Azerick ducked around the corner and waited. Within minutes, he heard the thump of the thief’s body hitting the ground. He retrieved his wineskin from the unconscious door guard before crossing back to the alley for his bag. Azerick pulled out the iron spikes before hefting his bag onto his shoulder.
He stayed in the alley for a few minutes studying the street and the house. After seeing no sign of activity, he crossed back to the house with the unconscious guards. He shoved an iron spike between the door and its frame, wedging it closed so it could not open from the inside.
Azerick then made his way to the back of the house and secured that door with a second spike. He gently set his bag down and pulled out one of the clay jugs of liquid fire. He pulled the stopper and sloshed its contents upon the door, wall, and sleeping guard. He pulled out two of the other pots and emptied them along the side of the house in the alley.
The building next to it was made of brick and did not appear to be a dwelling of any kind. Azerick hoped it would not burn, but if it did, it did not look like anyone lived in it. In fact, most of the buildings appeared to be workplaces of some kind. He guessed not many people wanted to live next to a den of thieves.
He went back to the rear of the house, pulled out a small candle, broke a bit off the end, lit it, and set it on the iron spike wedged in the door. When the flame consumed enough of the candle, it would touch off the liquid, incinerating the house and every thief in it. They would all burn just like Jon, William, Patrick, little Beth, and the others. He set the same sort of candle-type fuse on the side of the house then made his way to the front. He poured the contents of the last clay jugs around the front of the house and set his candle fuse before disappearing back into the alley across the street.
Azerick waited and watched the little flame burn on the candle for several minutes before it finally reached the deadly liquid now soaked into the wood and brick of the house. The instant the flame burned close enough, the entire street lit up in a brilliant glow of orange light. The fire was so intense it made him night-blind for several minutes.
Flames raced across the wooden door and porch while the brick started to crack under the intense heat. A moment later, another whoosh of super-heated air sounded in conjunction with a second flash of light from behind the house followed almost immediately by the ignition of the demon fire in the narrow alley.
White-hot flames quickly consumed the two guards who had stood watch at the door. The slight evening breeze blew the smell of smoke and charred flesh to Azerick’s hiding place, but to him it was the sweet smell of vengeance, although he never thought that justice would nearly make him gag.
A few people were now walking up the street to see what was happening. In the distance, Azerick heard the cries of fire. Hellishly intense flames nearly engulfed the entire house as the porch collapsed in on itself, burying the remains of the two men who had been guarding the door. Azerick imagined a similar fate had befallen the guard at the rear of the house as well.
A crowd was now beginning to form. People watched the dancing flames, several running to nearby inns or perhaps homes and coming back with buckets. A horse-drawn wagon with one of the large cisterns in it that he had seen trying to douse the flames of the fire that took his friends and home came racing down the street, a bell clanging in warning for people to clear the way. It stopped on the far side of the street directly across from the burning house.
Men jumped off, opened a valve, and started filling buckets and thrusting them into waiting hands. The crowd threw pails of water onto the flames in hopes of extinguishing them. However, this was no ordinary fire. When the water struck the flames, instead of extinguishing them, it only served to cause the fire to flare up and spread. Now thin rivulets of fire were crawling out into the cobblestone street.
One of the men operating the fire wagon called for the bucket brigade to stop throwing water on the flames at the same time a scream and the shattering of glass sounded from a second story window. A man, his back wreathed in flames, struck the ground rolling. Like out of a nightmare, the burning man jumped to his feet, and in a panic, started to run right toward the alley from where Azerick was watching the chaos unfold.
The crowd cried out in horror as they jumped out of the terrifying man’s path. Two of the firefighters grabbed heavy leather cloaks and rushed after him in hopes of smothering the flames enshrouding the man’s form.
Azerick stared at the horrifying sight rushing toward him and knew in an instant the man was Merik. Without pausing to think, he ripped off his own dark cloak and ran at him even as Merik and the two firefighters ran toward him.
Azerick shoved the cloak out in front of him and wrapped Merik up within its folds as they collided. He slowed the terrified man long enough for the two men with their leather cloaks to catch him from the rear. Merik was already on his way to the ground when the two men threw their cloaks atop the burning figure, quickly smothering the flames beneath the heavy leather.
“That was a brave thing you done, boy. Might be that the constable may have a small award for you,” one of the men told him as he held his cloak over Merik’s smoldering form.
Azerick did not meet the men’s gazes. Instead, he grabbed his scorched cloak, ran down the alley, snatched up his bag, and retreated into the night leaving behind the shouts of the firemen telling him to come back.
The people in the streets saw a hero risk his own safety and tackle a burning man to help smother the flames, but no one saw the knife Azerick was gripping in his other hand, or how that blade had come away bloody when he ran off.
Azerick ran until he thought his lungs would burst before he even started to slow down. With heavy breaths, he walked along the docks, stuffed his cloak and several stones into his bag, and tossed the entire bundle into the harbor.
He turned and started to walk back home, slinking through the shadowed streets and alleys that were such a natural part of his environment. The young assassin had just gotten control of his rapid breathing and racing heart when an arm wrapped around his throat with a vice like grip and pulled him into one of the buildings near the docks. A hand clamped over his mouth with equal force.
“Not a peep, boy, if you want to live longer than the next three seconds,” came the raspy voice of the man who now had him at his mercy.
The hand dropped away from his mouth as the man slipped a heavy canvas bag over his head and secured it around his neck with a cord. “One noise and I’ll pull that cord so tight it will pinch off any words you got before they escape your lips. You got that?”
Azerick did not bother to answer with words; he just nodded his assent, following the man’s words in a strict literal sense. When the man was satisfied his captive was going to obey his commands, he took his arm from around Azerick’s throat and shoved him out of a door and into the street.
They navigated their way through dozens of twists and turns for nearly an hour before Azerick felt the surface under his feet change from stone to wood. He could smell smoke and lamp oil and knew he was in a house or a building. The man shoved Azerick into a chair and removed the hood from his head. Azerick blinked rapidly as his eyes tried to adjust from the total blackness within the hood to the brightly lit chamber in which he now found himself.
A well-dressed man sat behind a large desk in a plush, high-backed swivel chair with his fingers steepled before him, the fingertips resting just below a thin, dark mustache. He gazed at the young boy in front him like a man studying a mysterious and exotic animal. Dozens of questions danced within his eyes, whether or not to allow the boy in front of him to live being the preeminent one in his mind.
“Let me see if I have a proper tally of your night's activities. You have poisoned men of the thieves’ guild, set fire to their chapterhouse, stabbed a man in the middle of the street in front of dozens of witnesses, and killed nearly everyone, including the local guild boss of said house, by burning them alive. Is this correct?" Azerick simply nodded in affirmation. "So, you see, I know what you have done
. What truly confounds me is why you did it, and just who in the blazes you are?”
“Who are you? What do you want with me?” Azerick demanded.
The dandy behind the desk wagged a finger and a large man who had been behind Azerick stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face.
“That is a reasonable question, but impertinent. I asked a question, two in fact. I will continue to ask questions, and you will answer them until I have no more questions. If I decide to let you live, I may then grant you an answer to a question or two of your own. Right now, your odds are about fifty-fifty of being alive long enough to ask your question, and only because I am extremely curious about you and your activities tonight,” he said in an almost pleasant tone. “Actually, I think I have just answered your question to why you are here, so I will go ahead and grant you a boon and conduct introductions like a gentleman should do when he has guests. I am Andrill, guild boss of the Night Ravens. That man behind you, who set your cheek to stinging, is Braxis. And you are?”
“Azerick, sir.”
“Azerick sir! how wonderful. It is rare to find a boy with manners these days, especially one who just murdered two score of men,” Andrill said joyfully, clapping his hands together. “Now, Azerick sir, why on earth do you risk the wrath of the entire city’s guild of thieves by murdering over a score of their men, a boss, and burning down one of their chapterhouses?”
“They killed my family in the squatters’ quarter. They wedged the door shut and burned to death the people who took me in, as well as the children I read to and who were my friends," Azerick answered, his voice still filled with the hate his vengeance had failed to purge from his soul.
“And how are you so certain it was the guild, and that chapter in particular, that committed such a terrible deed?" Andrill asked as if they were discussing nothing more important than the weather.
"I saw Merik threaten Jon, and I saw him at the fire. I saw him one night and followed him to that house. I drugged some wine and gave it to the men guarding the doors, wedged the doors shut with the same iron spikes I pulled from the ashes of my home, and then set the building on fire.”
“Oh the irony! You used their spikes against them. I so adore the symbolism. It’s almost artistic in its application,” Andrill squealed in delight, clapping his hands.
Azerick was certain this man was most likely insane and that his chances of getting out of here alive were slim to none, but he resolved not to show this man any fear.
“And when that beast, Merik, ran out into the street you stuck him like a pig. Incredible, just incredible. But as a guildsman myself, what am I to do? I’m afraid I can’t let the murder of over a score of my brothers go unavenged can I, Azerick sir?
“No, I suppose you can’t. I certainly would not,” Azerick answered.
“No, you most certainly would not, would you?” Andrill burst out in another wave of laughter as he came around the desk and advanced on Azerick with a wickedly sharp blade in his hand. “It really is such a shame. I find you most remarkable.”
Andrill bent low and peered intently into the doomed boy's eyes. “Would you look at this, Braxis? He murders nearly thirty men, is sentenced to death, the executioner stands right in front of him, and yet not a single bead of sweat breaks upon his brow. His face is neither flush nor pale; he does not tremble, nor beg for his life. Simply remarkable. What I wouldn’t give for a dozen men like you. Hells, I’d take a dozen boys like you. What am I to do with you though?"
“You could let me go,” Azerick suggested.
“Let you go? To tell the truth, I should reward you for your services. Finally, I am able to break that deathly calm façade!" Andrill exclaimed as Azerick's face twisted in confusion. "I see I have confounded you now. Wonderful, I thought I was losing my touch. You see, boy, Daedric was looking to expand into my territory. In-house fighting is fairly common when one house smells weakness in another. Daedric’s Demons have been bolstering their strength for months, and it was only a matter of time before there was all out war between Daedric and myself with little chance of yours truly coming out on top. So, Azerick sir, how would you like to join my merry band of thieves? You could go very far, I promise you.”
“With all due respect, I would not like that in the least.”
“Braxis, did he just say no?"
“I believe he did, Andrill,” Braxis answered.
“To me?” Andrill asked in disbelief.
“I’m quite certain it was to you that word was directed, yes.”
“Remarkable. Simply remarkable. What if I simply gave you no choice in the matter? What if I were to say that your life belongs to me and it is me whom you shall serve or you will die?”
“I would say that I hope you enjoy a warm fire in the evenings—a very warm fire,” Azerick replied, his voice thick with intent.
“Indeed, you would set me a hearthless blaze to ward off the evening chill I wager! All right, this is the deal; the reward I give you for destroying my rivals is your life. It may not seem like much, but you defied me and my generous offers, so I feel it is a fair balance struck. In return, when you hear in the streets, and I assure you that you will, of how I single-handedly destroyed Daedric’s Demons, you will not raise witness against me. If I hear one word of how a mere boy started that fire and destroyed a guild house, I will have you flayed and hung in the square. You will also pay the tax due every non-guild associated thief in the city to me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir, on one condition,” Azerick challenged.
Andrill threw his hands in the air. “Even now the stripling sets conditions! Remarkable, amazing, unbelievable! What is it? What are your demands? This is truly going to be interesting.” The guild boss sat back down, cupped his face in his hands, elbows resting on the desktop, and stared at the impertinent boy.
“I have lost three homes in as many years, each to murder, and I do not wish to lose another. I ask that you command all of your men and any others you have influence over to never attempt to track me to my home or enlist others to do so in their stead. I will defend my home to the death, both their lives and mine. Should I survive the invasion, I will seek vengeance on as grand a scale as I can dream up and carry out. You have seen the least of what my imagination can devise,” warned the young thief.
“Very well, that is a reasonable demand, and I will issue orders as such.” Andrill turned to his henchman. “Braxis, issue the order that any man on guard duty caught drinking anything other than water drawn from the house will be whipped and hanged, and I want no less than five buckets of sand in every room of the house. Please escort our young friend from the premises.”
Once again, Azerick found his head encased in the heavy canvas sack and enveloped in darkness.
“And, boy, I will issue the same warning to you as you have given me. Do not show your face within three blocks of my chapterhouse. To do so will negate our treaty and your life will be forfeit. One of my men will approach you when your taxes are due, and I suggest you have the coin on you.”
The guild lieutenant pushed Azerick through the halls and into the cool night air and hurried him down several alleys and streets for what must have been a half an hour before the bag was pulled off his head and was shoved roughly forward. Azerick stumbled, his arms cart wheeling for several steps before he regained his balance. He turned to face his escorts but saw nothing but a faint light at the end of the alley and dark shadows all around him. It took Azerick over an hour to make his way home due to the back tracking and circuitous route he took to ensure that that no one followed him.
When Azerick finally climbed down into the relative safety of his home, he could still not shake the feeling of being vulnerable. He hated that feeling. His nerves would not let him go to sleep until he was certain he was safe from the thieves or anyone else who might want to do him harm.
He had traps set throughout his home, but a decent thief was adept at neutralizing such things. Azerick knew he needed more, and
his mind kept taking him back the jewelry box; particularly the magical ward that had been cast upon it. He pictured those strange, silvery strands in his mind, recalling their appearance and the obvious pattern in which they were laid. If he could undo such a thing, he should be able to remake it as well. But how?
Azerick grabbed a charcoal stylus and a piece of parchment and began drawing what was in his mind’s eye. Over and over he scribbled until he was certain he had it exactly right. Azerick then sat beneath one of the trapdoors leading into his sanctuary and willed himself to see the wisps of silver energy once again.
Willing those strands forth was far more difficult than seeing and unraveling those that were already present. Azerick was about to write it off as impossible when he glimpsed a faint glimmer in the corner of his eye. He did not try to look at it head on, certain it would vanish if he did. Instead, he gently coaxed it to come to him as if it was a shy animal and he had a scrap of food for it.
He drew the silver thread to him and gently tugged it out of the ether, lengthening and shaping it with his hands and mind. Once Azerick was able to grasp that first strand, the others came much easier. He shaped and twisted them into the form he remembered and drew out on the parchment. Several times the form broke apart like smoke in the wind and he had to start over. After hours of drawing and shaping the magic, he managed to complete the ward and the form held true.
By the time he was finished, Azerick was soaked in sweat and thoroughly exhausted. He could probably get to sleep now without a problem, but there was far more work to do. Azerick went to another of the entrances into his lair, sat down, and began all over again.
CHAPTER 10
Months passed and Azerick was able to settle back into his usual routine of running the streets and searching for clues to his father’s murder. Despite Andrill’s threatening tone, the thieves left him largely alone as promised. Azerick imagined this was due in large part to always keeping his tax payment current.
The Sorcerer's Path Box Set: Book 1-4 Page 17
