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

by Brock Deskins

  From the looks on the faces of the gathered wizards, with the exception of Magus Allister and the Headmaster, his presence came as a surprise.

  “You have a boy you claim is highly creative and not lacking in intelligence, can undo the wards of established wizards, nearly kills half his classmates with a spell only a practiced spellcaster should be able to manage, and yet fails to learn anything beyond the typical novice spells. It should be obvious even to cookbook spellcasters like yourselves what the problem is. You are trying to teach wizard spells to a sorcerer!” Master Devlin proclaimed.

  A collective gasp arose from the mouths the wizards in attendance, and once again Azerick found all eyes in the room turned to him.

  “What does that mean; I’m a sorcerer?” Azerick asked.

  Magus Allister explained in a soft voice. “It means we were trying to make you into something you are not. Most people with an intelligence as astute as yours can learn some very basic spells, little more than tricks really, even if they lack the true gift of magic. What confounded us all was the fact that your aura showed a strong propensity for channeling magic. What we failed to see was that you possess a spirit that runs directly counter wizardry. Simply put, you cannot be a wizard, we cannot teach you, and you cannot learn to become a wizard. Who you are, your very nature, simply will not allow it. It would be like teaching a horse to fly.”

  “Does that mean I have to leave The Academy?”

  “No, I have asked Master Devlin if he would take you on as his apprentice, and he has been generous enough to accept you if you wish to do so. You will stay at The Academy, stay in your own room, but Master Devlin will teach your applied magic and magical theory classes to you. Please know that sorcerers are very rare, and we are all quite proud to host your instruction here at The Academy. However, if you would prefer not to apprentice under Master Devlin, we will find you a position at the Martial or Scholar’s Academy.”

  “Yes, where the next student who hits you with a sword at the wrong time catches a fireball in his face and you both die a horrible death,” Master Devlin said in a sarcastic tone.

  “Master Devlin, please," the old wizard begged, then faced Azerick again. "Whatever polite social graces our guest may lack, he is correct. You do run the risk of losing control of your power again. In fact, the older you get, the more likely it will happen unless you are able to learn some control on your own. It is possible. There are hedge wizards and a very few sorcerers out there who have done that very thing. However, it is not a path I would recommend.”

  “I want to go with Master Devlin. Wizard or sorcerer, I know I am meant to wield magic.”

  “Very well, Master Devlin will take you to where you will begin your instruction. You may go now,” Headmaster Dondrian said, dismissing him.

  Without so much as a nod to the assembled wizards, Master Devlin opened the door and rushed Azerick out of the room. They walked in silence down the stairs of the Headmaster’s tower, across the main hall, and up the stairs of another tower where he was ushered into a round room similar in size and shape to the headmaster’s Office. It contained almost everything a student and Magus would require.

  There was a bookshelf with several books lining the shelves. Azerick could tell they were a new addition since they were about the only thing in the room not covered in a thick layer of dust. At the far wall, a large desk sat facing the door and a smaller desk stood opposite of it about ten feet away. A table rested against another wall near a shuttered window which Master Devlin stalked over to and opened, letting in some much-needed fresh air. Across the room from the window, an alcove opened up into another room.

  “Take a seat, boy,” the sorcerer commanded and pulled out the chair from behind the desk but chose to remain standing himself. Devlin paced about the room, hands steepled under his chin. “Tell me what they have taught you thus far so I have an idea of how much damage they did.”

  “Um, I learned several cantrips, verbal, somatic, and reagent requirements for several novice spells and a few apprentice spells, even though I have not been able to cast any spells above novice yet, and none without great difficulty and problems. I learned about the history of magic, magic fundamentals, and alchemy; and I am good in math, writing, and engineering. Oh, and I can also animate simple constructs by powering them with basic spells for short periods of time.”

  The last statement actually got a reaction from the dour sorcerer in the form of raised eyebrows. “You have a reasonable level of education, which is good. I can’t abide a dullard. I have not the time, patience, nor inclination for such. Remember what you learned about magic fundamentals, but do not attempt to use anything they taught you about magic. That information is for the sake of knowledge itself. As for your education in applied magic, forget everything you learned completely. It will do you no good. Worse yet, it will keep you from learning what you must about sorcery.”

  Devlin clasped his hands behind his back, turned, and stared down at his new apprentice. “I am what you shall become; a sorcerer. I am impatient, intolerant, and rather brusque. I lack a certain political tact some people are apt to call rudeness, and I make no apologies for it. I am a hard taskmaster, and you may not like my methods or demeanor, but I assure you that you will learn. You are the only student I have, so you gain the benefit of having my expertise and pleasant disposition all to yourself. You may ask your questions now.”

  “You called the mages in the headmaster’s office cookbook spellcasters. What did you mean by that?”

  “I meant to insult them, as I often do to my great pleasure, but I suppose you are looking for a more specific answer to your question. What do you know of sorcerers?"

  “Nothing, nothing at all. I thought they were the same as wizards just called something different.”

  “I will forgive your ignorance and your insult this one time. No, wizards and sorcerers are quite different, although to the ignorant what we do may look the same. It all has to do with the way we tap into the Source. You do know what the Source is, don’t you, boy?”

  “It is the source of all magic, where we draw on the energy to power our spells,” Azerick answered.

  “Correct. The greatest difference is how we gain access the Source. I call them cookbook casters, because like a baker or scullery maid using a cookbook to create a meal, anyone with a touch of magical proclivity can pick up a spell book and cast any spell they find in that book if they are given enough time to prepare. Assuming they have the appropriate amount of skill of course. A sorcerer literally creates his own spell so has no need of written instructions.”

  “So if sorcerers don’t have spell books or instructions, how do they learn their spells?”

  “Each sorcerer casts his or her spells differently. You have to determine the most efficient way to access the Source and bend it to your will in a way that works best for you. I can give you basic instructions in how to form castings and draw upon the Source, but you will have to learn how to form the actual spells yourself. Learning new spells is a very time-consuming and arduous task, but once learned, your affinity with the Source makes you a power to be reckoned with.

  “Wizards must recreate each spell form the exact same way every time. Centuries ago, some clever men and women with a rare aptitude found a way to channel and shape the Source into a spell. Because they are essentially cheats and frauds, those formulas cannot vary. The Source is like a room with an infinite number of doors. Wizards must be given a very specific key to gain access to the spell lying just beyond those doors. A sorcerer makes their own keys and can therefore open any room within the vast labyrinth of the Source given enough time and the proper propensity. It is this instinctive ability that makes us so powerful. Make no mistake, when a general goes into battle, he will take a battle-trained sorcerer over a wizard every time. The amount of shear destructive force a powerful sorcerer can lay down is a truly awesome thing. We don’t just know magic, we are magic.”

  Azerick absorbed this informat
ion and ran it all through his mind. “Master Devlin, I am ready to begin as soon as you are willing to teach me.”

  “Very good. You show enthusiasm without a childish, flippant attitude. We will begin in the morning. You will study under my tutelage in place of your applied magic class…and history. I need to bring you up to speed, and this is more important than learning about old, dead wizards. I will see you tomorrow. You may go.”

  Azerick returned to his room, nervous about the sudden change in his life, but the knowledge about his failures in magic not being a result of his ineptitude buoyed his spirits.

  Rusty was still in class, so he had the room to himself. He sat in solitude for a time pondering everything that had happened in the past couple days. He thought of the mysterious and frightening vision or dream he had. He thought about what it would mean to be a sorcerer. Thinking of that, he stretched out his hand and tried to touch the Source with his mind.

  He felt the strange tingling sensation course up his arm until he felt it all over his body. It came to him much easier than it had when he tried to touch it the wizard way. He started moving his hand, shaping the energy from the Source into a specific purpose with his thoughts and will. He called out a word of power purely on instinct and felt the deep pleasure controlling and releasing the magical energy brought him.

  “Hey!” Rusty shouted as he came through the door.

  Azerick opened his eyes and immediately saw that he had set Rusty’s blanket on fire. Both boys rushed to the bed, folding the blanket up and snuffing out the flames.

  “At least I only set my own stuff on fire,” Rusty complained.

  “Oh really? I didn’t realize Carrot was wearing your hat.”

  They both laughed at Azerick’s jest and the small accident that left a large scorch mark in the middle of Rusty’s blanket.

  “Well, at least it matches your pillow now,” Azerick teased. “Seriously though, I’m sorry about that, I didn’t mean to cast anything, I was just testing something out.”

  “Like sorcery? I heard all about it! Everyone is talking about it all over the school!”

  “It’s not that big of a deal. I just hope I can do better with it that I did before.”

  “Are you kidding? You are the first sorcerer to attend this school in over a hundred years!”

  “What about Master Devlin, where did he learn if not here?”

  “I heard he learned in a city somewhere out in the Great Barrens,” Rusty whispered as though he was telling a great secret.

  “That would explain the tan,” Azerick said only half-joking.

  Rusty told Azerick everything that happened in the class today what the other students were saying about what had happened. Azerick told his friend about what it felt like when he cast the lightning bolt, how he felt when he woke up, and all about his strange dream. The two friends continued talking well into the night before drifting off to sleep.

  CHAPTER 16

  The next morning, Azerick and Rusty answered the call to breakfast with their usual enthusiasm, even managing to trip each other and roll down half a flight of stairs. They sat at their table eating with a few other students who were naturally curious about Azerick’s newfound abilities and bombarded him with questions. He answered them as best he could and was in the midst of trying to explain the difference between a wizard and a sorcerer when a familiar voice spoke out.

  “I bet you think you are pretty special, don’t you? You are still a peasant and the son of a whore no matter what they call you here,” Travis said, his voice filled with scorn.

  “Leave me be, Travis!” Azerick warned as he stood and faced his tormentor.

  Azerick could see the red burn marks where his lightning bolt had burned Travis across the left side of his face and some of the exposed skin on of his friends.

  “Or what? Do you think I’m afraid of you because of some freak accident? Your whole existence is a freak accident. I can call on magic that can kill you whenever I want. This isn’t over between us, you can count on that!” Travis caught the eye of one of the Magi in the dining hall and walked away, leaving his threat hanging in the air like a dark cloud.

  “Don’t worry about him, Azerick, he’s all talk,” Rusty tried to assure him.

  “No, he’s not. He will do something when he thinks he has the upper hand. I hurt him, and even worse, I humiliated him in front of people. Inside every thug, bully, and person of power lies a very fragile ego. He won’t let this go. He can’t.”

  After breakfast, Azerick climbed the steps of the tower where Master Devlin would begin teaching him sorcery. The fluttering in his stomach increased as each step took him nearer to the unknown. Master Devlin was an intimidating teacher, and having to start all over learning a new form of magic was an emotional mixed bag.

  “Take a seat, boy, and we will get started,” the sorcerer instructed as soon as Azerick walked in the room. “Your training is going to be significantly different than what you may have been used to. For one thing, there is very little you can learn from books. For another, I can only tell you what you must do and very little on how to do it. Sorcery is unique for each sorcerer. That is one reason wizards fear us so much. Most wizardry is rather generic, and with experience, you will be able to recognize what a wizard is going to cast as he begins to form the weave, because wizards cast their spells much same way no matter what spell book they prepared them from. With that knowledge, you can defend against it and brace yourself for its effect. Because a sorcerer channels and shapes his spells in a manner of his own devising, it is much harder for a wizard to know what is going to be unleashed upon him until the spell is cast.”

  “I think I cast a spell yesterday using sorcery. I reached out and touched the Source completely on my own without any sort of instruction. I could feel it in my mind and in my hand. I thought about what I wanted, shaped the energy from the Source into a form, and released it. I didn’t actually mean to cast anything, but I did set my friend’s blanket on fire,” Azerick added sheepishly.

  “That is a good start, and it gives me hope that you will be more trainable than I had hoped. It was very foolish though. You know nothing of sorcery yet, and even the smallest spell, when it goes awry, can cause serious harm. You must not release any more spells unless I am instructing you to do so.”

  “Yes, sir, I won’t. But how will I practice outside of class?”

  “I want you to get comfortable channeling the Source and shaping it, but you must learn to let it go, to let the spell’s energy dissipate without actually unleashing it. The first thing you must learn is how to tap the Source in the way that is most efficient for you. Some sorcerers grab it as if they are wrestling a wild beast. They use brute force to bend it to their control. Others reach out to it gently, as if they were trying to catch a soap bubble in the palm of their hand. You must discover what works best for you. Now try it, reach out and seize it, and make it yours.

  Azerick stretched out his consciousness and felt the turbulent force of the river-like Source. It threatened to sweep him away when he tried to grasp it fully. It pulled at him and tried to break away from his grasp like an animal that did not want to be caught and tamed. He grabbed it and held on with all his concentration, but when he tried to shape it in any way, it slipped from his grasp.

  “It keeps pulling away from me. The harder I try to hold it the more it resists me.”

  “Then come at it from a different direction. Sorcery has no place for quitters. If one method does not work, try another until you get it.”

  Azerick reached out once more, this time easing his will gently into the flow. He reached into the flowing energy with a hand that existed only in his mind. Gently he tried to hold onto the Source and pull it toward him, but it slipped away again the way a leaf floating in the water will float away from your hand when you try to grab it.

  He shook his head to clear his thoughts and tried once more. He tried to remember how he had touched the Source the day before in his room. Az
erick reached out gently but firmly, holding onto the Source as if it were a physical substance. Once he had it in his grasp, he molded it as if it were made of clay instead of trying to hammer it into shape as if it was stone or steel.

  The Source bent to the young sorcerer's will seemingly with an eagerness that surprised him. He knew with certainty this was his destiny; this is who and what he was. Azerick knew now he could never be anything else. The young sorcerer pulled more and more energy to him, shaping it, commanding it. He was drunk on the power he channeled as it flowed around and through him. At this moment, nothing else existed, no school, no death, no Magus, only him and the Source. It made him invincible.

  He suddenly found himself staring up at the angry red face of Master Devlin. “Control yourself, boy! You must control the power, not the other way around. The Source will devour you in an instant if you let it. It will destroy you and everyone close to you if you let it control you. Do you think that little lightning bolt that got away from you was horrible? A sorcerer could lay an entire village flat if he were stupid enough to let the Source have its way with him!”

  “Yes, sir, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what was happening. It just felt so…,” Azerick tried to explain as he pulled himself up off the floor.

  He felt the right side of his face stinging and looked at the thick book in his master’s hand that he used to bludgeon his pupil back to reality.

  “You are capable of channeling great power, but you are not yet capable of controlling it. You must remember that at all times, or it will consume you. In many ways, an inexperienced sorcerer is more dangerous than a master is. Not just to an opponent, but also to himself and innocent people around him. Now compose yourself, try again, and remember what you did before; both the right and the wrong.”

  Azerick did as he was instructed, tapping into the source, holding it, forming it, controlling it, but not letting it carry him away again. By the end of the week, several of the minor spells he knew as a wizard he was able to cast as a sorcerer. He was amazed at the difference and ease with which they came to him. He was able to cast nearly twice as many spells now before fatiguing himself to the point he could not draw from the Source without rest.