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

by Brock Deskins

  Ghost laid back down next to Wolf, held the haunch down with his forelegs, and tore long strips of meat off the bone with his powerful jaws and sharp teeth. Azerick watched Ghost eagerly gnaw the meat off the bone then motioned for Wolf to hand him his empty bowl. The sorcerer refilled the boy’s bowl once more and decided it was now proper to ask more questions.

  “How old are you, Wolf?”

  The half-elf shrugged his bony shoulders. “Twelve I think.”

  “How long have you been on your own? You are on your own aren’t you?”

  Wolf shook his head while he chewed and swallowed a chunk of ham. “This is my second spring living in the forest, but I’m not alone. I have Ghost.”

  The huge wolf raised his head and looked questioningly at his half-elven companion then went back to gnawing on his cleanly-stripped leg bone.

  Azerick wondered what could have happened that a boy of only nine or ten years old would be left to fend for himself in the middle of a forest. “Are you orphaned? Where is your family?”

  “My family did not want me. No one wants a half breed around.” Wolf almost succeeded in covering the bitterness in his voice.

  “Do you mean the elves? Did the elves make you leave because of your parentage?”

  Wolf shrugged his shoulders again. “They tolerated me after my mother died and took care of me, but there is a big difference between being tolerated and being loved,” the half-elf answered wisely for someone of his age. “I left on my own after I got in a fight with some boys who tolerated me even less than the rest of the snobby elves did.”

  “What happened?”

  “We fought, they lost, and I got in trouble. The same thing that had happened many times before, but this last time I decided it would be the last time. Ghost and I whipped them really good. We both left them with scars that will remind them not to pick on us even though we were both smaller at the time.” Wolf patted Ghost between his large, wedge-shaped ears.

  “I think I know a little about what you went through.”

  Wolf looked back to where Horse snuffled nervously at Ghost’s scent. “So what’s you horse’s name?”

  “I don’t really have a name for him. I just call him Horse.”

  “You’re not very imaginative for a wizard, are you?”

  “I am a sorcerer, not a wizard,” Azerick corrected.

  Wolf shrugged his bony shoulders. “Sorcerer, wizard, same thing; either way it is a terrible name for a horse.”

  “I suppose you could do better on the spur of the moment,” Azerick challenged, glad to let someone else pick a name.

  “Sure I could. See that white diamond on his forehead? You could have named him Starfire. If you don’t like that there’s thunder, because of the sound his hooves make when he runs, or Zephyr because he runs like a wild wind, or Goblinstomper, Big Red, Willowisp, Lightning, Dasher…”

  “All right, I get it. I’ll think about a different name.”

  “If you want. I sort of like Horse though.”

  Azerick shook his head at the boy’s precociousness and felt a laugh wanting to burst from his gut for the first time in quite a while. The boy and the young man exchanged stories for several hours. Wolf told Azerick how during hard times he had filched eggs and even a chicken or two from the small towns and outlying farms. He did not trust any of the humans enough to ask for help or shelter. He did not need their help anyway.

  Azerick told the half-elf about how his parents had died and how he had been alone for a few years on the streets of Southport. Wolf pulled his leathers off his makeshift drying rack near the fire, stretched the shrunken leather back out, beat them against a tree to soften them, and put them back on before falling asleep. Azerick left him the blanket to sleep on and spread out his bedroll.

  Azerick woke just as the sun cleared the horizon enough to shine a reddish glow through his closed eyelids. The sorcerer sat up and saw that Wolf and Ghost had already gone, taking the blanket and a small sack of food with them. He had almost hoped the young half-elf would have stuck around, having felt something of a kindred spirit in the boy. Azerick did not allow himself to dwell on it. The boy seemed at home in the woods, and if chose to make his home here then so be it. He wished the boy and his wolf well, mounted Horse, and resumed his westward journey.

  CHAPTER 13

  Lady Miranda suffered through dance after dance with Duke Ulric. It took all of her will and court etiquette to maintain the polite smile required of her when socializing with the powerful leader of Southport even though she despised the man. She recalled meeting him when she was younger, back when her father was still alive, and she and her parents had attended a social event hosted by the Duke of Southport. She met him once a few years after that at another function, and now having met the man on a more social level, her dislike quickly turned to disgust.

  Duke Ulric complained and openly criticized King Jarvin, but he always made sure to stay just inside the line of outright ridicule. Miranda had met the King several years ago during his coronation when her father and the other dukes and barons swore their oath of fealty to their new monarch. She had found him to be a decent and honest man. He did not wrap himself in deceit and hide behind false faces like most of the nobles she knew. She had just finished telling Duke Ulric her opinion as the two of them stood alone in the Duke’s study.

  “Really, Miranda, how can you support a man as your king who is not only the product of a bastard’s union, but lived as a peasant himself until taking the throne?”

  Miranda fought to maintain her composure as she answered the Duke’s question. “Your Grace, King Jarvin’s mother may not have been married to his father, and no, she was not a noble, but she came from a decent family and did quite well for herself. King Harlan loved her dearly. Although King Harlan could not bring his son to live as the heir to his throne for propriety’s sake, he still ensured that Jarvin received the best education he could provide.”

  Ulric gave Miranda one of his condescending smiles. “Miranda, no amount of education can compensate for a proper bloodline, especially if one is to be king. Otherwise, we would have every scholar in the kingdom making a claim for the throne.”

  “King Jarvin has every bit of his father’s blood running through his veins, just as much as he would if King Harlan’s wife had been capable of producing his heir.”

  “Ah, but you see,” Ulric said meaningfully, pointing at Miranda with his wine glass, “Jarvin would also have the blood of house Bagguette in him as well, but now Harlan’s blood has been diluted, tainted if I dare say so, with that of his commoner mistress!”

  Miranda breathed in deeply then let it out slowly. “Your Grace, it is late and these talks of politics do make me quite weary. With your leave, I shall retire for the evening.”

  “Of course, Lady Miranda. Please forgive me for not noticing the strain I have put on you. Politics is one of those things best suited to men. I look forward to the morning when we can perhaps speak of more delicate things better suited to a Lady.”

  Miranda forced a polite smile. “I am so sorry, Your Grace. I am afraid I must depart for home in the morning, and it is best if I leave early. I left many matters unattended at home in order to endure—enjoy—your hospitality, but I really must not neglect them any longer.”

  Duke Ulric knew a brush off when he heard one. The fact was that he could tell quite early on that the Duchess of North Haven’s daughter was even less open to a partnership than the Duchess had been. It was shame; such a union would have considerably bolstered his power base.

  He smiled his most gracious smile, pretending to accept her departure at face value, and raised his hand to bid her a goodnight. “It has been my utmost joy to have been gifted with your visit. I hope you sleep soundly and have a smooth journey home.”

  Miranda ignored the proffered hand, curtsied, and fled the Duke’s presence for the relative safety of the room she shared with her handmaiden, Sarah.

  Duke Ulric sat in his plush, high-b
acked chair and sipped the remnants of his glass of wine. An oaken panel opened near the fireplace and his chamberlain stepped into the room by way of the secret passageway hidden behind it.

  “Your courting did not go as well as you planned, Your Grace?” Alton asked even though the answer was clear on the Duke’s face.

  “No, she is far too much like her father. If only that frigid mother of hers had been more receptive after her husband died. It was nearly a waste of my time to have had the oaf killed. At least it got rid of one more fool who supported the embarrassment sitting the throne.”

  “What are we to do with her, Your Grace?”

  Ulric drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair while he pondered the very question he had asked himself several minutes ago. He would like to have North Haven as an ally when he makes his bid for the throne. He knew that Duke William of Brightridge openly supported Jarvin, and that provided the bastard king with a very powerful ally. William’s was the only city rivaling his own in both wealth and soldiers.

  “I think North Haven would be far more cordial to me if I were to rescue their precious Lady from the bandits who are holding her for ransom,” Ulric said slyly.

  “I see, Your Grace. I will make the appropriate contacts at once.”

  “Alton.”

  “Yes, Your Grace?” The chamberlain turned back to face the Duke.

  “Ensure you make it abundantly clear that Miranda is not to be harmed or sullied in any way—until I say so.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  ***

  Lady Miranda stewed as she and her handmaiden rode in the swaying, bumping carriage in which she had urged her driver to put as much distance between them and Southport as possible.

  “The man is a swine and a traitor!” Miranda fumed once more.

  “Yes, milady, you told me that. You have told me that every day for the past three days,” Sarah reminded her Lady.

  “That is because it is still true. Gods, I will have to burn the dress I wore to the ball. I will never be able to wear it again without feeling his lecherous hands on it. It is a shame; it was a lovely dress, and it cost enough to feed a common family for a year.”

  “Perhaps you could sell it and give the money to a charity,” Sarah suggested without looking up from her knitting.

  “That is a fantastic idea! You are very clever, Sarah. It is why I put up with you,” Miranda teased.

  “You put up with me? Have you forgotten all the trouble you have put me in over the years? Sneaking out to listen to tavern musicians and pinching food from the kitchens to feed those filthy children who will cut your purse strings if you are not careful. And let us not forget the incident involving that lord’s white horse and the raspberry stain.”

  “I thought the horse looked lovely in pink. Besides, the man was rude to father.”

  “All nobles are rude. You should not need me to remind you of that.”

  “Father was not rude, nor is His Majesty.”

  Sarah was about to comment on how rare both men were when a loud crashing erupted and the coach jerked forcefully, sending both women sprawling to the floor.

  ***

  Azerick and Horse stepped off the narrow dirt path constituting the road heading east into the more remote towns and onto the broad, cobbled northerly trade road. The unexpected transition took him by surprise, and once again, Azerick was pleased with his decision to purchase Horse. Together they had covered a distance in one week that would have taken him at least three or four on foot. He gently guided Horse toward the last leg of their journey to North Haven.

  The weather was pleasant, which was a nice change from the constant, grey drizzle of the past several days. His body had finally adjusted to Horse’s broad back, and it took only an hour or so to assume a somewhat normal walk after dismounting, unlike the early days requiring the entire night and more.

  The northern trade road was a busy route, and barely half the day passed when Azerick heard the clatter of multiple, steel-shod hooves thundering up from behind him. He guided Horse off the road and onto the earthen shoulder. Preceding a large cloud of dust, he saw a handful of armored men on horseback obviously in a state of great haste. He brought Horse to a halt well out of the way of the mounted men at arms escorting a carriage he could now see barreling down the highway toward him.

  When the carriage drew closer, Azerick saw that it was an opulent affair of black enameled wood with gold detailing along all of the joints and seams. A team of six white horses pulled the carriage along at a steady gallop. Azerick imagined the fat, pompous lord riding comfortably inside the plush, velvet-lined interior, sipping wine and eating dates while the horses worked themselves into a lather pulling the extravagant, heavy coach and his pasty, bloated body down the road.

  Just as the coach and its armed escorts raced past in a cloud of choking dust, ropes with grapnels attached to them flew out of the woods on both sides of the road. The large, steel hooks caught the gold painted spokes and, as the ropes reached their full length and went taught, ripped the rear axle completely off the carriage.

  The driver shouted fearfully as he tried to get his panicked team under control. The sudden drag terrified the horses, and it was all the driver could do to keep the powerful animals from bolting and dragging the wrecked coach behind them.

  At least a score of men burst from the wood line about fifty yards from where Azerick waited and watched the bizarre scene unfold. Crossbows fired and pierced the heavy breastplates of three of the guardsmen. The remaining bandits charged the surprised guards who quickly wheeled their horses around to defend the carriage and its occupants. The bandits, Azerick was sure that was who they were, wielded swords, spears, and catchpoles they used to unseat the mounted soldiers.

  The guard captain, distinguished as much by his command voice as his blue-plumed, steel helm, ordered the remainder of his men to surround the coach and protect it with their lives. The bandits hopelessly outnumbered the soldiers. Even though most of the guards remained mounted and the bandits were on foot, the odds were not with the defenders. The guard captain and three of his men charged into the ranks of bandits, hewing at them with their swords and running them down with their chargers.

  The remaining guards were heavily engaged against several times their numbers and were being pressed against the side of the coach, severely limiting their effectiveness. The bandits with the catchpoles put them to expert use and quickly unseated the mounted soldiers, stripping away what little advantage they had.

  Although Azerick did not condone such brutal criminal activity, he was impressed with the planning that had gone into the task and its near-flawless execution. It was obvious that this was a well-planned raid and not just a target of opportunity.

  It took only minutes before only the Captain and two of his men were left to defend the coach with its precious occupant or occupants. Another guard fell to a spear to the stomach, and the bandits laughed at the men’s futile show of resistance. As the Captain and his last loyal soldier stood back to back against over a dozen remaining bandits, one stepped forward and spoke to the valiant soldiers.

  “Further resistance is unnecessary and futile,” the bandit, most likely the leader of the group, told the Captain. “Put up your weapons and go home. You cannot keep us from taking the Lady.”

  Azerick had to strain his ears and was barely able to make out that the bandit leader had referred to a Lady.

  So what if some fat nobleman’s even fatter wife is kidnapped. He would pay a ransom and most likely get her back. That is how these kinds of things worked, Azerick thought to himself.

  Besides, it was no business of his. He was a sorcerer, not a paladin charging in to save every fool not able to save themselves.

  “I will die before I allow her to fall into the hands of the likes of you!” the Captain shouted at the bandits.

  “What of you, soldier? Are you willing to die for some rich Lady? You’re hardly more than a boy yourself. Are you willing t
o die needlessly before experiencing all that life has to offer?”

  Even at this distance, and with the soldier wearing a pot helm, Azerick could see that the young guard did not have to shave more than about once every couple of weeks, so much was he still in his youth.

  “I stand with my Captain and my Lady,” the lad responded nervously as he clutched his sword tightly in both hands.

  “So be it.”

  A bolt pierced the young soldier’s armor, and he fell to the ground to join the rest of his comrades in death. It was at that moment that Horse must have gotten a whiff of the blood now coloring a large patch of the highway around the coach and nickered his dislike of the scent. All eyes turned, and everyone suddenly took notice of the young man on his horse just a few dozen yards away who had so far gone unnoticed.

  “Hey, boss, what we do about him?” one of the bandits asked, pointing his shortsword in Azerick’s direction.

  Azerick’s shoulders slumped in resignation, and he slipped off Horse and stretched his sore legs. “This business is none of my affair. Do not waste any effort on me.”

  The bandit leader looked at Azerick before making up his mind. “Kill him; we don’t need no witnesses.”

  The guard captain put his back to the coach and raised his shield in preparation of the renewed attack. Half of the bandits broke away from the lone soldier and charged the travel-worn stranger. Azerick sighed in annoyance and slapped Horse on his broad rump in an effort to get him clear of the fighting.

  Azerick leaned on his staff and called out to the dozen men advancing on him with their weapons drawn. “This is not my business, gentlemen. You do not want to make it so.”

  Half the bandits fired their crossbows in reply at the young man who calmly stared death in the face while the others charged with swords and spears. Azerick let out his breath and shook his head. The bolts stopped an arm’s length from his heart and dropped harmlessly to the ground.