his throat with a vice like grip and pulled him into one of the buildings near the docks. A hand clamped over his mouth with equal force.
“Not a peep, boy, if you want to live longer than the next three seconds,” came the raspy voice of the man who now had him at his mercy.
The hand dropped away from his mouth as the man slipped a heavy canvas bag over his head and secured it around his neck with a cord.
“One noise and I’ll pull that cord so tight it will pinch off any words you got before they escape your lips. You got that?”
Azerick did not bother to answer with words; he just nodded his assent, following the man’s words in a strict literal sense. When the man was satisfied that his captive was going to obey his commands, he took his arm from around Azerick’s throat and shoved him out of a door and into the street.
They navigated their way through dozens of twists and turns for nearly an hour before Azerick felt the surface under his feet change from stone to wood. He could smell smoke and lamp oil and knew he was in a house or a building. The man shoved Azerick into a chair and removed the hood from his head. Azerick blinked rapidly as his eyes tried to adjust from the total blackness within the hood to the brightly lit chamber in which he now found himself.
A well-dressed man sat behind a large desk in a plush, high-backed swivel chair with his fingers steepled before him, the fingertips resting just below a thin, dark mustache. He gazed at the young boy in front him like a man studying a mysterious and exotic animal. Dozens of questions danced within his eyes, whether or not to allow the boy in front of him to being the preeminent one in his mind.
“Let me see if I have a proper tally of your night's activities. You have poisoned men of the thieves’ guild, set fire to their chapterhouse, stabbed a man in the middle of the street in front of dozens of witnesses, and killed nearly everyone, including the local guild boss of said house, by burning them alive. Is this correct?"
Azerick simply nodded in affirmation.
"So you see I know what you have done. What truly confounds me is why you did it, and just who in the blazes you are?”
“Who are you? What do you want with me?” Azerick demanded.
The dandy behind the desk wagged a finger and a large man who had been behind Azerick stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face.
“That is a reasonable question, but impertinent. I asked a question, two in fact. I will continue to ask questions, and you will answer them until I have no more questions. If I decide to let you live, I may then grant you an answer to a question or two of your own. Right now your odds are about fifty-fifty of being alive long enough to ask your question, and only because I am extremely curious about you and your activities tonight,” he said in an almost pleasant tone. “Actually, I think I have just answered your question to why you are here, so I will go ahead and grant you a boon and conduct introductions like a gentleman should do when he has guests. I am Andrill, guild boss of the Night Ravens. That man behind you, who set your cheek to stinging, is Braxis. And you are?”
“Azerick, sir.”
“Azerick sir! how wonderful. It is rare to find a boy with manners these days, especially one who just murdered two score of men,” Andrill said joyfully, clapping his hands together. “Now, Azerick sir, why on earth do you risk the wrath of the entire city’s guild of thieves by murdering over a score of their men, a boss, and burning down one of their chapterhouses?”
“They killed my family in the squatters’ quarter. They wedged the door shut and burned to death the men and women who took me in, as well as the children I read to and who were my friends," Azerick answered, his voice still filled with the hate that his vengeance had failed to purge from him.
“And how are you so certain it was the guild, and that chapter in particular, that committed such a terrible deed?" Andrill asked as if they were discussing nothing more important than the weather.
"I saw Merik threaten Jon, and I saw him at the fire. I saw him one night and followed him to that house. I drugged some wine and gave it to the men guarding the doors, wedged the doors shut with the same iron spikes I pulled from the ashes of my home, and then set the building on fire.”
“Oh the irony! You used their spikes against them. I so adore the symbolism. It’s almost artistic in its application,” Andrill squealed in delight, clapping his hands.
Azerick was certain that this man was most likely insane and that his chances of getting out of here alive were slim to none, but he resolved not to show this man any fear.
“And when that beast, Merik, ran out into the street you stuck him like a pig. Incredible, just incredible. But as a guildsman myself, what am I to do? I’m afraid I can’t let the murder of over a score of my brothers go unavenged can I, Azerick sir?
“No, I suppose you can’t. I certainly would not,” Azerick answered.
“No, you most certainly would not, would you?” Andrill burst out in another wave of laughter as he came around the desk and advanced on Azerick with a wickedly sharp blade in his hand.
“It really is such a shame. I find you most remarkable.”
Andrill bent low, peering intently into the doomed boy's eyes. “Would you look at this, Braxis? He murders nearly thirty men, is sentenced to death, the executioner stands right in front of him, and yet not a single bead of sweat breaks upon his brow. His face is neither flush nor pale; he does not tremble, nor beg for his life. Simply remarkable,” Andrill said in wonder and sat back down at his desk. “What I wouldn’t give for a dozen men like you. Hells, I’d take a dozen boys like you. What am I to do with you though?"
“You could let me go,” Azerick suggested.
“Let you go? To tell the truth, I should reward you for your services. Finally, I am able to break that deathly calm façade!" Andrill exclaimed as Azerick's face twisted in confusion. "I see I have confounded you now. Wonderful, I thought I was losing my touch for a while. You see, boy, Daedric was looking to expand into my territory. In-house fighting is fairly common when one house smells weakness in another. Daedric’s Demons have been bolstering their strength for months, and it was only a matter of time before there was all out war between Daedric and myself with little chance of yours truly coming out on top. So, Azerick sir, how would you like to join my merry band of thieves? You could go very far, I promise you.”
“With all due respect, I would not like that in the least.”
“Braxis, did he just say no?"
“I believe he did, Andrill,” Braxis answered.
“To me?” Andrill asked in disbelief.
“I’m quite certain it was to you that word was directed, yes.”
“Remarkable. Simply remarkable. What if I simply gave you no choice in the matter? What if I were to say that your life belongs to me and it is me whom you shall serve or you will die?”
“I would say that I hope you enjoy a warm fire in the evenings—a very warm fire,” Azerick replied, his voice thick with intent.
“Indeed, you would set me a hearthless blaze to ward off the evening chill I wager!” Andrill pondered for a moment before continuing. “All right, this is the deal; the reward I give you for destroying my rivals is your life. It may not seem like much, but you defied me and my generous offers, so I feel that it is a fair balance struck. In return, when you hear in the streets, and I assure you that you will, of how I single-handedly destroyed Daedric’s Demons, you will not raise witness against me. If I hear one word of how a mere boy started that fire and destroyed a guild house, I will have you flayed and hung in the square. You will also pay the tax due every non-guild associated thief in the city to me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir, on one condition,” Azerick challenged.
Andrill threw his hands in the air and exclaimed, “Even now the stripling sets conditions! Remarkable, amazing, unbelievable! What is it? What are your demands? This is truly going to be interesting.” The guild boss sat back down, cupped his face in his hands, elbows resting on the desktop, and stared at the impetuous boy.
“I have lost three homes in as many years, each to murder, and I do not wish to lose another. I ask that
you command all of your men and any others you have influence over that they never attempt to track me to my home or enlist others to do so in their stead. I will defend my home to the death, both their lives and mine. Should I survive the invasion, I will seek vengeance on as grand a scale as I can dream up and carry out. You have seen the least of what my imagination can devise,” warned the young thief.
“Very well, that is a reasonable demand and I will issue orders as such.” Andrill turned to his henchman. “Braxis, issue the order that any man on guard duty caught drinking anything other than water drawn from the house will be whipped and hung, and I want no less than five buckets of sand in every room of the house. Please escort our young friend from the premises.”
Once again, Azerick found his head encased in the heavy canvas sack and enveloped in darkness.
“And, boy. I will issue the same warning to you as you have given me. Do not show your face within three blocks of my chapterhouse. To do so will negate our treaty and your life will be forfeit. One of my men will approach you when your taxes are due, and I suggest you have the coin on you,” Andrill warned him as Braxis hauled him to his feet and shoved Azerick toward the door.
The guild lieutenant pushed Azerick through the halls and into the cool night air and hurried him down several alleys and streets for what must have been a half an hour before the bag was pulled off his head and was shoved roughly forward. Azerick stumbled, his arms cart wheeling for several steps before he regained his balance. He turned to face his escorts but saw nothing but a faint light at the end of the alley and dark shadows all around him. It took Azerick over an hour to make his way home due to the back tracking and circuitous route he took to ensure that Andrill held to his promise that no one follows him.
When Azerick finally climbed down into the relative safety of his home, he could still not shake the feeling being vulnerable. He hated that feeling. His nerves would not let him go to sleep until he was certain that he was safe from the thieves or anyone else that might want to do him harm.
The Sorcerer's Ascension (The Sorcerer's Path) Page 17