The Sorcerer's Vengeance (The Sorcerer's Path)

by Brock Deskins

“First I would have you call me Modi as is fit for one battle jarl to another. Then I would ask your leave to send my men with those returning to your ship where they might be taken care of and recuperate despite their protests to the contrary.”

  “Of course,” Zeb replied, shocked that the Jarl thought he even needed to plead for such an accommodation. “If you have at least two men who can walk and help pull the sled they should be able to carry two more but they’ll be just about sitting on each other’s laps.”

  “That’s good to hear. I have one that simply cannot walk though he would hop on one leg all the way to wherever we go to do battle if I let him. The other should not walk but I know he will get out of that sled the minute someone’s not looking until he collapses. The other two should have little problem keeping pace.

  “One’s arm is near useless and has a deep gash to his ribs. The other has a dent in his skull deep enough I could eat soup out of it. He walks like he’s fine but he can’t remember what he’s doing out in this gods-forsaken land and forgets half of what you tell him a minute later.”

  “Aye, I got a good bone cutter on my ship maybe can help him. I had a lad fall from the rigging halfway up the mizzenmast and cracked his skull when he hit the deck. Bones put him to sleep with some concoction he made, opened his scalp, and reset the pieces of his skull as if it was nothin’ but a broken arm. The lad smiles a bit lopsided now and I wouldn’t hire him to balance my ledgers but he does all right.”

  The big man allowed a small smile to crease his stern face. “Aye, that sounds like a good bet then so long as there’s no sorcery involved. Braken would probably tear that ship apart if he suspected anyone was trying to use witchcraft on him.”

  Zeb waved Modi’s fear off. “It’s no witchcraft, I swear. The stuff he uses is made from some kind of swamp weed he boils and runs the fumes through a tube he has the patient breathe deeply from.”

  “Dream weed! Our herbalists and healers use it for much the same thing though they have never vaporized it like that. They always boiled it and distilled it into a liquid to drink.”

  “Aye, I’ve seen Bones make a bit like that as well but he says having em breath the fumes is better for folks with a bad knock to the head or ain’t conscious to drink it.”

  “This has been a very good meeting, Zeb. Tell your man to have your healer teach this method to my men so that they can pass it on to the healers of my village if your healer is willing to part with such valuable knowledge,” Modi intoned seriously.

  “Consider it done, friend.”

  Zeb got his wounded prepared to travel, as did Modi after a great deal of coercion, arguing, and threats. The two leaders introduced all the men that would be traveling together. Brandon insisted that Zeb take the second tent, arguing that the bearskin was big enough to cover all seven of them in a pinch and that the stove that survived the fire relatively intact would keep them warm until they reached the ship.

  Zeb finally relented, bowing to the wounded men’s argument that the ship was no more than three days out while the war party could be gone far longer, especially if they did not get back before the icepack completely closed the bay and trapped the ship and crushed it.

  Zeb and Modi’s band watched the seven wounded men head off on their own toward the bay and the relative luxury of the ship before turning and following the tracks left by the fleeing ragmen. True to his word, they saw one of the men stagger out of the sled and begin walking as soon as they were far enough away he could pretend to not hear his battle jarl’s command to get back in the sled.

  “He got farther than I thought before jumping off,” Modi commented. “I guess we better be on our way too.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Azerick and Horse headed across the desolate wastes of seemingly lifeless sand and hard baked earth. The Bloodstone Mountains were visible to the north looking like an angry red welt across the horizon. There were no roads leading to Rapture, the sardonically named town where the Black Tower wizards called home. Nor would you find Rapture on any civilized maps since few if any civilized people had any business or desire to go there.

  Rapture was a town built by and inhabited by rogues, bandits, and criminals of every order. Only those of the lowest morals and most evil intent would call Rapture home, and the unfortunates that were born there and lacked the money to leave. It was a truly lawless land with right and wrong often determined by the end of a sword.

  The wind picked up and forced Azerick to wrap a strip of cloth around his face to filter out some of the dust and sand that threatened to fill his lungs. He even had to do the same for Horse who complained bitterly for a while, shaking his head in an attempt to dislodge the foreign material covering his large nostrils, but he either got used it, gave up, or realized that it made his breathing a little less unpleasant and eventually relaxed and ignored it.

  The desert stretched endlessly and silently before him, the only sounds being the wind, Horse’s plodding steps, and the occasional screech of a vulture or bird of prey. How anyone could live their whole lives in such a wasteland was beyond him. The monotony of the almost monochromatic landscape was enough to drive him mad after only these few days of travel.

  A sound like the deep rumble of distant thunder made its way to his ears but the rumbling did not end. It continued its low droning and was getting steadily louder. Azerick raised his head to peer off into the distance. He was forced to squint in an effort to protect his eyes from the blowing grit. A massive wall of dust and sand bore down on him like a colossal avalanche intent on sweeping away everything in its path.

  Azerick sawed on Horse’s reins, pointed him toward the nearby mountains, and kicked him into a run. Horse must have sensed the looming danger and galloped without protest. The sorcerer spotted a dark void in the face of the red cliffs and pointed Horse directly at it. The wind became stronger as the massive dust storm drew near and Azerick lost the entrance to the large cave in the reddish-brown haze. He kept Horse moving in a straight line until they reached the red rock of the steep-sided expanse of stone.

  Azerick jumped off Horse and led him up the steeply inclined hill, his steel shoes ringing and scrabbling on the red, brittle rocks. The dust was so thick that he could hardly breathe and did not realize he was in the cave until the already dim light went almost black around him, the dust grew less substantial, and the wind died down to a bitter howl like the angry wailing of a giant predator who’s prey just escaped.

  The cave was large and deep, the floor covered in a thick carpeting of sand. Azerick conjured a light and led Horse deeper into the cave’s sheltering walls. He saw that the passageway opened into a larger cavern just ahead and could not help but see the similarity between this cave and the one that had belonged to the...

  “Who dares enter the cave of the mighty and fearsome…,” a deep voice echoed out of the chamber ahead, hissing and growling the last part of the question.

  …dragon.

  Azerick assumed that the hissing, spitting, and growling sound was the name of whoever had spoken. The voice was unusual, like a falsetto that was trying to make itself sound deeper and more imposing than it was.

  Azerick dropped Horse’s reins, gripped his staff, and quickly cast his protective wards. He walked slowly forward trying to see who the speaker was.

  “I am a traveler and only sought shelter from the sandstorm,” Azerick called out into the cavern.

  “Stop, come no closer, puny human, or face my wrath!” the oddly-pitched voice commanded.

  The voice was much different from the deep, menacing rumble of the large dragon he had been forced to slay, and any creature even close to its size should be visible by now. He could almost make out the dark shadowy wall at the rear of the chamber but could see nothing between him and the wall with the exception of a few scattered bones. Azerick continued to creep slowly forward, wary of a sudden attack.

  “I do not mean you any harm, whoever you are. I just wish to shelter within the cave until the storm passes,�
�� Azerick called out once more, still unable to see who or what was trying to warn him away.

  A geyser of sand suddenly burst up just in front of him as something large leapt out from its concealing surface. Azerick swiftly brought the hard head of his staff around and chopped down at the reptilian, tooth-filled jaws that snapped viciously at his face, striking the creature hard on its snout. The first thought that snapped into Azerick’s mind was of the dreaded sandworms but there appeared to be only one and the sand worms did not seem to be capable of speech.

  “Mama!” the creature cried and disappeared in another spray of sand.

  It sounded nothing like the hiss or yelp of pain from an animal. It was more like the cry of a child and Azerick could hear the muffled whimpering of the creature from the rear of the cave. Azerick slowly advanced, keeping his staff held in check in case of another attack. The whimpering and snuffling grew more distinct as Azerick neared the back of the cavern.

  “Hello?” Azerick called out. “Are you all right?”

  “No, you hit my nose!” a childlike voice cried accusingly.

  Azerick was thoroughly confused but no longer frightened of whatever it was.

  “You can come out, I will not hurt you,” Azerick assured the creature.

  “Liar! You already did; now go away, you’re mean!” the creature shouted and snuffled loudly.

  “I’m sorry but you startled me,” Azerick explained, still unable to see who or what had jumped out at him.

  “I did?” the voice asked timidly.

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Was I really scary?”

  Azerick was beginning to understand the mentality of the creature in the cave. Whatever it was, it was very young for its kind and frightened.

  “Yes, you were. I was very frightened. I thought you were going to hurt me,” Azerick said trying to placate the creature.

  “Were you so scared that you soiled yourself? Mama says that when something gets scared enough it soils itself.”

  Azerick smiled he understood what was happening.

  “It was a very near thing. I’m sorry I hurt your nose. Would some food make it feel better?”

  “Yeah,” the creature whined pitifully and snuffled once more.

  Azerick went back to where Horse nervously pawed at the sand, pulled the magic sack out of Horse’s saddlebag, and walked back into the cavern.

  “Would you like some meat?” Azerick asked.

  “Yeah,” the creature whined again.

  “Do you like it raw or smoked?”

  “Can you breathe fire on it like mama does and cook it?”

  “No, I’m sorry I cannot.”

  “Smoked please,” the creature answered softly.

  Azerick reached into the bag and pulled out one of the large, smoked hams.

  “Here it is. You can stop hiding now and come get it,” Azerick coaxed.

  Azerick saw the wedge-shaped reptilian head pop out of the sand from the furthermost part of the cavern and look at him warily with large green eyes. A long neck slowly extended, followed by a broad back and long tail. As it cautiously drew closer, Azerick could see the short leathery wings pressed firmly to its brassy scaled hide. It was a baby dragon.

  The little dragon crept forward and gently took the ham from Azerick with its mouth then sat back on its haunches, gripped the ham in its long taloned hands, or forefeet, and tore large mouthfuls of meat off with its sharp teeth.

  Azerick did not speak to it until it had finished eating the entire ham. The baby dragon was obviously very hungry.

  “Would you like some water?” Azerick asked when it finished devouring the ham.

  “Yes please,” replied the dragon politely, nodding its head in a rather human gesture.

  Azerick brought out a skin of water and held it above the little drake’s head. The dragon tilted its head back while Azerick poured the water into its wide-open mouth. Sand dragons were capable of going without water for long periods of time, often sitting out in the open on cool mornings absorbing the dew and licking it off their scales, but baby dragons did not have the reserves of a juvenile or adult.

  “Thank you, that meat was very good. I never had any like that before,” the little dragon said once the skin was empty.

  “What is your name?” Azerick asked.

  The little dragon made hissing and growling sounds similar to the ones it had made with its initial warning.

  “I am afraid that name is beyond my ability to reproduce,” Azerick told the dragon. “What does it mean?”

  “It means beautiful one whose scales shine with the glory of the morning sun,” the dragon replied proudly.

  “That is a bit much to say all the time. How about if I just call you Sandy?”

  The little dragon frowned, amazing Azerick with its ability to mimic such human-like facial expressions.

  “It doesn’t really sound as grand does it? It really diminishes my defining characteristics,” she replied.

  The little dragon’s use of words continued to surprise Azerick. He was unfamiliar with the growing cycle of dragons, but he was fairly certain she was quite young, even by human standards.

  “It does,” Azerick agreed, “but anyone who looks at you would see that your beautiful scales do shine quite brilliantly. Using it in your name would be needlessly redundant,” Azerick said, playing toward the dragon’s ego.

  She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I guess you’re right, it is obvious. I suppose you can call me Sandy. Oh! Is that because I can dig through the sand so fast?”

  “I suppose so,” Azerick smiled.

  “Mama says I’m the best digger she has ever seen.”

  “Where is your mother, Sandy?” Azerick asked, knowing there could be a serious conflict if she returned to find a human in her cave with her young one.

  Sandy suddenly looked very sad and began crying once more, once again looking so very human in her emotions.

  “I don’t know. I can’t feel her anymore,” Sandy replied with a sniff, large tears streaming from her bright green eyes.

  “What do you mean you cannot feel her?”

  “Baby dragons can feel their dams until they are old enough to leave the nest. She went to go find food a few days ago. She was happy because she had found food, but then she was hurt and then very angry. Then she got scared and really sad and then I could not feel her anymore!” Sandy wailed.

  Azerick could not help but sit next to Sandy and stroke her shimmering scales in an attempt to comfort the distraught baby dragon. Sandy nuzzled her large head into Azerick’s shoulder and wept loudly.

  “I am so sorry, Sandy. I lost someone I loved very much too. I know how badly it hurts. Are you still hungry?”

  Sandy snuffled and nodded her head. Azerick pulled a large smoked sausage from his bag and gave it to her. She grabbed the sausage in her claws and ate but at a much more sedate pace. She had stopped crying by the time she finished eating.

  “So how old are you, Sandy?” Azerick asked.

  “I hatched two years, three months, and eleven days ago,” she replied.

  “You speak my language very well for being so young. You must be very smart.”

  Sandy nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes, mama says I am the smartest baby dragon she has ever seen. She said it was important to be able to speak well to the humans because if I could talk to them they might not be so afraid of me and try to hurt me out of fear—even though you did anyway,” She said, rubbing her snout with her paw.

  “I’m sorry I hit your nose. If I had known you were a baby I would not have hit you.”

  “That’s ok, I scared you because I have sharp teeth and you thought I was going to bite you.”

  “So you learned to speak my language in just two years?” Azerick asked, impressed with the dragon’s ability to learn so quickly.

  Sandy shook her head. “Not really. I remembered a lot of it from my egg memories. Mama and I practiced a lot though.”

  “What are e
gg memories?”

  “Baby dragons remember things from the egg that their dams learned and their dams before them all the way back a long, long time. Mama was very smart and she gave me a lot of memories and she told me all about them and practiced them with me.”

  “She sounds like she was a very good mother,” Azerick said compassionately, fascinated at the thought of inherited memories.

  “She is—was,” Sandy replied with a sad nod of her head.

  Horse nickered and clopped forward not wanting to be left out of the conversation.

  “Is that a horse?” Sandy asked in awe.

  Azerick nodded.

  “I’ve never seen a horse before. They sure are big. Mama brought home a few camels before but the big ones are hard to carry very far. What is his name?”

  “Horse,” Azerick replied.

  “You named him Horse? I’m glad my mama had a better imagination than that. You’re not very good at naming things are you?”

  Azerick laughed, thinking about his first conversation with Wolf. “No, I guess I’m not.”

  Sandy’s full belly was making her eyelids heavy and Azerick was ready for a nap himself. He took Horse’s saddle off and used it for a pillow. Sandy buried herself up to the base of her wings in the sand with practiced ease, curling into a ball and tucking her snout under her tail like a dog.

  “Too bad you can’t breathe fire. Mama always heated up my sand for me and made it all nice and warm,” she said with longing.

  “I might be able to do something,” Azerick said and stood up.

  He shoved the arcanum-shrouded shaft into the sand near Sandy. A dwarven rune for fire flared on the haft and the sand began getting steadily warmer as Azerick fed the magical energy into the ground.

  “Let me know when it is warm enough,” Azerick told the little dragon who smile contentedly.

  The sand became hotter than what Azerick would have found tolerable before Sandy told him that it was warm enough and laid back down to rest.

  When Azerick awoke, the sun had already set and the temperature had dropped. He created a magical fire that would keep burning without any apparent fuel and seared a few of the fresh steaks over the flames. They were quite good with the salt, pepper, and herbs Azerick rubbed into the meat.