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

by Brock Deskins

  “Why are you so ugly?” Wolf retorted defensively.

  “I’m not ugly!”

  “Yes you are!”

  Ellyssa looked up at Azerick. “Is that a boy, or did the wolf throw up some half-digested animal?”

  Wolf held his arms across his stomach as he laughed. “She’s clever and funny, not like you,” he said to Azerick. “I like her.”

  Azerick could only shake his head and smile at the unpredictable half-elf.

  “What are we going to do now?” Ellyssa asked, looking up at Azerick while she stroked Ghost’s furry head.

  “I will have to go see the Minister of Labor, post some notices, and maybe tell a few of the innkeepers to put the word out that I am looking for carpenters, stone masons, and just about every type of laborer I can find. Like it or not, this is going to be our new home.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The goblin prowled through the moonless night with a stealth born of necessity and a lifetime of practice. Being caught by one of the humans whose farm he spied upon was a sure way to get himself killed, bringing about an even faster death than the gnawing in his belly threatened to do. Grick watched the farmhouse intently, using his superior night vision to spy any movement within.

  All was silent, the last lamp or candle was doused more than two hours ago. The humans were not the real problem however. It was their flea-ridden dogs. How he hated those dogs. Grick was a decent hunter, but hunting had not been good recently. There was a darkness, a taint, to the land these days. He would not normally risk a raid like this, but he was hungry, a type of hungry only someone who was truly destitute could know. That hunger forced him to take risks.

  Grick was a rare goblin in many ways. For one thing, he was raiding on his own, something normal goblins rarely did. Goblins were by nature cowardly, only attacking and raiding when they possessed superior numbers by a wide margin. That was one reason he hated his own kind nearly as much as humans did.

  He was also a fair measure smarter than the average of his ilk. Grick had come to despise the raiding, thieving, and sometimes killing his kind perpetrated in order to survive. He also disliked hiding in a filthy hole in the ground packed with dozens, sometimes hundreds of his kin, not that the other races gave his kind many other options.

  Grick had hoped his individuality would become apparent to those who lived above ground if given the chance, but no one had ever been interested in taking more than a single look at him before cursing him and chasing him off. During the cold winters, he would often sneak over the wall of one of the larger human cities, hide in some abandoned building or sewer, and forage only at night. It was a dangerous proposition, but the only alternative was freezing and starving to death.

  But living in the city amongst the humans was dangerous. The city watch would kill him out of hand if they caught him, and they had come close more than once. His small size and nimble fingers sometimes got him employed by the thieves’ guild, but they usually reneged on whatever deal they made with him and were almost as likely to kill him as the watch, so he avoided all humans as much as possible.

  Grick disliked stealing from the humans, but they would not miss a few of the eggs or maybe just one of the chickens roosting only a couple hundred feet away in their cozy chicken coop. He licked a long, bony finger and tested the wind once more, and then began crawling toward the henhouse. Within minutes, he came to the outside of the tall wire fence made to keep out predators. Fortunately, he was cleverer, or at least more able, than a fox in getting past the less than formidable fortification.

  Grick pulled out his two rust-mottled daggers specially modified for just this type of work. Each dagger had a small hole bored through the center about an inch back from the tip of the blade. He aligned the holes and slipped a pin through them, converting the two daggers into a pair of wire snips. The makeshift snips were not terribly efficient, but they worked. The goblin methodically clipped the wires until he could push up a section of the fence just large enough for him to crawl through.

  With a last look over his shoulder to the farmhouse and the two large dogs sleeping on the porch, Grick crawled toward the narrow ramp the chickens used to walk up and into the raised henhouse. Quiet as a shadow, Grick crept up the ramp and barely squeezed through the small square opening that would have been far too small for any human or animal much larger than a fox. The goblin fought to control his breathing, knowing that chickens were notoriously skittish and made a horrendous amount of noise if they felt threatened.

  Several chickens made low clucking noises as the goblin cautiously approached. “It okay, just human farmer coming for some eggs,” Grick reassured the fowl in the human tongue.

  The diminutive egg poacher slipped a hand under one of the wary hens, withdrew three of the warm eggs, and slipped them into a leather pouch at his waist. He stuck his long fingers under a second hen and felt several more of the warm treats hidden under the white feathered fowl. Just as his hand wrapped around the precious but fragile treasure, the wind outside shifted, bringing the goblin’s distinctive scent to the sensitive noses of the dogs.

  The two hounds woke and thrust their wet, black noses into the air. The mild evening breeze wafted the tiny scent particles of the goblin right into those super-sensitive smell receptors and immediately set the dogs off. Grick involuntarily flinched when the dogs’ barking broke the evening silence. The chicken he had his hand under began squawking and flapping its nearly useless wings in terror and warning.

  Grick cursed in his crude language, shoved the eggs he gripped in his hand into the pouch with the others, and fought his way through the flapping, panicked hens. With stealth no longer an issue, Grick snatched one of the chickens around the neck and fled the chicken coop. Face down and crawling on his belly, he saw the light of a lit lamp through the closed shutters of the farmhouse. The two dogs continued to bark their threats while tugging against the ties keeping them on the porch.

  Grick ran to the hole he had cut in the wire and dove through it. He cursed again when his tattered shirt caught on the flap of fence. He had intended to pull the section back down to conceal his entry, but the dogs’ barking rendered it pointless. He reached back behind him with his one free hand and tried to free his trapped shirt. He cursed again when the door of not only the farmhouse to which the chicken coop belonged slammed open, but the other three nearby houses as well.

  The goblin scrabbled forward, tearing his shirt and putting three bloody scratches down his back. The moment he was clear of the wire, he sprang to his feet and ran as fast as his skinny legs would carry him while the chicken slapped him about his head and shoulder trying to break free of his grip.

  The farmers freed the dogs and were now chasing the thief down. Grick ran toward the hills where he hoped he would be able to lose his pursuers. Escape would have been relatively easy had it not been for those dogs. Grick cursed his ill fortune.

  The baying of the dogs drew nearer, and Grick realized that the farmer must have let at least one of them off the leash to run him down. The goblin could now hear the dogs’ barking right on his heels. With a look of remorse, Grick threw the chicken he had stolen right into one of the hounds’ slavering muzzles. The terrified hen squawked, flapped, and clawed at the dog, buying the goblin a few more seconds of freedom.

  The dog attacked the chicken frantically flapping at its face in terror. The hound, its blood already pumping in excitement, stopped and tore the poor flightless bird to shreds. Within moments, the farmers caught up to the dog, pulled it off the mauled bird, and continued their pursuit.

  Leave me alone already; it’s just a few eggs! Grick shouted to himself as he plowed into the cold waters of a stream.

  He ran downriver for several seconds before crossing in an effort to try to lose his hunters. The dogs cast about in confusion as they tried to reacquire their prey’s scent. Grick ran up the hill and slowed to a fast walk in order to get his breath, praying that the dogs would not pick his scent back up. A few minutes later
, the change in the hounds’ braying informed him that his prayers had gone unanswered. He was not surprised. What god looked out for pathetic, thieving goblins?

  The trees began to thin as he gained the rocky terrain of the nearby mountain range. Grick had been fleeing his pursuers for nearly an hour, and he began to think they were going to chase him to the ends of the world. He scrambled over large boulders as he climbed higher into the mountains. The goblin was a good climber and hoped that he could find a steep incline or cliff that the farmers and their dogs would be unwilling or unable to follow.

  He headed for the steep rock face he spotted ahead. Clambering over a few huge boulders, he dropped over the far side of them and faced the steep cliff face. The cliff soared over his head to an imposing height and offered very few handholds. With an unassailable cliff above and below, Grick’s only option was to go back the way he came. Cursing his misfortune, he climbed back atop one of the massive boulders barring his path. Glancing between them, he spied a dark fissure that looked to be rather deep.

  Such a crevice could conceal him, but it also might trap him. He wondered if the farmers would let him go or wait him out. They might even try to smoke him out or throw stones down at him. Any choices he had dwindled as he heard the dogs and farmers scrambling up the mountain’s slope just below him. Grick dropped down between the two huge boulders and slithered into the narrow crevice between them.

  He continued to climb down and became more and more hopeful of evading his pursuers the deeper he was able to climb. Grick lowered himself down by his scrawny arms and cast about with his big feet in an effort to find a good foothold to continue his descent. His hands slipped and his stomach lurched as he found himself in freefall.

  Grick landed on what sounded and felt like a large pile of chains. The impact blasted the air from his lungs and he spent a solid minute gasping for breath. A sharp pain stabbed mercilessly into the right side of his back. Fear filled his heart as he reached back with his hand to probe his injury and felt a slimy wetness. Fearing that he was bleeding profusely, he felt a great sense of relief when he looked at his hand and saw that there was no blood there. If he was not bleeding then what was so wet? His eggs!

  Cursing vilely once again, he grabbed his pouch of eggs and examined the crushed contents. With a shrug of his narrow shoulders, he upended the leather pouch and slurped down the contents, spitting out the occasional shell that slipped down with the slimy raw egg. The eggs tasted like heaven, but they only marginally satisfied his empty stomach. He sat up and took stock of his situation.

  Reaching behind him, Grick felt around for whatever had jabbed him so hard in the back. His fingers brushed cold metal that shifted under the touch of his hands and legs as he moved about. Looking at what he had landed on more closely, he realized that he was sitting on a huge mound of coins.

  Using his hands to brush away the thick layer of dust covering everything, he saw that there was far more here than just coins. Gems, weapons, and chests of different sizes sat piled within a cavernous chamber. Flinging out the shattered contents of his leather pouch, Grick scooped handfuls of coins and gems into it until he could barely close the top. As he was tying the pouch onto the rope he used as a belt, a rather disturbing thought entered his bald, wrinkly head.

  Who did all this treasure belong to, and where were they?

  He looked around but could only see the walls of the cavern in every direction although just barely. The cavern’s ceiling and the fissure he had fallen through lay more than twenty feet above him with no way to climb back up to it.

  Grick began sliding down the mound of treasure and came to an abrupt halt when he neared the floor. At the base of the treasure pile were numerous, strange glyphs. Grick did not know much about magic, but these definitely looked and felt like magic. He had seen such things before when he was the plaything of a rather malevolent wizard.

  The goblin scurried around the entire pile and saw that the strange sigils completely encircled it. Grick climbed back to the top of the mound and sat back down dejectedly. He was unsure what the symbols meant, but he had to assume they were there to protect the valuable hoard. Thanks to his pilfered eggs, he was not hungry enough to risk crossing the wards and possibly being turned into tiny, smoking goblin bits.

  “Great. Grick is now wealthiest goblin in the world and will soon become wealthiest dead goblin in the world,” he gloomily informed the dark cavern around him as he sat trapped on the pile of riches.

  CHAPTER 3

  Wolf drew back the string of his bow until his thumb brushed his ear. The young half-elf sighted down the long, straight shaft of his arrow and drew a bead on the rabbit that was peacefully munching on grass shoots twenty yards away. He let his breath escape through his nostrils, held it, and released his grip on the bowstring. As the lethal, steel-tipped arrow sped toward its target, some sixth sense or just plain luck, good for the rabbit, bad for Wolf, caused the furry creature to hop forward at the last possible moment.

  “Trasnik!” the half-elf youth cursed in elven.

  The arrow skipped off the hard ground just past where the rabbit had been a fraction of a second before and flew off into the brush. The rabbit bolted through the grass and scrub and darted down into its hole where it would probably remain for some time.

  Ghost, the boy’s enormous black wolf, constant companion, and best friend, looked up at him as Wolf’s stomach vocalized its own complaint.

  “Don’t worry, Ghost, I know where we can find some food,” he reassured his furry friend.

  He knew where he could find food in a pinch, but it was very dangerous. Although the creatures guarding the store of food were not much taller than he was, they outweighed him by at least two, and sometimes threefold and swung their wooden-hafted weapons with unerring accuracy. However, their most potent weapon was a shrill cry that could shake the bones loose right inside a body. Wolf knew he would have to risk it; his stomach demanded sustenance.

  Wolf and Ghost padded silently toward the den of fearsome creatures that dwelled just a mile from where he hunted. Within minutes, he came upon the rough stone wall marking the outer boundaries of their territory. Wolf laid his bow and quiver down next to a breach in the wall where the ancient stones had fallen down. His arrows were useless against the creatures inside. Stealth would provide his only chance of success.

  “Stay here, Ghost, and watch my stuff. I’ll be right back out.”

  Ghost looked at his two-legged friend, blinked his big golden eyes, and sat near the hole in the wall. Wolf peered past the breach, saw that dozens of the male creatures were busy working and prowling around a good distance from where he was and posed little threat to his mission. He darted past the opening and dove behind a pile of cut stone blocks. Pausing to ensure no one had spotted him, Wolf clung to the shadows cast by one of the dwellings where the creatures lived and sidled toward one of the openings closest to where they hoarded their food.

  Wolf peered through the narrow opening of the lair and saw three of the females preparing food for the males who were busy working outside. One of the female creatures disappeared deeper into the lair while the other two were preoccupied at the far end of the chamber and were not looking in his direction.

  This would be the best chance he would likely have to pilfer some of their food. The boy crept through the opening and sidled into the chamber like a two-legged crab, keeping low to the ground and moving as quietly as possible.

  Wolf crept up to the large wooden table where a freshly roasted fowl of some kind lay on a plate. He reached up onto the table and slipped the cooked bird into the sack he carried. Just as he was dropping the delectable food into his sack, a fourth creature he had failed to spot appeared near the entrance and saw him. With an ear-piercing shriek of outrage, the monster launched into an attack, slamming the tabletop with its long weapon, and just narrowly missing Wolf’s head.

  “Wolf, you filthy little sneak thief!” the cook shouted at the half-elf.

  W
olf bounded over the table with a laugh, leapt onto the open window ledge where he snatched up a pie that had been set out to cool, and darted away with his prize.

  “Wolf, you get back here with that or I’ll tell the magus!” the cook impudently threatened the fleeing boy, shaking her broom at him.

  Wolf stopped, turned around, and blew a loud raspberry at the outraged woman and ran off laughing once again as her tirade bounced harmlessly off his fleeing back. Once past the wall, Wolf paused to snatch up his bow and arrows before sprinting for the wood line where he and Ghost could enjoy the spoils of their labor.

  Wolf stopped running once he reached his favorite spot a few minutes later. He pulled out the roast bird, chicken he found to his delight, and set it on top of the boulder he often used as a table.

  “Look, Ghost, I got us a good one this time and pie too!” he crowed triumphantly. “This is one of my best heists yet.”

  “Put down that pie or get blasted!” a young feminine voice ordered from behind him.

  Wolf turned his head and saw a girl, who at nine years old was just three years younger than Wolf, pointing a small stick at him.

  The half-elf looked accusingly at the big wolf sitting expectantly next to him. “It’s a good thing you’re a wolf, because you make a lousy guard dog.”

  Ghost gave Wolf what passed as a shrug for a wolf, looked back at the chicken, and licked his chops.

  “Hi, Ellyssa, want some pie?”

  “You don’t need to steal food from the kitchen, Wolf. Magus Azerick said you can come eat with us whenever you want,” she told her friend.

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  Wolf tore a large piece of the breast meat off the chicken and gave it to Ghost while he consumed one of the drumsticks. Within minutes, the two half-wild creatures had stripped the bird’s bones clean of even the smallest pieces of flesh. Wolf pulled out his hunting knife and began slicing up the still warm apple pie. He handed a sticky slice to Ellyssa, set one on a rock for Ghost, and then cut a large slice for himself, which he devoured in seconds.