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

by Brock Deskins

  Azerick heard the sounds of striking objects. He looked around and saw that his wanderings had taken him back to the martial training grounds. A young man a few years older than Azerick was swinging away on a practice dummy in the large sand-covered courtyard. The young fighter saw Azerick watching him, turned, raised his sword in acknowledgement, and started walking toward him.

  “Hey there!” he called out to the wizard apprentice.

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. I’m leaving,” Azerick said, not wanting any trouble.

  “That’s okay, I don’t mind. Weapon Master Zorbrun isn’t here, just me. My name’s Alexander; Alex for short,” the young man said, extending his hand.

  “Mine is Azerick,” he said, clasping the proffered hand in greeting.

  “I’ve seen you quite a few times watching us. Are you interested in fighting with weapons?” Alex asked.

  “A little. I did some training when I was younger, before I came to The Academy. In fact, if my casting doesn’t get any better soon they may transfer me over here.”

  “Better than being kicked out I suppose, unless your heart’s desire was firmly set on being a wizard,” Alex said, mimicking Azerick's exact thoughts.

  “I liked the idea, and I can cast a few spells, but I liked weapons training too, so it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I was transferred. It would be better than constantly making a fool out of myself at the Magus Academy. So why aren’t you gone like everyone else for spring festival?"

  “My family is gone on business, and I don’t care to stay with my relatives much. They look down their noses at me because I’m my father’s bastard. My mother died giving birth to me so he took me in but shoved me off on The Academy as soon as he could. How about you, why are you still here?"

  “I don’t have a family. My mother and father died a few years ago, so I decided to stay here and practice too.”

  “I guess we’re a bit of a pair then aren’t we? You want to do some sparring? Maybe I can teach you a few things in case someone jumps you and you can’t get a spell off,” Alex offered.

  “Sounds great, let’s do it.”

  Alex got Azerick some padded armor and a dulled sword. The two boys squared off and began exchanging blows. Alex was by far the stronger and more experienced of the two, but he complimented the young wizard's skill while suggesting improvements. By the end of the match, both students were tired but Azerick was the most sore, having received several bruises from the other’s sword. Azerick had only managed to land two hits and those likely would not have proved lethal or even incapacitating in a real fight unless they turned septic and he died of infection.

  “I’ll be here tomorrow if you want to go at it again,” Alex offered.

  “Sure, that sounds good, but next time I would like to try the staff.”

  “I’m not much for staff work. It's more of a farmer’s weapon than a fighter's, but I guess it’s only fair to give you the advantage if you know how to use one. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Azerick bid farewell and walked back to his room, his spirits buoyed by making a new friend and enjoying the feeling of practicing with a weapon again.

  He spent the next morning practicing his spells before heading to the weapon’s yard after lunch. There was only one cook left on the grounds so he made a sandwich out of some pork and cheese. He wrapped a second one up in cheesecloth and set out to his weapons training appointment. Alex was already there warming up when he arrived. Alex had missed lunch since no one bothered to ring the bell for meal call and took the offered sandwich with thanks. Once he finished eating, they set up for their next duel.

  “Don’t you want to put on your armor before we get started?” Alex asked as he grabbed up his own staff.

  “No, I’m going to try it without it,” Azerick replied.

  “Pretty confident with the staff are you? We’ll see how you feel after I give you a few more bruises,” Alex said with a good-humored laugh.

  The two fighters went at it, their staves sending clacking echoes across the courtyard. Alex was obviously not nearly as skilled with the staff as he was with the sword, and Azerick’s preference of the weapon put them on nearly even footing in the fight. However, Alex was still bigger and a more experienced fighter and he managed to slip a blow through Azerick's defense, but instead of feeling the satisfying slap of wood against the younger boy’s ribs, his staff was deflected slightly and bounced off with a dull thump that was hardly even noticed by his opponent.

  “What the…?” Alex called out in confusion.

  Azerick took advantage of Alex’s momentary distraction and slipped in a blow of his own, smacking against the young man’s side with a satisfying crack. Alex let out a grunt of surprise and pain and tried to bring his defenses back on line, but Azerick had momentum now and took full advantage of it.

  The younger student thrust, swung, and swept the ends of his staff at his larger foe; pushing him back on his heels into a defensive withdrawal. Azerick was finally able to overcome Alex’s defense and landed a solid thrust into his midsection. The young fighter doubled over with a great gasp of breath before Azerick hooked his heel, flipped him onto his back, and pressed the butt of his staff to his throat.

  “I yield, I yield,” Alex cried out laughing with whatever breath he was able to get. “Not a bad job for a spell slinger. Speaking of which, I should have landed that blow to your side. What did you do?”

  “I cast a spell that gives me the same protection as a decent set of armor without the restricted movement.”

  “Isn’t that kind of like cheating?”

  “It’s a skill I happen to posses. I don’t think it is cheating any more than your advantage in size and skill.”

  “I guess not, but next round I think I’ll go back to my sword. What about you?”

  “I’m sticking with my staff. I was never much for sword work.”

  Alex went and retrieved his training sword while Azerick caught his breath and waited. Once Alex was ready, they squared off again. The next match went similar to their first day with Alex giving Azerick tips and landing bruising blows even through his magical armor. Unlike their first bout however, Azerick was able to get a few good blows in himself as his increased skill at the staff compensating a bit for his foe’s much greater skill in sword handling. By the end of the day, bruises covered both exhausted students exhausted.

  They kept up their sparring matches for the rest of the spring festival break. Both boys took great delight in honing their skills, but it was obvious that Azerick made the most improvement in his fighting skill. By the end of the two weeks, their bouts often ended in a draw, neither one able to dominate the other.

  Azerick was enjoying a quiet day of reading in his room when Rusty busted into the room. Spring break was nearly over and Rusty's entrance heralded the last of his quiet time alone. As much as Azerick was glad to see Rusty and continue his studies, it also meant dealing with Travis and his own frustrating failures again.

  “I’m back. Did you miss me?” a smiling Rusty asked.

  “I’m not sure. Who are you again?” Azerick teased, trying to look confused.

  “Very funny. So what did you do while I was gone? Did you go to spring festival?”

  “I went one day with Alex, but I stuck around The Academy the rest of the time.”

  “Who’s Alex? I’m gone for two weeks and you trade me out for a new best friend huh?” Rusty asked with feigned jealousy.

  “He’s in the Martial Academy. We sparred almost every day.”

  “Oh no, and a metal head at that! You, sir, are a vile fiend!” he cried as he flopped onto his bed.

  “You will just have to get used to sharing me, so best get over it. I am far too special to limit myself to just one friend. Restricting the pleasure of my company to just one friend reeks of selfishness of the highest magnitude and I’m far too giving a person for that,” Azerick shot back, playing Rusty’s game.

  “Well
, I guess I can’t hold it against you too much considering what I did while I was on holiday,” Rusty said with an air of mystery. “Well, aren’t wondering what I did?” he demanded when Azerick did not ask.

  “No, not really.”

  “Oh you have turned evil; evil and vile. Well, I’m going to tell you anyway. I met a girl,” Rusty said, practically bouncing around the room.

  “A girl, really, where?” Azerick asked suddenly interested.

  “At spring festival of course. Her name is Colleen, she has long, blond hair, beautiful, smart, and she smells great.”

  “Wow, she sounds great. So how did she lose her eyesight?”

  “What do you mean? I didn’t say she was blind.”

  “Well she must be blind if she’s going out with you.”

  Rusty threw his scorched pillow at Azerick. “She thinks I’m quite charming, thank you!”

  “I’m sure you two will be quite happy together as long as you don’t set her pretty, long, blond hair on fire,” Azerick said as threw Rusty’s burnt pillow back at him.

  “The pillow was an accident and the only person’s hair I set on fire I did on purpose, and he deserved it and you know it,” Rusty fired back.

  “What about that time in applied magic class when you thought that a flaming crown would look good and you pronounced yourself the fire king?”

  “Setting my own hair on fire doesn’t count; occupational hazard,” Rusty countered, crossing his arms and sticking out his lower lip.

  “What about in alchemy class when Magus Morgarum…”

  “All right, all right, you made your point. I am not going to set her hair on fire and I have learned a new quenching spell that will put out any fires I may accidentally set.”

  “Now that may well be the most brilliant thing you have done yet.”

  Rusty and Azerick continued to catch up, Azerick telling him about his sparring, Rusty telling him about his walks and stolen kisses with Colleen.

  The next day it was back to class as usual. Travis and his friends were all huddled around a desk carrying on what must have been a very amusing conversation. When they caught Azerick’s eye they laughed even harder and whispered amongst themselves before Travis stood up and turned toward Azerick.

  “Hey, Azerick, I was wrong to call you a peasant before,” he said.

  Azerick was less surprised by his pronouncement than he was worried about what horrible thing he might follow that statement up with, knowing that it was unlikely that someone as spoiled and cruel as he was had some kind of major personality change over the holiday.

  “It seems that I gave you far too much credit and insulted peasants everywhere by giving you claim to such a high status,” he continued, turning and looking at the other students in the classroom now that he had everyone's attention. “It seems that our good friend Azerick is not so much a peasant as the son of a whore!”

  Azerick jumped up from his seat, his face burning a brilliant shade of red. “Shut your mouth, Travis, or I swear I’ll kill you!” Azerick shouted, barely suppressing his seething rage.

  “Yes, that is quite enough young man!” Magus Florent demanded, but Travis continued.

  “I was at my father’s shipping house when I overheard him and one of his ship's captains talking about a whore that lived above an inn in the common quarter with her son Azerick. Apparently she wasn’t that good though. Her last customer cut her up like a piece of beef ready for the stew pot!”

  The world seemed to narrow in Azerick’s eyes and the only think he could see was Travis’s laughing face. A curtain of white-hot fury blotted everything out as he extended his arm out and let loose a scream of unbridled fury. Deep within his subconscious, he grabbed at those silver strands of energy that he had used to create the magical wards. Azerick tore at them with his mind and twisted them into a form shaped purely from his unbridled fury. Suddenly the world went dark and he knew nothing more other than a distant, dull sensation of falling and the floor rushing up to meet him.

  For Rusty and everyone else in the room it was a different scene altogether. Most of the teenage students were appalled at the filth spewing from Travis's mouth and their eyes turned toward Azerick in pity. Azerick’s scream of rage filled their ears a fraction of a second before an intense light, a horrendously loud crack, and the smell of ozone filled the room.

  Azerick dropped to the ground unconscious, blood leaking from his nose and ears. Travis was down and not moving, his friends crawled around the floor moaning pitifully. The lightning had blackened the wall behind the tormenting boys and blasted off a large section of the plaster and stucco. Students started screaming once they come overcame their momentary shock.

  “Someone run to Magus Morgarum and have him bring healing potions, the best he has, quickly now!" Magus Florent commanded.

  Several students ran to the alchemist’s classroom to summon help. Magus Florent bent over, checked Azerick first, and found that he was still breathing. She then checked on Travis. He was breathing but it was shallow. His shirt was in tatters and had a horrible burn through his shirt to his skin. His chest sported a large black burn across it where the electric bolt had grazed him. Had it hit him square it likely would have burned clean through him and ended his young life then and there.

  Magus Morgarum ran in on the heels of the students who had summoned him and took in the damaged room and the students lying on the floor. He prized open Travis jaws and poured a purple liquid down his throat from a slim metal vial. He then went and administered a dose of the healing draught to Azerick before checking on the conscious but moaning students caught just outside the path of the powerful bolt.

  Azerick awoke in a strange bed. He looked around and saw several other beds, but no one else occupied them. He looked over and saw Magus Allister sitting in a chair next to his bed.

  “I see you are awake, good. How do you feel?” the old wizard asked kindly.

  “Terrible. My head hurts and I’m really thirsty and hungry.”

  “Not surprising on both accounts. You are thirsty because you have been unconscious for two days, and your head hurts because you channeled far more power than you have been taught to handle.”

  “What do you mean? What did I do?”

  “What do you remember?”

  “Travis was saying things about my mother. I got really angry, furious, my vision got real narrow, and all I saw was red. I remember grabbing at the Source and doing something with it, but I do not know what exactly. Then I blacked out and woke up here.”

  “Do you remember feeling anything else just before you passed out?”

  “I remember touching something but not with my hands, more like my mind. It felt like I had fallen into an icy river or a stream.”

  “That was the flow of magic, the Source. As of yet, you have been taught how to dip a finger into the Source and draw upon its power. This time, you reached into the flow hand and fist and channeled a great deal more energy than you have learned to handle. You released that energy in the form of a lightning bolt against Travis."

  “Magus Allister, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean too. I don’t know how I did that!”

  “I think I do, and if I am right, which I am certain I am, then I owe you a great apology, but we’ll talk about that later," Magus Allister promised.

  “Is Travis all right? I did not mean to hurt him; at least not kill him. No, that is not true. I wanted to kill him, but only because I lost control of my temper. I don’t want him dead now, you have to believe me,” Azerick begged, fearing they would cast him out of The Academy and possibly put in jail.

  “I do, lad, don’t you worry. He is going to be fine. His family took him home for a few days to rest."

  “What are they going to do to me now? Will I be kicked out of The Academy?”

  “Travis's family is quite upset and has a significant amount of influence but, given the situation, I think things will be all right. Several of the students, as well as Magus Florent, have come fo
rward and given testimony that you were provoked most cruelly. There are factors in this that you do not yet understand, but I will explain it all later. Get some rest now and I’ll have someone bring you something to eat and drink.”

  With that, the kind old wizard left Azerick alone to his thoughts. A woman in white robes came in shortly with some food and watered-down wine. He ate everything, drank two glasses of the thin wine, and fell back into an exhausted slumber.

  Azerick suddenly found himself standing by a swift-moving river, but instead of water it looked like it was made entirely of light and energy.

  You have finally awakened, came a disembodied voice. From where, Azerick could not tell.

  He spun around in a circle looking for the source of the voice. “Where are you? Show yourself!”

  I am here, same as you are.

  “Where am I?” Azerick asked.

  You are where you are supposed to be, where you need to be.

  “Who are you?”

  Who are you? the voice echoed.

  “Is this some kind of game?” Azerick demanded.

  If it was, do you think you would be winning or losing?

  “What are you?” Azerick shouted, growing impatient and angry at the voice’s word play.

  What are you?

  “I’m an orphan, street rat, and a student of magic! Happy now?”

  Are you happy? Which of those titles makes you happy? Titles are merely words, descriptors, not who or what you are. They do not define you.

  “What am I then, since you seem to have all the answers?”

  The only answers I have are within you. What you are is what you choose to be.

  Azerick thought about everything the voice had said, ran the seemingly illogical conversation back through his mind.

  “Are you me? Are you my own voice, the voice of my mind?”

  I am part of you, a part you are just now beginning to discover. Whether I become you, you become me, or you become something else is entirely up to you.