The Sorcerer's Path Box Set: Book 1-4

by Brock Deskins

  The world narrowed in Azerick’s eyes, and the only thing he could see was Travis’ laughing face. His skin began tingling, and tiny arcs of electricity limned his body. A curtain of white-hot fury blotted everything out as he extended his arm and let loose a scream of unbridled fury. Deep within his subconscious, he grabbed at those silver strands of energy he had used to create the magical wards. Azerick tore at them with his mind and twisted them into a form shaped purely from his unbridled fury. The world went dark, and he sensed nothing more than a distant, dull sensation of falling and the floor rushing up to meet him.

  For Rusty and everyone else in the room it was a different scene altogether. Most of the teenage students were appalled at the filth spewing from Travis’ mouth and their eyes turned toward Azerick in pity. Azerick’s scream of rage filled their ears a fraction of a second before an intense light, a horrendously loud crack, and the smell of ozone filled the room.

  Azerick dropped to the ground unconscious, blood leaking from his nose and ears. Travis was down and not moving, his friends crawled around on the floor moaning pitifully. The lightning had blackened the wall behind the tormenting boys and blasted off a large section of the plaster and stucco. Students started screaming once they come overcame their momentary shock.

  “Someone run to Magus Morgarum and have him bring healing potions, the best he has, quickly now!" Magus Florent commanded.

  Several students ran to the alchemist’s classroom to summon help. Magus Florent bent down to check on Azerick first and found he was still breathing. She then checked on Travis. He was breathing, but it was shallow. His shirt was in tatters, and he had a horrible burn across his chest where the electric bolt had grazed him. Had it hit him square, it likely would have burned clean through him and ended his young life then and there.

  Magus Morgarum ran in on the heels of the students who had summoned him and took in the damaged room and the students lying on the floor. He pried open Travis jaws and poured a purple liquid down his throat from a slim, metal vial. He then administered a dose of the healing draught to Azerick before checking on the conscious but moaning students caught just outside the path of the powerful bolt.

  Azerick awoke in a strange bed. He looked around and saw several other beds, but no one else occupied them. He looked over and found Magus Allister sitting in a chair next to his bed.

  “I see you are awake, good. How do you feel?” the old wizard asked kindly.

  “Terrible. My head hurts, and I’m really thirsty and hungry.”

  “Not surprising on both accounts. You are thirsty because you have been unconscious for two days, and your head hurts because you channeled far more power than you have been taught to handle.”

  “What do you mean? What did I do?”

  “What do you remember?”

  “Travis was saying things about my mother. I got really angry, furious, my vision got real narrow, and all I saw was red. I remember grabbing at the Source and doing something with it, but I do not know what exactly. Then I blacked out and woke up here.”

  “Do you remember feeling anything else just before you passed out?”

  “I remember touching something but not with my hands, more like my mind. It felt like I had fallen into an icy river.”

  “That was the flow of magic, the Source. As of yet, you have been taught how to dip a finger into the Source and draw upon its power. This time, you reached into the flow hand and fist and channeled a great deal more energy than you have learned to handle. You released that energy in the form of a lightning bolt against Travis."

  “Magus Allister, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean too. I don’t know how I did that!”

  “I think I do, and if I am right, which I am certain I am, then I owe you a great apology, but we’ll talk about that later," Magus Allister promised.

  “Is Travis all right? I did not mean to hurt him; at least not kill him. No, that is not true. I wanted to kill him, but only because I lost control of my temper. I don’t want him dead now, you have to believe me,” Azerick begged, fearing they would cast him out of The Academy and possibly put him in jail.

  “I do, lad, don’t you worry. He’s going to be fine. His family took him home for a few days to rest."

  “What are they going to do to me now? Will I be kicked out of The Academy?”

  “Travis’ family is quite upset and has a significant amount of influence, but given the situation, I think things will be all right. Several of the students, as well as Magus Florent, have come forward and given testimony that you were provoked most cruelly. There are factors in this you do not yet understand, but I will explain it all later. Get some rest now, and I’ll have someone bring you something to eat and drink.”

  The kind old wizard left Azerick alone to his thoughts. A woman in white robes came in shortly with some food and watered-down wine. He ate everything, drank two glasses of the thin wine, and fell back into an exhausted slumber. Azerick opened his eyes and found himself standing by a swift-moving river, but instead of water it looked like it was made entirely of liquid silver with an iridescent sheen.

  You have finally awakened, came a disembodied voice. From where, Azerick could not tell.

  He spun around in a circle looking for the source of the voice. “Where are you? Show yourself!”

  I am here, same as you are.

  “Where am I?”

  You are where you are supposed to be, where you need to be.

  “Who are you?”

  Who are you? the voice echoed.

  “Is this some kind of game?” Azerick demanded.

  If it was, do you think you would be winning or losing?

  “What are you?” Azerick shouted, growing impatient and angry at the voice’s word play.

  What are you?

  “I’m an orphan, street rat, and a student of magic! Happy now?”

  Are you happy? Which of those titles makes you happy? Titles are merely words, descriptors, not who or what you are. They do not define you.

  “What am I then, since you seem to have all the answers?”

  The only answers I have are within you. What you are is what you choose to be.

  “Are you me? Are you my own voice, the voice of my mind?”

  I am part of you, a part you are just now beginning to discover. Whether I become you, you become me, or you become something else is entirely up to you.

  “You said I had awakened. What do you mean? I was in bed at The Academy, so I must be asleep, not awake. Unless this is a hallucination,” Azerick argued.

  No, you are awake. For the first time in your life, you are awake. You are finally seeing clearly, seeing what is real. However, you must choose if you will stay awake or go back to sleep and live the life as the person you came here as.

  “What will happen to me if I go back to sleep?”

  You will be an orphan, street rat, and a student of magic—for a time.

  Azerick realized the voice was talking in metaphors. He needed only to figure out the meaning. “What happens to me if I stay awake? Who am I then?”

  You will be what you are meant to be, what you need to be.

  “What happens?”

  Everything will happen.

  “How do I stay awake?”

  Touch the Source, take it into body and soul, and become one.

  Azerick looked at the luminescent river and its swift-moving current flowing rapidly over the horizon. He listened to the rushing flow of energy for the first time and realized it was calling to him like the voice of a long-lost loved one. He heard his mother and father’s voice in the flow, calling him, inviting him to become part of it. It was calling him home. He walked slowly to its bank in an almost hypnotic state. He felt his feet slip into the edge of the flow. It was warm and comforting. He imagined this was what it felt like to be in a mother’s womb; safe, loved, and protected.

  The river of energy flowed just above his waist as he trailed his hands in its sparkling current. Suddenly, there was no lo
nger any ground beneath his feet. Azerick's head slipped under the roiling tide of energy as it swept him along its length. He fought for the surface and gasped for breath when his head broke through to the air above. He coughed out great mouthfuls of the prismatic substance before he was swept under again, pulled down deeper and deeper in its depths.

  He held his breath as long as he could and fought for the surface, but the Source was not going to release its prize this time. It held him in its deep embrace until spots began to form and stars exploded in his vision. He knew it was going to kill him. It was a trick, he had tapped into power he was not supposed to touch, and he was going to pay for that sacrilege with his life. His starving lungs forced his mouth open and he inhaled the Source, taking pure, magical energy into his lungs, filling him, and killing him.

  CHAPTER 15

  Azerick fell from the bed gasping and filling his lungs with precious oxygen. The large spots blacking out his vision slowly dispersed as he looked around the room. He was still in the infirmary and still in his bed, or next to it rather. Azerick looked toward the window and saw the sun had not moved much since Magus Allister’s visit. He climbed back into bed and thought about his strange dream. Was it a dream, or was it a vision?

  At first, he thought the voice was the one claiming to be the goddess, Sharrellan, but it did not hold the same sort of malice and underlying malevolence. Was it the Source speaking to him? Why would something that was supposed to be an inanimate source of power and creation speak to him? Did it speak to all wizards eventually? Did it mean that whatever was blocking him from accessing higher magic was gone now?

  The confused, young mage did not know and fell asleep while pondering the meaning of whatever it was that had happened. Azerick just hoped this time there would be no new voices. It was getting rather crowded inside his head as it was.

  Azerick's sleep was pleasant and undisturbed this time. He woke the next morning shortly after sunrise. An attendant brought him some milk and oatmeal with honey to break his fast. He ate ravenously and felt some strength flow back into his body. Magus Morgarum waddled in shortly after Azerick’s second helping of oatmeal. He had even managed to talk the attendant into getting him a honey cake and was licking the sticky remnants of the treat off his fingers when the alchemic instructor came to check on him.

  “How are you feeling this morning, my boy?” the friendly Magus asked.

  “I feel better, great actually. Better than ever.”

  “Good, good! That was a very close call you know, for everyone. Most mages who channel power that far beyond their skill are not so lucky.”

  “I’m really sorry, Magus. I didn’t mean to.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t. I will have to let the Headmaster know you are awake and feeling well. He wants to have a word with you, as you may expect.”

  “I figured he would,” Azerick said with a slump of his shoulders.

  “I’m sure everything will turn out just fine. If it means anything to you, you have my support, and I will recommend that you stay here at The Academy. You are one of my best pupils you know.”

  "Thank you, Magus Morgarum, I appreciate it.”

  “Not at all, Azerick. Your clothes are over in that closet. Best get dressed while I go talk to the headsman, um, Headmaster that is,” he said with a wink.

  Azerick found his clothes in the small wardrobe next to his bed. He had just finished dressing when Rusty came running into the ward.

  “It’s about time you woke up,” Rusty said and punched Azerick in the shoulder.

  “Yeah, well, I figured I couldn’t hide out here forever.”

  “That was quite a performance you put on. It’s been pretty nice in class without Travis.”

  “He’ll be back pretty soon, I’m sure.”

  “Yeah, too bad you didn’t nail him with that lightning bolt. That was incredible! I never saw anyone lower than a journeyman cast a lightning bolt before. It made my hair stand up.”

  “Yeah, but it almost killed me, you dummy, so don’t expect a repeat performance for a while. Here comes Magus Allister. I have to go. We’ll talk later.”

  “Okay, good luck.”

  Azerick followed Magus Allister out of the infirmary and up the stairs of the Headmaster’s tower. He stepped through the door when the old mage opened for him and walked into the large office he was far too familiar with. The room was full of people. The Headmaster sat behind his desk, Magus Allister took a seat to his right, and Magus Florent sat to his left. Next to Magus Florent sat Magus Morgarum, next to Magus Allister sat Magus Bauer, and no one was smiling.

  “Please take a seat, young man,” Headmaster Dondrian instructed, gesturing to the wooden chair in the center of the room. “I trust you know why you are here?”

  “Yes, Headmaster, because of the accident in class,” Azerick replied nervously.

  “Accident? You nearly killed four students,” Magus Bauer waspishly accused.

  “Emily, please, we are here to find out what happened and what to do about it. Let us not jump to judgment too quickly,” Magus Allister politely chastised the sour mage.

  Magus Bauer sniffed loudly and turned her head.

  “Now, Azerick, we know what happened. What I want you to do is tell us what was going through your mind at the time. Did you see or feel anything strange just before it happened?”

  “Travis was saying some really horrible things about my mother, and I got angry, really angry. Everything kind of went dark. I felt something though, now that I think about it. It was strange, kind of like the feeling I get when I channel the Source, only it was stronger, cleaner. I didn’t know how cast that spell, so I just made it do what I wanted.”

  “Azerick, have you ever cast a spell without being taught, or used magic without knowing it?” Magus Allister asked.

  “I don’t think so, Magus, not that I know of.”

  “Do you know what a magical ward is?” he asked.

  “It’s a magical protection spell,” Azerick answered.

  “Correct, and as you know, the only way you can get past a ward, with few exceptions, is with magic. Have you ever encountered a ward before?”

  What is he doing? Is he trying to get me in even more trouble? “Yes, sir, twice,” he answered, figuring honesty was the best thing right now.

  “Will you tell us about those incidents please?”

  “The first time was almost three years ago. I found a warded jewelry box.”

  Magus Bauer interrupted with a snort. “Found in someone else’s possession I would wager. The boy obviously has a history of criminal behavior, and for that reason alone he should be removed from our prestigious institution and jailed.”

  Allister ignored her with a sidelong glance and continued his questioning. “How did you know it was warded?"

  “I was just about to open it when I felt a strange energy emanating from it. I studied it with my eyes closed, and I could see and feel the energy surrounding the box. It felt dark and angry like it was just waiting to release its power onto someone.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “I studied the way it was made, how the different strands of energy were sort of woven together to form the ward, and I just kind of unraveled them.”

  His pronouncement startled the wizards sitting in attendance, and they began muttering amongst themselves, scarcely able to believe such a statement from someone so young and inexperienced.

  “And when was the next time you encountered a ward?”

  This was the question Azerick was most worried about answering. The old wizard already knew what he had done, but he did not know how the rest of the mages would react on finding out about his invading The Academy several months ago.

  “It was on the door to your room, sir. I undid that ward just as I did the other one a couple years ago. It was a little harder, but it was not as scary or evil-feeling as the other one.”

  The wizards all started talking at once, each one trying to raise his or her voi
ce over the other. The meeting, or trial, or whatever it was broke down into a verbal tumult. The Headmaster banged a small, stone statuette on his desktop and called for order.

  "Azerick, do you recall ever having used magic before coming here and not simply unmaking it?" the Headmaster asked.

  Azerick shifted uncomfortably in his chair. These things were his secrets, and he despised revealing his secrets. He took a deep breath before answering.

  "When I was trapped in the sewers by thugs, I made a light, and later I made several wards by copying the one I found."

  “That is quite an impressive feat for one so young and with absolutely no training at the time. Your studies must be going very well with having such a natural affinity for magic,” Magus Allister continued.

  “No, sir, actually I have been having a hard time with my casting and learning anything more than the most basic spells.”

  “And why do you think that is?”

  “I’m not sure. The lessons just don't make sense to me. It doesn’t feel right," Azerick answered, frustrated that he could not explain it better.

  The old mage stood up and walked over to Azerick, placing his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “It seems we have done young Azerick a great disservice in more than one way. It is now clear he is not responsible for what happened in the classroom or to those students who were injured.”

  “Ridiculous! Who is responsible for it then?” Magus Bauer demanded.

  “You are. You all are,” a terse reply came from the far corner of the room.

  A fit, middle-aged man stepped out from the shadowy corner of the room. He was tall, topping six feet, and broad shouldered. He sported a sharply trimmed goatee turning grey at the sides of his chin. His eyes were dark brown bordering on black. He wore black pants, white shirt with ornate lace cuffs, a red vest made from the skin of some scaled creature, and a voluminous black cloak with a red, silk lining. Mystic symbols and sigils sewn into the cloak with purple silk shimmered with obvious power. Azerick guessed him to be in his late forties.

  “Master Devlin, thank you for joining us today. Would you please explain what you mean by that?” Headmaster Dondrian requested.