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

by Brock Deskins

  The fallen warrior rolled onto his back and Azerick placed the butt of his staff lightly under his vanquished foe’s throat just above the rib cage. Still lacking the breath to form words, Dirk tapped the weapon that lay against his throat three times as an act of submission. Azerick extended a hand to his opponent and helped him to his feet.

  “You fight pretty well for a wizard,” Dirk gasped out, his hands on his knees in an effort to hold himself up.

  “Sorcerer,” Azerick corrected.

  “You fight damn well no matter what you call yourself,” the gruff weapons master said. “I won’t tell any man no who wants to learn to fight. You come back any time, and I’ll see to that you get the training you need.”

  “Thank you, sir, I appreciate that, and I’ll definitely take you up on your offer.”

  “Where did you learn to fight like that? I know they don’t teach that stuff in that Magus Academy.”

  “I studied under a master named Ewen when I was younger, then it was mostly what I taught myself and learned in the streets.”

  “That explains it. The streets are tough master, but you learn quickly or you die, trust me I know. You bring yourself back anytime. I want to see you here regular like though if you’re serious about learning how to fight like a man.”

  “I will sir. I’ll be here every day if I can.”

  Alex congratulated him on his win and gaining the acceptance of the surly weapons master. Azerick thanked him for supporting him then left to make his way back to his own Academy. As he walked past the stables, Travis and his friends burst out of one of the stalls where they had been lying in wait and grabbed him, forcing him back into the empty pen.

  Realizing that trying to push four other boys was futile, he grabbed one by the shirt front and yanked him in the direction they were pushing him, pivoted, and threw him head first into the stable wall where he slumped down to the straw-covered floor.

  The other three young men shoved him up against the same wall a fraction of a second later and started raining blows on him with their fists. Azerick covered, ducked, and dodged as best he was able, even snaking out and connecting with a few quick jabs of his own, but their greater numbers soon brought him down. All four boys launched a few extra kicks after he slumped down to the floor before stepping back. Travis pulled out his wand and threatened him once again.

  “I told you we weren’t done, peasant. This is just the beginning. Do you think I would just forget about what you did to me? Every time you start to feel comfortable or safe, I will remind you that you are not welcome here. Do yourself a favor and leave The Academy, or I will kill you. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but some day I will do it. I can take you out any time I want to, but I will not do it right away. I want you to be afraid. I want you to wonder if today is the day that I end you until I decide to finish you. Think about that every time you see me and live in fear.”

  Azerick pulled himself up off the ground as soon as they left and dusted the straw and dirt off his clothes before going back to his room. If Travis thought he could scare him, he was sorely mistaken.

  “What the heck happened to you?” Rusty asked as he walked into the room.

  “I was sparring with the Martial Academy guys after class.”

  “Are you crazy? Those guys are all psychotic killers who love to bash each other’s brains in for fun,” Rusty exclaimed before Azerick could finish his sentence.

  “I did fine with the sparring. It was Travis and his friends who gave me all the bruises.”

  “Are you all right? You should go to the infirmary then tell the Headmaster.”

  “Pfft, I’ve gotten hit harder by the floor falling out of bed. Those guys are amateurs. Try getting beat up by Hugo and his cronies. They may be as dumb as horse droppings, but they know how to work a person over. Besides, you know the Headmaster cannot, or will not, do anything about it. I can handle it myself. What is that wand that he likes to threaten people with?”

  “I heard him say it was a wand of magic bolts, like the spell that most of us learn early on, only more powerful,” Rusty explained.

  “Sounds unpleasant. I may have to do something about that sometime.”

  Azerick avoided the troublesome group as best he could by keeping a wary eye out and varying his route to and from different location just as he did on the streets. However, he still had to go to class. In alchemy class, he sat down with a glass beaker full of a caustic liquid only to find that his chair was an illusion. He fell flat on his backside spilling the substance all over him, which ate large holes in his clothes. He returned the favor by switching the labels on some of Travis’s component jars. When he set his mixture over a flame it started to bubble and expand, releasing a noxious odor that ended the class for the day.

  Over the next few weeks, an all out battlefront of pranks erupted. One of Azerick’s potions blew up, covering him, Rusty, and Magus Morgarum in a pink-tinted dye that took nearly a full week of scrubbing to remove. Of course, Magus Morgarum was clean the next day; a feat he did not feel inclined to share with his two sabotaged students.

  Azerick found a good illusion spell in one of the library spell books. With Rusty’s help, he cast an illusion over Travis that made it appear as though he were wearing no clothing. The effect was only visible to those more than five or six yards from source of the spell, so neither Travis nor his friends were aware of the image. He looked not only nude, but also tragically underdeveloped in the manhood area and slightly overdeveloped in the breast area.

  Travis and his friends crossed the commons and walked into class followed by the stares, giggles, and catcalls of every student they passed. By the time the group had made it to class, Travis was livid at not knowing why everyone was staring, pointing, and laughing. He looked at his robe, asked his friends if they saw anything wrong, and demanded to know what everyone was staring at. It was not until Magus Florent saw through the illusion and dispelled it, informing her student of the effect.

  Travis repaid Azerick by making it appear as if the landing atop a flight of stairs was larger than it really was. When Azerick stepped toward what he thought was the top of the stairs, his foot fell through the illusion and he tumbled the entire way down, breaking his elbow and wrenching his knee, which had to be mended with a healing draught.

  Azerick returned the favor by making one of his small constructs and sending it through Travis’s window late one night. The spider-like construct skittered across the ceiling and hung above the sleeping mage’s bed. The construct looked like a spider, but its bulbous abdomen was a bladder filled with a sticky substance. The spider construct released its payload onto its unsuspecting target as he slept.

  Travis awoke when the automaton poured the honey-like substance onto his head and shoulders. When he leapt from the bed, the construct released its hold from the ceiling and dropped down onto his pillow where it quickly crawled under it and exploded. The pillow burst into a cloud of feathers and down which adhered to the sticky substance, effectively tar and feathering him.

  Sometimes weeks would pass before another strike and retaliation erupted. This cycle continued for the rest of the year. Sometimes Travis and his friends were able to corner him alone and pummel him at which Azerick would stalk them individually and administer a beating of his own.

  Azerick stuck to his melee training as best he could, getting three and four days of practice a week in with the Martial Academy students. Both his magical and martial skills were developing quickly, and by the year’s end, he had nearly caught up to most of the students his age in the Magus Academy and could hold his own with his staff against many of the Martial Academy fighters.

  He stayed at The Academy during the summer when most students went home to their families for the next two months. Master Devlin took advantage of the extra time to work him even harder in his studies. From sunrise to sunset, Master Devlin pushed him at a grueling pace, forcing him to learn as much as he could.

  “Now, I want you to cast
a spell at me. Tap the Source, form your spell, and release it at me,” his master instructed.

  “You want me to actually attack you? I can’t, what if I hurt you?”

  “There is little fear of that, Azerick. You may be clever, you may be skilled for one with as little training as you have had, but I’m certain my shield will protect me from anything you can muster,” Master Devlin responded with a rare smile and laugh.

  Azerick did as he was told, feeling rather foolish at his presumptuous thought. He called the power into himself, formed it, and was prepared to launch a stream of magical bolts when something interrupted him. He felt the power slip from his grasp as an object smacked him in the middle of his forehead.

  “Now tell me what just happened,” his tutor said.

  “You hit me with something and it made me lose my hold on the Source,” Azerick answered rubbing a red spot that suddenly appeared on his forehead.

  “No, you allowed an external force to break your concentration. That will get you killed in a fight. You must not allow anything to break your focus; not pain, not sounds, nor fears. If your own mother or child was being burned to death and their screams assailed you mercilessly, you must block all of that out or you are of no use to anyone, not even yourself. Now try again.”

  Azerick began his casting once more and again his master struck him with a small bag filled with dried beans. On his third try, he successfully sent three luminous missiles at his master. His spell struck but the protective magic that Devlin had used to shield himself easily dissipated it.

  “Good, now try again. As you become more focused, the method I use to distract you will get harder.”

  Azerick was able to work past the distractions on most of his successive castings until his instructor hit him with the flat of a book across the shoulder. Azerick was soon out of spells and was still distracted by the book bashing. Master Devlin had him go through the motions of casting once he had depleted his repertoire of spells until he could perform the motions and words without error. His master finally dismissed him for the day, battered and bruised, but he felt more confident in his casting.

  Azerick found Master Devlin hard and unfriendly but a good teacher. He set a pace that he knew Azerick had to work hard at but was able to keep up. He never allowed him to slack off one bit, making him repeat lessons over and over until he got it.

  He was also able to find someone to spar with to practice his staff skills with on occasion. By the time Rusty and the rest of the students returned, Azerick felt as though he had completed another entire year of school, which was not far from the truth.

  His concentration was now sufficient that he could form and cast a spell without interruption even when Master Devlin jabbed him in the thigh or shoulder nearly hard enough to draw blood. Azerick accepted his training without complaint, which he was certain pleased and impressed his master even though he knew that Master Devlin would never say as much.

  The young sorcerer was a little concerned when his master informed him that he would need to build his concentration to the point that he could take an arrow or a cut without losing focus. Azerick hoped his master would not take his to that level, but he was not certain given Devlin’s methods.

  Rusty and the other students returned to The Academy and he and Azerick spent the day catching up. Azerick told Rusty about his studies and the spells he had learned, which impressed his friend quite a bit. Rusty told Azerick about his summer and how he and Colleen had shared kisses by the fountain at his home.

  Travis and his goons wasted no time in harassing him once they returned. Azerick had thought that the petty rivalry would pass now that he had established himself at the school but it seemed only to make Travis hate him even more. The pranks and fights went on week after week, month after month. Azerick developed something he liked to call a sundering spell. He used it in class to weaken the legs of Travis’s chair so that it broke apart when he sat down. Travis caught him in one of the lesser-used hallways a short time later and he and his friends proceeded to punch and kick him.

  “Remember what I said, peasant. One day I’ll be bored of you, and then you are finished. I’ll tell you this much, this is the last year you will be attending this school. I suggest you leave on your own, but if you persist in this stubbornness, I will make you leave. Dead or alive, you will leave this school.”

  “I’ll take your suggestion under advisement,” Azerick answered sarcastically.

  That remark earned him a few more kicks before they left him lying in a darkened alcove. It was hard to keep away from such places, as there were a lot of darkened halls and alcoves. The Academy was huge, but it boasted barely a hundred students. He read in one of the history archives that it once had an attendance of over a thousand several centuries ago, but for the last few hundred years, fewer people were being born with the talent to become wizards, and sorcerers were nearly extinct in the northern lands. He picked himself up and limped back to his room.

  “Got you again, huh?” Rusty observed.

  “Yeah, I have to give them credit, they are getting better. I think Hugo would even let them tag along with him and his pals.”

  “This can’t go on, you know. Something has to be done to end this some time,” Rusty said.

  “It will. When one of is dead it will be over. In fact, Travis said that this was the year I would leave or he would kill me.”

  “You have to go to the Headmaster and have him put a stop to this. Travis will kill you if he gets the chance. You know he will get away with it too!”

  “I will just have to make sure I don’t give him the chance then,” Azerick said confidently.

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “It will be a lot harder for him to kill me without this,” Azerick replied pulling Travis’s wand from his sleeve.

  “How did you get that?” Rusty shouted excitedly.

  “I swiped it when they jumped me.”

  “When he finds out you took his wand he will kill you for sure,” Rusty warned, concerned for his friend.

  “He won’t find out, I’m going to make sure he gets it back.”

  “If you’re going to give it back why did you bother taking it in the first place?”

  “Remember his chair leg?” Azerick asked as he began casting his sundering spell on it.

  “Do you think it will work?” asked Rusty.

  “I think so, although it is harder to set on a magical item. I can feel it resisting me. Ah there, got it. Well, time to go put this back where I found it.”

  With his work done, he limped back down The Academy halls until he found the site of his most recent fight and carefully placed the wand behind a pedestal that held a bust of some long-forgotten wizard.

  “Where is my wand?” Travis demanded the next morning at breakfast.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about, Travis,” Azerick replied.

  “I know you took it, you must have taken it when I was pummeling you yesterday.”

  “Did you try looking for it there? Maybe you dropped it.”

  “You better hope I find it, peasant, or I swear you will not live out the week,” Travis promised before stalking off toward the site of their latest battle.

  Winter festival came and went with almost an undeclared cease-fire. Azerick had to wonder whether Travis had given up trying to drive him off or if this was the lull before the storm.

  CHAPTER 18

  “Azerick, did you hear?” Rusty asked excitedly.

  “Hear what?”

  “We’re going to have a big summer ball before the summer break! I’m going to bring Colleen so you can meet her.”

  “That sounds great, Rusty. It sounds like fun.”

  “You don’t sound too excited. What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t have anything to wear to something like that. It will show that I don’t really belong here even more than it does already,” Azerick answered, feeling slightly embarrassed.

  “I have lot
s of clothes. You can borrow some of mine. You’re not as tall as I am, but they should be fine with a bit of hemming,” Rusty offered.

  “Thanks, Rusty, but I insist on wearing my own underwear. I’ve seen what you do to yours.”

  “Very funny, maybe you should just go in your underwear then!” Rusty shouted indignantly then both boys fell into a fit laughter.

  Azerick and Travis exchanged a few more attacks in the weeks before summer’s start and then the day of the ball was upon them. Rusty gave Azerick a white silk shirt with a crimson, crushed velvet doublet and black trews with a red embroidered pattern down the outside of each leg. Rusty wore a brilliant yellow shirt with lace cuffs under a royal blue doublet and a pair of blue trews with gold thread embroidery.

  “Wow, you almost look like a gentleman,” Rusty teased.

  “Be careful, I have a reputation to protect.”

  They made their way to the formal banquet hall where The Academy set up for the ball. Rusty went to find Colleen amongst the huge crowd of girls invited to attend the ball from an all girl’s school. Because the Martial Academy was almost exclusively male, the three headmasters agreed that it would be a good idea to invite them.

  Azerick went to the long table that held dozens of trays of small finger foods and two massive crystal punch bowls. He reached for a glass and the large crystal ladle resting in the crystal bowl at the same time another hand grasped for the same ladle.

  “Oh, pardon me, sir,” begged a delicate feminine voice as the hand withdrew.

  “No please, it I who must beg pardon from a fair maiden,” Azerick replied using charm he did not know he possessed. “Please, allow me to get that for you.”

  “Thank you kindly, my gallant sir,” the young woman replied with a giggle.