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

by Brock Deskins

  “You seem be in a better mood than when you last saw me.” Azerick scowled.

  It was necessary. I am pleased you survived. I have too much invested in you to have you easily replaced. Have you discovered the gift I gave you yet?

  “If you mean the splitting headache and horrible nightmares, then yes.”

  I expect you will return to your studies tomorrow or the next day. Search your mind, and you will find I have paved a path to new potent spells. It is beyond even my extraordinary power to imbue you with the ability to know them outright. It will require study and training, but I have laid out the path for you. It will still take a great deal of work on your part, so do not procrastinate.

  The psyling stared at Delinda for several uncomfortable seconds, turned around, and padded off the way he had come. Delinda and Azerick both knew he had allowed her to hear his instructions to Azerick as a warning not to distract him.

  “Do you know what he meant by that?” Delinda asked after the vile lord glided away.

  “I think so; in a vague sort of way. I’ll find out more the next time I study.”

  Azerick’s greatest fear was that the psyling would discover the flaw in his control and close it. The sorcerer did not know if he could do anything to prevent its discover if the creature purposefully searched his mind, but he would do his best to avoid any errant thoughts of it to surface and pray it was sufficient.

  The couple resumed their walk before Azerick decided he needed to return to his room and sleep. Whatever limbo he had been in had not afforded much, if any, real rest. He woke early enough the next morning to break his fast with Delinda before going to the library to study.

  He sat in the center of the room, relaxed, and slipped into a state of meditation. Normally he would connect with the Source while in this state, but this time he decided to see if he could delve deeper into his mind, into the same void Lord Xornan’s mental assault had sent him.

  He was able to reach a state of extreme relaxation and introspection, but it nowhere near the level he needed to achieve total sensory deprivation. Azerick did discover something odd however. He searched his mind and found several partial patterns as well as casting techniques that had not existed before. He studied the sigils intently and recognized them as weavings for new spells, but they were incomplete.

  Even in their incomplete form, he was able to deduce their meaning and effect through detailed study. They were potent spells indeed. Two spells were earth related and were based on similar properties to the spell he had created himself that he had used to defeat Rangor in his last battle.

  Lord Xornan must have examined his mind for what he already knew and used that information, along with his own understanding of magic, to forge the basis of the spell within his mind. The other spell was a more powerful version of the spell that helped shield him from magical attacks. If he should ever fight another spell caster, it would prove to be invaluable.

  The other bits of knowledge the psyling literally rammed into his brain involved two separate casting techniques. One allowed him to cast spells without verbal commands, and the other without the need of somatic gestures. Both required a great deal more energy and focus to accomplish such a feat. Azerick was ecstatic at his new discoveries but he would still kill his master most painfully the first chance he got.

  As Azerick studied the new spell weavings, he also realized he needed to find a way to move about the arena more rapidly. Rangor’s magically enhanced speed had taken him by surprise, and he could not disengage himself from melee combat to make effective use of his magical powers. He thought about the magical doorway Allister had used the day the old mage had entered his old home. That would work. He just hoped he had the time to research it before his next battle. For now, he would focus his energy on the new weavings and casting techniques.

  That evening, he and Delinda sat him his room, and he told her about what he had learned. She was excited for him but her anxiety over how he had attained the knowledge worried her.

  “But what about being unconscious? What about that crack, or whatever it was you saw? What if it is some kind of damage he did inside your brain?”

  Azerick shrugged knowing there was little he could do about it if that were the case. “I seem to be all right, all things considered.”

  “Just be careful please,” she begged. “The gods only know what he did to you.”

  “I will, love. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Impossible, I always worry about you.”

  Thus far, Lord Xornan left Azerick to his studies without interference, nor was he forced to fight in any more arena battles. Even with splitting his time between his studies and his cataloging duties, he managed to hone his new spells and abilities to an acceptable level of proficiency within a month. Such progression, to his knowledge, was unheard of. Azerick was discovering that Xornan had done far more than simply carve knowledge into his brain. His efficiency in gathering and shaping the Source and his understanding of sorcery in general was noticeably greater. He had always been a good student, but his focus was sharper now.

  Lord Xornan occasionally checked on his progress to ensure his pet was progressing as he should. Satisfied that Azerick was not neglecting his responsibilities, he left the sorcerer mostly to himself. It was toward the end of the month after he had recovered that the psyling appeared in the vault with a full score of minotaur and human guards; all equipped for conflict and an extended expedition.

  I will be gone for a time. Continue to study and work with due diligence on your other duties. Expect your next tournament shortly after I return.

  The psyling paused and looked at the foul, black staff still resting untouched in the far corner of the chamber. After a few moments of contemplation, he crossed the room and took possession of the sinister artifact before opening the gate and crossing through with his entourage. The scene beyond the portal was a barren land of reddish stone and blowing dust. Lord Xornan and his soldiers stepped through the arch and into the wasteland beyond.

  Azerick paid close attention to the operation of the portal as he always did, knowing that if he were ever able to free himself and Delinda, this was the best hope for their escape.

  With their master away, he and Delinda were able to spend more time together, particularly the nights. The time he spent with her was the greatest joy he had experienced for as long as he could remember. He prayed fervently to any god who would listen that one day they would be able to be together without the dark cloud of fear always hanging over them as slaves to an evil and capricious master.

  A second week passed before Lord Xornan unexpectedly returned late one night. Delinda woke and jumped from the bed she shared with Azerick, her husband in her mind. She and Azerick had pledged their vows to one another and considered themselves a married couple even if there were no priests or governing lords to officiate their union.

  “What is it?” Azerick asked, fully alert the moment he felt Delinda spring up from the bed.

  “The master has returned. He summons me. I have to go tend to him,” she told him hurriedly as she threw a long shift over herself and pulled on her slippers.

  Azerick threw on a robe, donned his own slippers, and followed her out of the room with a sigh. He had to run to keep up with her as she bolted up the stairs, not wanting to keep the master waiting. They met Lord Xornan partway up the stairs with his guards in tow. He managed to return with a higher percentage of his guards this time, though still fewer than when he had left. The psyling’s robes were scorched and tattered, and all of his guards showed signs of combat as well.

  Delinda, attend to my guards and me downstairs. Pet, you know what to do with this, he said as he shoved a thick, leather and wood-bound tome into Azerick’s hands. Be very careful with it. It is by far the most valuable object I have ever collected.

  Delinda followed the group downstairs while Azerick continued the ascent to the vault chamber with his master’s newest acquisition. He was going to just stuff
the book on a shelf and deal with it in the morning, but he was awake now, and his curiosity won out against his desire to return to his bed.

  The book was written in a familiar language, but with a very old-style grammar and syntax as if written from centuries past. As he delved deeper into the pages, he began to find historical references to people and events that occurred in his own kingdom’s past. He soon realized this book must have come from his own world! He tried to recall the exact sequence Lord Xornan had used to open the gate. When he was certain he remembered everything correctly, he wrote it down in the ledger of his catalog book so he could duplicate the process if he ever got the chance.

  Not only did the book come from his world, there was a fantastic amount of information regarding ancient forms of magic. Azerick had only been able to study at The Academy a couple of years but he was certain much of what he read had been lost over the centuries. There was a treatise written in great detail by a wizard of obviously extraordinary power. It detailed magical concepts and spell mastery unheard of today by any wizard or in any writings he knew of. Much of this writing was far beyond Azerick’s understanding, but years or even decades of study would change that.

  Azerick was so absorbed in his readings he lost track of time. His stomach told him it was probably past time to break his fast with Delinda, but he walked briskly down the stairs in hopes of catching her still in the kitchen. He felt a bit of disappointment when he strode through the kitchen door to be greeted only by Cook and the smell of fried ham, eggs, and oatmeal.

  “Morning, Cook. Have you seen Delinda yet?” Azerick asked as he resigned himself to the small empty table against the kitchen wall.

  “Aye, lad. She’s been shuttling plates of food to Lord Xornan’s men and tending their hurts all morning. Ah, I think I hear her coming now,” he replied just before the door swung open.

  Azerick looked into Delinda’s tired eyes, which brightened immediately when she saw him sitting in the kitchen waiting for her. “Oh, I’m glad you made it. Did you stay up also, or did you go back to bed?”

  “I stayed up. The book he brought back was too fascinating for me to go back to bed—at least alone.”

  “Good. I was getting peevish with jealousy thinking of you sleeping away the morning while I was up working.”

  “I am glad to know you appreciate my suffering.”

  Delinda was forced to eat a hurried breakfast before returning to her duties. Azerick took the time to drink a second cup of tea before bidding Cook farewell and resuming his own studies and tasks. As much as he wanted to delve back into the new tome, he needed to continue his proper studying. He had not yet mastered the portal spell, and he wanted to have it ready before his next battle.

  As luck would have it, Azerick managed to squeeze in another week of study before Lord Xornan found him in the library to inform him that his next bout would be in two weeks. Good fortune and hard work paid off for him once again as he completed the gate spell the very next week.

  He spent the remainder of the week honing it and the other spells he had learned to battlefield effectiveness. It took endless long nights and early mornings to accomplish, but by the time the day of his battle arrived, he had perfected his spells to the highest degree of proficiency he could expect given the time he had available.

  A couple of the gladiators looked at him with increased hostility, but the vast amount of fighters showed him increased respect and acceptance as Braunlen got him prepared. Azerick was now in a higher fighting bracket, so he was able to retain the magical items he used in the last fight and would do so until a loss moved him back down—assuming he survived a loss, which few did.

  The only thing he knew about this fight was that his opponent was a creature and not a fighter. Gladiators were often pitted against powerful and dangerous animals nearly as often as they were against more intelligent, humanoid opponents. In fact, as a fighter gained in popularity they increasingly fought against creatures to increase the likelihood of their continued survival while still providing a good show for the crowd.

  The crowd cheered when Azerick entered the arena, chanting his name, and stomping their feet. Despite his disgust at being forced to fight and kill for someone else’s pleasure, his pride, and perhaps even a small part of his ego, could not help but find a small bit of satisfaction in the recognition he received. The adulations went on for several long minutes before subsiding. The clinking and rattling of chains drew his and the audience’s attention to the other gate as it slowly opened.

  One of the strangest creatures Azerick had ever seen cautiously emerged from the dark portal. It was a huge beast nearly twice the length and height of a large bull. It sported six squat but powerfully thick legs. Its hide was the color of stone and covered with large, fish-like scales the size of serving trays. It had a long, flat face ending in a short, boney muzzle. Its wide head sported horns, each as long as Azerick’s arm, sticking straight out above its small, beady eyes. It snuffled loudly as it swung its armor-plated head back and forth.

  He cast his duplicate spell, and his illusory clones sprang out around him, shifting positions every few seconds to help confuse his enemy. Given the way the creature was casting its head about, Azerick assumed the creature probably had rather poor eyesight, but it immediately tensed up when it apparently picked up his scent. The creature seemed to stare straight at the sorcerer as its small, round ears twitched toward him and took another deep breath through its nostrils.

  It sounded a long, loud trumpeting challenge and charged directly at him, not falling for his magical trick. Despite the creature’s great mass, those thick legs propelled it across the arena at a fantastic speed. It would likely not win any endurance runs, but its sprinting ability was incredible.

  Azerick released a lightning bolt straight at the creature’s broad head. Twin, bright white bolts limned in crackling blue energy forked out at the rushing creature and scored black burns across its thick, scaly plates. The creature let out a bugle of either pain or anger, but it did not slow or deviate from its course in the least.

  Azerick dodged aside to avoid being trampled under several tons of charging flesh and bone. He avoided the pounding flat feet, but two of his images were less fortunate. The great ivory horns and the creature’s own girth tore through them, rending them to mist. He rolled to his feet and launched a stream of magical bolts into the armored, grey side as it spun about for another charge.

  Despite the great mass and inertia of the creature, it managed to spin around and reverse its charge with startling rapidity. He tried to dodge again, but the little space it had was still sufficient for the animal to get a full head of steam. It clipped his hip and spun him painfully to the ground. It whirled around for a third pass as Azerick painfully picked himself up, trying to ignore his throbbing bruised thigh. He barely had enough time to cast his dimensional gate and jump through before the beast trampled the ground where he had just been standing a second before.

  His magical gate deposited him close to the wall at the far side of the arena. The beast cast its head around and charged as soon as it picked his scent up once again. He launched a bright, fiery arrow and struck the creature directly in its broad chest, but its only reaction was a trumpet of rage and lowered its horns in another attempt to skewer its antagonist.

  Azerick opened up another gate and leapt through, once again just in time to avoid the lethal rush and found himself near the distant end of the arena. He shook off the disorienting effects of traveling through the dimensional doorway as the massive beast charged across the arena after him. Azerick raised his arms and uttered a string of arcane words. Stone spikes erupted from the ground directly in the charging animal’s path.

  The beast tore through the deadly obstacle without slowing and shattered the granite-hard spears with little more than some deep scoring on its armor-plated hide.

  Azerick was forced to escape the beast’s wrath once more by way of his gate spell. He was becoming truly alarmed at the in
effectiveness of his spells to cause any significant damage to the six-legged juggernaut. He wracked his mind for a solution to his dilemma as the monster bore down on him once more.

  An idea finally formulated in his mind. As the beast neared, intent on killing the small, annoying creature in front of it, he cast his dimensional portal once again. However, instead of fleeing through it, he dove to the side at the last moment. The raging beast plowed straight through the magical doorway where it immediately emerged on the other side of the arena a scant number of feet from the magically reinforced rock wall.

  Unable to arrest its charge, the creature slammed into the immobile barrier at a dead sprint. With all of its considerable mass behind it, the long ivory horns broke against the stone and a sickening crack echoed above the sound of the bone-jarring impact.

  Several spectators jumped from their seats the instant they saw the beast heading straight at them despite the protection of the wall before them. They sat back down with nervous laughs at their own reaction as the beast sank down to the ground.

  Azerick strode nearer the doomed creature and saw blood streaming out of its nose and spattering the wall as it huffed in short, panting breaths. The victorious sorcerer looked sympathetically into the beast’s small, black eyes as they slowly glazed over and it breathed out its last rattling breath.

  He felt disgusted at the senseless loss and his own feeling of pride for the cheers of the people around him, people he saw as more of an animal or monster than the unfortunate creature lying dead before him.

  He walked slowly back toward the gate that would allow him to leave the arena and the cheers of the audience behind him. He no longer cared for their adulations and remained silent all the way back to the tower. Even when his master commented on his performance and cleverness in defeating the creature in such an unorthodox manner, he merely grunted and shrugged in reply. Lord Xornan did not let on that he sensed his fighter’s dismay, but Azerick was certain the psyling knew exactly how he felt and why, just as he knew his evil master took pleasure in his consternation.