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

by Brock Deskins

  “You think it does?”

  Zeb shook his head. “Something tells me there ain’t, or if there is, it’s a lot farther than we’re likely to be going.”

  A ragged cheer went up late the next day as the bay and the ship anchored within came into view just before the fog settled in. Groans of despair sounded when they found that ice covered the entire bay and held the ship in its frozen embrace.

  “Noatun,” Modi grumbled, making the word sound like a curse. “The closer of ships. I’m sorry, Zeb, it looks like we’re too late.”

  “Don’t be so sure my friend. The Iron Shark was made to escape just such occurrences as long as the ice ain’t too thick.”

  Zeb led the men out onto the ice, abandoning the sleds and excess gear, keeping only the blankets and bed rolls which they draped over their shoulders. They crossed the ice spread widely apart so as not to overstress the brittle covering. The few sailors that remained aboard ship, mainly the wounded men that Zeb and Modi had sent back before they went after the ragmen and missing men, Cook, and Bones, threw ropes out toward the approaching men who passed the ends further back the line for the them to hold as they crossed the ice in case they fell through.

  Bones had insisted that he go with the relief party but Balor had convinced him to stay aboard the ship. The surgeon was needed to look after the wounded men already here, he had argued. Not to mention he was even older than Zeb and not as accustomed to strenuous work.

  Fortunately, the ice held beneath them though there was a great deal of ominous creaking and cracking as the last men began crossing. Those that were unable to climb the rope ladders and netting draped over the side were helped aboard using the cargo winch and the hoists used to pull up the longboats.

  Bones went to work on the newly arrived wounded immediately as Zeb ordered the icebreakers put into action. The crew aimed the heavy booms with the thick iron wedges over the sides and dropped them, punching through and shattering the ice around the ship. The least exhausted men raised and released the icebreakers repeatedly and the ship began to move.

  Zeb secured Hati in Balor’s private berth and shared his own stateroom with his first mate. Bones drafted a concoction that sedated her if she began thrashing about again. Modi stayed with her when he was not walking about the ship, admiring its construction and the work of her crew.

  “You know, Zeb,” The battle jarl remarked as he strode onto the wheelhouse where the captain was expertly guiding the ship slowly through the ice-choked channel, “I think my people made a mistake moving inland and abandoning the sea.”

  “Aye, it’s in your blood, my friend. Passed down from your father’s father. It takes a lot to dilute all that salt once it gets in there. Probably three or four more generations until your kin are finally free of it,” Zeb replied with a knowing smile.

  The captain felt sorry for his new Eislander friend. He had thought he might never get to sail again after he and his crew had been captured by the psylings and enslaved. That thought had filled him with more sorrow than the idea of actually being a slave. It was why he owed Azerick more than the sorcerer would ever realize when he had freed them. Sailing was not just part of his life, it was life itself.

  “You know, if you ever decide you want to return to the sea I might be able to arrange something.”

  “As a crewman on your ship?” Modi asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Zeb chuckled. “On one of them. I’ve got five, and at least until you get your sea legs back. I suspect it wouldn’t take more than a couple seasons to remind that old sailor’s blood what to do. I know you’re a leader and damn fine one, but it takes more than leadership to captain a ship.”

  “Aye, I see what you’re saying. My old pride makes me say foolish things sometimes,” Modi chuckled.

  “It does it to the best of us. But I mean what I say. If you and any of your men ever want to take a hand at being a sailor, get me a message down in North Haven and I’ll get a ship under ya somehow.”

  “That’s a fine offer, Zeb. I may take you up on it one of these days. For now, though, I need to get back to my people and tell them everything that has happened. Just one other thing I’d ask of you, although you have done more than any man could expect of another he just met,” Modi began uncomfortably.

  “There’s nothin’ too much to ask of a friend and nothin’ too much for a friend to offer,” Zeb replied.

  “It’s Hati. I can’t take her back with me. Even before, she wasn’t treated well. She’s a real good woman and it makes me ashamed how my own people tormented her because of her mother. Even if your wizard friends can put her back to rights, rumors will have spread and she would find life even worse if she came back home.”

  The big Eislander took a deep breath. “Do you think your friends would look after her and treat her decent? She’s a strong lass, real strong now, and a good worker. She wouldn’t be just a freeloader or a charity case. She wouldn’t accept that no how.”

  Zeb laughed loudly at the difficulty Modi was having asking for help. “If you knew the young man I was taking her to, you wouldn’t need to ask. He’s got a habit of bringing home strays you might say, me and Toron being just a couple of them. Like I said, Modi, these are real good folks. You don’t have to worry.”

  Modi nodded his head, clapped Zeb on the shoulder with one big hand, and went to check on how Hati was doing.

  It took nearly as long to bash through the few miles of ice as it did to sail the four hundred miles south to a small cove controlled by Eislanders that Modi directed them to. Zeb tacked within sight of the shoreline for nearly a day before finding the tiny, protected cove. Three open galleys sped out of the cove toward the slightly bigger and far heavier Iron Shark. Each boat was packed full of large men wielding axes, spears, ropes, and grapnels.

  “I hope you can convince them that we’re friends,” Zeb said as he stood next to Modi watching the ships rowing toward them at an impressive rate.

  “I don’t know, Zeb. I sure hate to interfere in another man’s business,” the battle jarl said seriously then gave Zeb a wink.

  As the closest of the galleys drew near, Modi cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted in his native tongue. Zeb was not sure if the oncoming men heard him or were disregarding whatever Modi was saying. His nervous crewmen gathered around the ships weapons, watching the approaching Eislanders with trepidation.

  The first galley looked as though it was going to ram them, given the rate it was still approaching, until the helmsman jerked the tiller and slid the ship up sideways, bumping hard against the Shark’s hull. A pair of grapnels sailed over the rail followed by two burly Eislanders a few seconds later.

  “Permission to come aboard, Captain!” one of the boarding Eislanders called out from the rail they perched upon.

  Technically they were already aboard and breaking a long-standing naval courtesy, but Zeb simply could not find it in himself to hold a grudge against the two men who apparently thought their entrance a rather grand jest to play on the southerners.

  “Welcome aboard, gentlemen. I’m Zeb, captain of the Iron Shark.”

  Both men hopped off the rail and approached Zeb with their large hands outstretched. “Gentlemen? Either Modi didn’t tell ya who we were or he lied to ya. Knowing him, he lied.”

  “Lied! I’ve never told a lie in my life, you goat-bearded sewer rat!” Modi shouted indignantly.

  “There he goes again, Captain. He once told me he didn’t sleep with Big Bella, but I have firsthand knowledge that is a bald-faced lie; and if you knew Bella, you’d know it was a really big lie at that.”

  “I did not sleep with her! Fact is I sobered up before I passed out and ran like hell. She was the only one that did any sleeping, so technically it was no lie but the truth with the shameful bits omitted.”

  “Ye should’a been a magistrate with that interpretation of the truth ya got there, Modi,” the Eislander, who introduced himself as Olen, said.

  “Oh aye, she fell asleep
all right. Right in the midst of that shameful deed to hear tell of it!” Johann laughed heartily.

  “Now that’s a lie! I had her howling like a mad woman!”

  “She weren’t howling she was barking! Did I tell ya she was damned ugly ta boot?” Johann asked Zeb.

  Olen cut off Modi’s sputtered defense of his dignity and prowess as a man. “What are ya doing down here and on this odd lookin’ tub? No offense, Captain.”

  “None taken.”

  Modi explained his and his men’s mission and what they had found. The two men listened to the battle jarl’s recitation of the battle with the ragmen and the hobgoblin. The mention of magic brought a sour look to the Eislanders’ faces even more so than the kidnappings and the ragmen. He never mentioned Hati however, perhaps not wanting the word of her changes known so soon.

  “Well, let’s get you back to a tavern so we can get you fixed up. I’m sure Bella will be thrilled ta see ya again,” Johann said and received a punch in the shoulder that probably would have broken Zeb’s arm.

  “I wanna thank you again for all you’ve done, Zeb, and for seeing to Hati for me. Her da is gonna be upset but he’s a strong man and he’ll understand we did what was best. Maybe she’ll even be able to get fixed up and come home, though I’ll wager that once she’s away she’s not gonna want to come back. Maybe to visit her da, but that’d be about all,” Modi said as he shook Zeb’s hand.

  “You saved me and my boys first so at the best we’re even. You take care of yourself and remember my offer,” Zeb returned.

  “We thank ya for gettin’ this lout back to us even if he is a lying degenerate. If we happen ta catch and raid ya just remember, it ain’t personal, just business,” Olen grinned.

  Zeb laughed as he clasped wrists with Olen and Johann again.

  Modi grabbed his wrist once more and leaned in to whisper to him. “Don’t laugh too hard, Zeb, they ain’t joking.”

  The rest of the men bid farewell and began climbing over the side of the ship to the waiting galleys below. Modi easily found Toron to bid him a personal farewell as well before he departed.

  “I’m proud to have fought next to you, Toron. You know, it’s considered a high honor to decorate our helms and such with the horns of a minotaur we defeated in battle. It’s a damn shame someone beat me to yours,” Modi said. “I wouldn’t be able to tolerate a lopsided helmet.”

  “I imagine such an honor must be truly prestigious considering the extreme rarity that one such as you actually defeated a minotaur. I imagine most of those horns were dug up and claimed from the toothless skulls of long dead grandfathers,” Toron shot back.

  Man and minotaur laughed deeply at each other’s good-natured ribbing and clasped wrists before Modi made his own way down the rope and stood on the open deck of the galley. Zeb waited until the galleys nearly reached the shore before ordering sails hoisted and the ship put underway for home.

  CHAPTER 11

  Shakrill stared at the body that Sasha and Krendall dropped onto the floor near the stairs. She walked languidly down the black marble stairs and stopped three steps from the bottom, preferring to look imperiously down upon the others.

  “Where is Anthony?” Shakrill asked, wanting one of them to put words to what she already suspected.

  It was Krendall that answered, being the one least concerned with offending the wizard. “Outside drawing flies,” he replied simply and without emotion.

  Shakrill was surprised only by the fact that this unimposing boy managed to kill not only an adept that had been expected to go far in the tower, but now a full wizard while being supported by another full wizard and an archmage. The wizard’s death concerned her very little. Anthony was never considered an exceptionally talented spell caster. Shakrill and the others figured he would likely never make archmage and now there was certainly no doubt of it.

  She saw that Sasha sported a rather serious wound that bled profusely even through the cloth she bound around it. Two dead and another full wizard injured.

  “He certainly is not much to look at is he?” Shakrill commented as she studied Azerick’s unconscious form.

  “One would think not, though you know as well as I that when it comes to wizards, or sorcerers I would imagine as is his case, looks can be deceiving,” Krendall reminded the wizard.

  “A sorcerer is he? How very interesting. Is that the staff Jarred said he wielded?” Shakrill asked, looking at the staff.

  “Indeed and an impressive weapon it is. The runes appear to be dwarven, which is an even greater surprise than seeing one so young wielding such an artifact.”

  “Dwarven? This young man just gets more interesting by the moment,” Shakrill said, licking her brightly painted red lips. “Do you think he stole it from his master? If so, I would love to hear how he or she got that magic hating race to craft it.”

  Krendall shook his head. “From the initial astral readings I have gotten from it so far, this young sorcerer has been its owner nearly since its construction only a few years ago. He is certainly linked to it.”

  Shakrill descended the remaining steps, took Azerick’s staff from her associate, and studied the arcanum and blood red weapon, rolling it in her hands.

  “Most impressive. You say it qualifies as an artifact in its power?”

  “Nearly, though its exact abilities and limitations would take years of study to identify and define. My short look into it gave me the impression of enormous depth.”

  “So the staff was the sorcerer’s primary source of power?” Shakrill asked, slightly disappointed.

  “I would be hesitant to make that claim. The staff certainly makes him a force to be reckoned with against most any wizard, but it would be foolish to underestimate the young man’s own abilities. He showed a very good grasp of magic, his wards were exceptional, and the spell he slew Anthony with would give any archmage cause for concern.

  “Now then, if show and tell is over, I have my own business to attend to, as I am sure you have a host of wonderful things with which to entertain our young guest,” Krendall said lightly and walked away.

  Gods, that man is irritating! I would wish him an agonizing death in the desert but that would rob me of the pleasure of using him as my footstool once I summon Klaraxis.

  “Joshua!” Shakrill shouted.

  “Yes, mistress!” Joshua replied, hastening down the steps from where he had been anticipating his mistress’s summons.

  “Find another apprentice to help you take this man to the summoning chambers and chain him to the floor. And get a novice to clean up Magus Sasha’s blood.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  Joshua ran to the novice and apprentice chambers located on the first three floors and did as his mistress commanded. He sent one of the novices down with a scrub brush and a bucket of water and asked his friend Umair to help take the man lying on the floor downstairs to the summoning chambers.

  Joshua grabbed Azerick under his armpits while Umair took his feet and tried to carry him down the steps. They quickly found that this method was making them work far too hard since his middle tended to sag down and the height difference when they got to the stairs made it even harder. They decided that it would be easier to throw his arms over each of their shoulders and carry him between them like trying to get a drunken friend home.

  “Did you hear what happened?” Umair asked, trying to suppress a smile and failing miserably.

  “No, I was busy scrubbing Mistress Shakrill’s floor,” Joshua replied.

  “Jarred came into the room sobbing that a wizard had killed Paul at that seedy little bar with the stable just down the street!”

  “No!”

  “He said he blew Paul’s heart out through his back with so much force it hit the barkeeper in face!” Umair said excitedly.

  Paul and Jarred had been the bane of all the apprentices and lower ranking casters at the tower who were not part of their little clique, which consisted of the strongest and most arrogant mages in the tow
er. Anyone who showed even a hint of decency was automatically excluded. Joshua was fortunate that he was skilled enough that most of Paul’s group left him alone.

  “So what did Jarred do?” Joshua asked his friend.

  Umair snorted. “What he always does when Paul isn’t there to cover his ass, he ran like little girl and cried to the wizards.”

  “And you think this is the guy?”

  “Wait, it gets even better. Mistress Shakrill sends Archmage Krendall, Magus Sasha, and Magus Anthony out to get him. They catch him crossing the square, hotfooting toward an alley, and unload on him. He take’s Archmage Krendall’s lightning bolt as if he blew him a kiss, casts a duplicity spell while running full tilt across the square, and gets little more than a sunburn from Magus Sasha’s fireball. Then he jumps up and hits Magus Anthony with a ray that nearly folds him in half backwards, snapping his spine loud enough for those of us watching from the windows to hear! Then he nearly impales Magus Sasha on these stone spikes that shot out from the ground.”

  “So how did they finally bring him down?” Joshua asked, amazed that he was carrying the unconscious form of a sorcerer that had killed an adept and a wizard and nearly fought off another archmage and wizard.

  “Archmage Krendall smacked the crap out of him with that big stone hands spell of his,” Umair replied.

  “That is a really good spell. I hope to get him to teach it to me one day,” Joshua said with envy.

  They finally reached the bottom of the stairs far below the tower and dragged Azerick into the large summoning chamber. A set of shackles were bolted to the floor in the center of a rune of summoning and containment. The rune ensured that anything summoned into the circle stayed in the circle. The dried blood on the walls was left there as a constant reminder of what happened when wizards summoned a creature beyond their power to control.

  They secured the manacles around the sorcerer’s wrists and paused a moment, looking down at him.

  “You say Archmage Krendall said he was a sorcerer?” Umair asked.