The Sorcerer’s Vengeance
Book Four of the Sorcerer’s Path
By
Brock E. Deskins
Published by Brock E. Deskins
ISBN: 978-1-4659-3370-6
Cover Illustration Copyright © 2012
Copyright ©2012 Brock E. Deskins
Copyright, Legal Notice and Disclaimer:
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people beyond the conditions of your purchase. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
The Sorcerer’s Saga
The Sorcerer’s Ascension
The Sorcerer’s Torment
The Sorcerer’s Legacy
The Sorcerer’s Vengeance
The Sorcerer’s Scourge
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
Epilogue
Deleted Scenes
From the Author
CHAPTER 1
General Baneford stepped out of the blazing sun and into his command tent, eager to get out of the fiery orb’s merciless glare. He and his men had been riding hard for several days and he was exhausted. When he saw the black-robed wizard sitting in his chair once again it failed to startle or even impress him. He had gotten used to the spell slinger’s sudden appearances.
He did take note of several large trunks that he was unfamiliar with stacked along the back of his tent. The wizard smiled under his hood, vacated the chair, and chose one nearby. The general pulled at the straps of his armor, let it fall to the floor, and removed his sweat-soaked helm, the only part of his armor that was not of the fabled artifact.
“You failed to eliminate Jarvin’s treasure hunters,” the wizard said without preamble.
General Baneford sat down heavily in his chair and poured the wizard and himself a glass of wine. “I hadn’t expected the elf to bring down half the blasted mountain on top of our heads, but we got their wizard. It should be a simple matter to get the rest of them with a similar trap.”
“That will not be necessary. I have an agent already within their ranks who will not only kill them for us but hand deliver the remaining piece of your—my armor,” the wizard said smoothly. “Do you see the nice things I do for you? It is important that partners help each other when they can. I believe it builds trust, an essential element for any successful partnership.”
General Baneford was secretly relieved that the wizard was not upset at their partial victory, or complete failure, depending on one’s point of view. It could have led to a rather ugly confrontation. He had lost many good men thanks to that blasted wizard and he was in no mood to be lectured or reprimanded. His hands and fingernails still bore indications of the abuse they suffered digging themselves out of tons of fallen rubble. Besides, he had put up with enough abuse from Ulric and he would be damned if he was going to take any more. He was his own man now and would be subservient to no one.
The General allowed himself a small smile as he pictured Ulric swinging from the king’s gibbet in the middle of Rose Plaza. All it would take was one little letter from him telling the king all about Ulric’s attempted coup. Nevertheless, he had taken several oaths and he would not betray them even now. Besides, he would likely swing right next to him.
General Baneford snapped out of his contemplations and fixed the wizard with a look. “Have you come to deliver the things promised in our bargain then?”
“Indeed I have, General, indeed I have,” the wizard replied with a clap of his hands.
The black-garbed wizard strode over to the trunks and popped lids open with a wave of his hand. General Baneford stood and walked over to the trunks, peering disinterestedly at the contents inside. He set his glass on a nearby short bookshelf and pulled out a breastplate. The finish was exceptionally smooth, no blemishes caused by the smith’s hammer warped or marred its brilliant finish in any way. Elaborate designs were etched into the steel but the surface remained as smooth as glass, leaving no imperfections that would allow an arrow or weapon to gain purchase.
The General had seen more than one wealthy young nobleman die from a lance, spear, or arrow because he wore armor with more ornament than function. The tip of the weapon had bit into the steel because of some stamped coat of arms where it would have skipped off harmlessly had the armor been plain and smooth. These magnificent pieces somehow managed to accomplish both.
He pulled out pieces at random from the several different chests. All were of extraordinary craftsmanship even if they had not been enchanted, but that was what he had been promised.
“How am I to know that these bare any kind of beneficial enchantments?” the general asked the wizard.
“I can cast a spell that would make any item with magical properties glow with a faint aura but you would have to trust me in that as well. I do know a spell that would make a perfectly mundane item appear to have a magical enchantment upon it. Unless you have a spell caster amongst your men that you trust implicitly, you will have to take me at my word that these arms and armor are precisely what we agreed upon.”
“I will take your word for it,” General Baneford replied, and he did actually believe the mage, something that surprised even himself.
“Excellent. Your personal equipment is in that trunk there. How you distribute the others is up to you of course.”
The wizard handed him a large, facetted black gem. “My agent will contact you through this. All you need to do is take it into your hand and concentrate your thoughts upon it. You will hear his voice through the gem and vice versa. You will know when he is trying to contact you because the gem will become warm and emit a tingling sensation so long as it is within a few feet of you.”
The general warily took the gem into his hand. Magical swords and armor was one thing, strange speaking gems were another. As beneficial as this arrangement had been, not counting the losses of the last mission, he would be glad to excise his relationship with this enigmatic man.
“Now, I think we have covered everything here. I hope to see you again in the next week so you may fulfill your part of our agreement and conclude our most mutually beneficial business transaction. Good day, General,” the wizard said and stepped through the magical gate that sprang up behind him.
***
Captain John Cruthers watched the wizard and his companions ride out of town early the next night, wisely choosing to travel after dark when the heat of the day had sufficiently ebbed. He had met many hard and dangerous men in his tenure as an officer in Sandusk. It was a hard town, in a hard region, and it tended to draw hard men, but never had he been more relieved to see a man leave than the mage.
It still surprised him when he thought about it. He
looked at the wizard’s face and saw a man several years his junior, just past the transition point of boy to man, but one look into his eyes, the slightest brush against that invisible aura of power, and he made him feel like a child looking upon his father—or at the dangerous end of a loaded crossbow. It was beyond unnerving.
It surprised him that he was actually considering the young man’s suggestion about leaving this town and its wildly swinging climate. Already the temperature was dropping near freezing. He looked back at the town and thought this was certainly no place to raise a family.
Maude and her reformed company once more found themselves riding through the parched, scrubby wasteland with the obstinate and almost intelligently rude camel in tow. The wizard, Azerick, had actually purchased him outright because he feared they may not be coming back through Sandusk and did not want the man who rented him out to suffer the loss. That small act of selflessness did more to settle any concerns of trusting the stranger with such an important mission than anything else.
Maude missed Tarth terribly. She missed his peculiarity even if he did botch some spells on occasion. He was probably the best friend she ever had, probably because he was so different. She felt just a little less peculiar herself when he was around. He was the only person other than her mother that she allowed to call her by her full name. Somehow, it just sounded natural coming from the elf’s mouth.
They ate surprisingly well thanks to the food that Azerick was able to endlessly pull from his magical bag. Everyone quickly agreed that they needed to get at least one for themselves and were disappointed when the spell caster said it was the first one he had ever heard of, much less seen.
She knew that Azerick probably was not going to stay on beyond delivering the helm to King Jarvin, if he even went that far. The wizard seemed completely indifferent to any form of reward that Maude brought up, even hypothetically. She asked him if he could have anything in the world, what it would be, and he simply told her that the one thing he wanted could never be granted by another. He doubted even the gods could give him what he truly desired.
His apparent lack of greed did give her some misgivings. If he did not want gold, nobility, or power; what was his motivation and what made him suddenly change his mind about joining her group? The assassin had tried to kill him, but he said he was not the first to try. She had gotten that much out of him. She asked what he did when he was not trekking through the desert and he said he ran an orphanage in North Haven!
A thought suddenly occurred to her and she could absolutely kick herself for not having caught it sooner. Not only had he been near the two artifacts when they met in Sandusk, he already knew the location of the helm! Was he trying to acquire it for himself? It would be near useless without the rest of the suit and what would a wizard do with it?
Maude was certain that the men who had ambushed them were likely the same group that had killed the king’s special guard and recovered at least two of the pieces from them. She even saw the large man wearing that unnaturally black armor in the temple, which had to have been Dundalor’s armor.
If Azerick had been with those men, surely he would have made his presence known and stopped their retreat. She, Borik, and Malek had ridden hard straight back to Sandusk and Azerick had shown up only a couple hours after they had returned. Then again, who knew how fast he could travel with his powers.
Damn it, Maude, you are going to think yourself into a state of paranoia if you keep this up! He changed his mind, that’s all. He has so far shown himself to be honest and honorable, even if he is reserved in talking about himself. You need him. If he tries to betray us, you will catch him and take off his head or he will use his magic to fry us all dead.
She decided that she would talk to Malek about it later. He had magical powers of his own that may help her quell her doubts or validate her concerns. She knew Borik would be no help. He lost his objectivity long before he reached the bottom of his first cold mug of beer. Azerick was the long lost brother he would gladly trade his mother for. It did not help that Borik talked him into stuffing six small kegs of near-frozen ale into his magic sack.
She was starting to think Borik might be developing a drinking problem. He nearly wet himself giggling so hard in excitement when Azerick stuck a wooden stick into a mug of beer and froze it solid for him. He followed Azerick around like a puppy, licking the frozen beer treat in his hand. She should be grateful. This was about ten times longer than he had ever gone without complaining for as long as she could remember. The dwarf even complained in his sleep, for the gods’ sake!
Azerick led the party south once more but in the opposite direction from the way Maude had traveled to find the boots. His wards did a good job of protecting him from the constant blowing dust, some of the frigid night air, and the heat of the day. Maude had tried to draw information from him a few times now about his history and what motivated him to go on this quest. So far, he thought he had done a decent job of talking without really saying anything.
He wore the persona of a quiet, secretive person as if it was his own skin, which really was not far from the truth. Azerick was not sure how far the woman trusted him or if his evasive nature had worked or put her more on her guard. She was big and strong for a woman but far from stupid. In the end, he decided it did not really matter so long as they did not become so suspicious of his motivations that they tried to stop him before he could carry out his plans.
She had told him why they were risking their lives to gain even one piece of the armor and it made sense to him. However, if his plan worked like he hoped, his method would prove even more beneficial to the king and the kingdom at large, even though he would have to betray them to pull it off. He was not too worried about Maude and the dwarf. Simple fighters were easy to defeat if you sprang the trap on them first and they did not have some protection against magic. Azerick had checked and none of them did. The cleric on the other hand could pose a problem.
He was one of the few priests that a god had actually entrusted to wield a small portion of their power. A true cleric carrying the god’s divine favor was even rarer than a wizard and a close second to sorcerers. He knew that many wizards turned their noses up at the divine power of clerics as being grossly inferior to their ability to pull power from the Source, but they were fools.
Wizards learned flashy spells that could kill a man even at the relatively minimal skills of a journeyman or apprentice, but a true Chosen priest, with a good affinity with his or her god, could call upon magic that could quickly ruin a man’s or even an army’s plans. They were not people to underestimate. As with the warriors though, Azerick should have the element of surprise and that advantage should allow him to defeat the three without issue.
They had trouble finding the pass that would allow them to cross the Bloodstone Mountains into the Great Sand Desert beyond, but they discovered it early yesterday and made it through. It was the one time they found it necessary to travel during the blistering day. Even Maude had to appreciate the frozen beer treats that Azerick made then. Every time she glanced back at Borik, he would look up from the beer-based chunk of ice, smile like a little boy with a new puppy, and wave enthusiastically.
They spotted the unusual rock formation a night after crossing into the sandy desert rather far off thanks to the full moon that illuminated the honey-colored sands. It took four more hours of ponderously slow travel before they reached the base of the hundred-foot-tall rock wall. They picketed the horses and the camel that made up for Borik’s lack of complaining with continual bellowing gripes of his own.
The rock formation was not hard to climb. It was steep, but with so many protrusions and handholds it was like climbing something between a ladder and a massive set of stairs. The view from the top of the formation was impressive. The desert was so flat, with the exceptions of large dunes, that even in the moonlight they could see for miles around. However, the truly amazing view was directly in front of them. The rock formation made a colossal ring li
ttle more than half a mile across and a hundred feet tall with almost no visible variance in height.
Inside the ring were the remains of an ancient lost citadel and several crumbling buildings. The crumbled remains looked like the remnants of some god’s meal sitting in the bottom of his soup bowl. Azerick could see how this would have made an incredibly defensible position, but he wondered what the ancient army did for a cavalry. It would be impossible to get them over the natural stone walls and he could not imagine an army stationing out here without mounts.
The party climbed down the inside slope of the giant bowl. Their feet sank into the sand as they stepped off the rocky slope and onto the floor of the massive crater-like landscape. The soft sand beneath their feet gave them the perception of significant depth that left them feeling a bit unnerved at the thought of sinking below the soft silica.
Despite their misgivings, the loose grains only swallowed them up to the tops of their boot heels. The party stomped toward the ruins that lay in the heart of the enormous natural ring. The sand pulled at their boots with every step making their feet feel as though they had large rocks tied to them.
The group was thoroughly exhausted by the time they reached the ruins of the ancient citadel. They took a seat on what looked to be a fallen section of wall and dumped out the sand that had managed to worm its way into their boots as they slogged through the dry morass.
“These ancients sure picked the darnedest places to build their castles and hide their empire-dominating artifacts,” Maude said in a voice heavy with fatigue.
“Just imagine trying to charge the citadel under a hail of arrows even if you were able to surmount what would have been well-defended walls,” Azerick replied.
Malek shook his head, sending his sweat laden blond curls dancing. “I still don’t see why anyone would bother building a fortress in the middle of nowhere.”
The Sorcerer's Vengeance (The Sorcerer's Path) Page 1
