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

by Brock Deskins

  So far, the group had yet to encounter any undead of significance. A few skeletons and zombies had clawed themselves out of the earth before or during consecration rites, but Samone and Brother Charles put them to rest easily enough. So far, it seemed the reports of an undead plague were greatly exaggerated.

  It was late afternoon by the time the squad of Solarian’s Light reached the middling-sized town of Hoffsteader. The party rode straight to the burial site and found several priests already performing the consecration ritual. A man of middle years separated himself from the others as the group approached and began dismounting. He hailed them with a wave as he came near.

  “Hail, Chosen, good of you to come and help, though I fear we are nearly done already.”

  “Father Flavin,” Samone addressed the local priest, “I apologize for our late arrival. A damaged bridge forced us to take a longer route to get here, but it looks as though we were not necessary.”

  “No, Solarian was with us throughout the day, and our ritual has gone well. It was a great task, considering the size of the land needing cleansed.”

  “I am surprised Hoffsteader possesses such a large burial ground for such a modest town,” Griff commented.

  Brother Charles broke in. “Hoffsteader was the site of a virulent plague just over a century ago. Many of the outlying towns carted their sick here for quarantine, some even as far as away as Brightridge. After the sickness ran its course, the Church had the town put to torch, and the one you see now was erected a short distance away and resettled.”

  Father Flavin nodded along with his church brethren’s recitation. “Quite right, brother, you know your history.”

  Samone looked at the long shadows cast by the rapidly waning sun with a weary sigh. “Father Flavin, I know you have all been doing the real work, but we are weary from the long ride, and I fear we would likely just be in the way at this point. But if you don’t mind, I think we will head into town and get our rooms ready and our horses put up before we return to lay any final prayers.”

  The priest smiled warmly at the pretty, young paladin. “Of course. I am certain we can finish up on our own while you see to your stay. We should be just about finished and ready for your final prayers by the time you get settled in.”

  “Thank you, Father, we’ll be back shortly.”

  “I’m looking forward to a good glass of ale to wash down the trail dust I’ve been chewing on for the past few hours,” Griff declared boisterously as they remounted and walked their horses down the town’s wide avenue in search of a good inn.

  “Amen to that,” Charles agreed. “How long have we been riding anyway?”

  Griff laughed loudly. “The shadows say about eleven hours, but my arse says about four days!”

  The three warriors of Solarian’s Light turned in their saddles to look at the wizard as he gasped audibly.

  “Oh come on,” Griff told the young mage, “lighten up. Even Chuck here thought it was funny.”

  Kyle shook his head. “The shadows. Look at them.”

  They all looked at the shadows stretching from the buildings and other structures.

  “Okay, maybe it’s closer to ten, ten and a half. For crying out loud, do you wizards have to be so damn precise with everything?”

  “No, I’m talking about the shadows back at the burial site!” Kyle practically shouted, his face going pale.

  “What about them, Kyle,” Samone asked as a deep feeling of dread crept through her body.

  The mage swallowed deeply then replied, “They were pointing the other way.”

  Samone cursed in a very unholy manner as she and the others wheeled their mounts around and raced back to where they had left the priests performing their sanctification rites.

  They had barely made it halfway back before the screams of dying men reached their ears even over the loud pounding of the horses’ hoof beats. Samone drew her sword with another curse and pushed her mount even harder despite knowing in her heart that they would never be able to save the defenseless priests.

  The scene that met them was horrific. Skeletal claws sprouted from the ground like macabre weeds in a garden as they clawed their way out of the earth, pulling down and interring two of the clergymen to rest alongside them. Others had exhumed themselves and were tearing two other priests to pieces.

  Father Flavin and another of his clergy lay with a rictus of agony and terror spread across their faces. The men looked to have died months or years ago and set out to dry. Their skin was sallow and dry, their bodies skeletal as if all the liquid in their corpses had simply evaporated.

  Shadows detached from the trees and tombstones and rose out of the ground. The shades moved with the swiftness and silence of a strong wind, attacking the living that mocked their undeath.

  Samone barely had time to slip her feet from the stirrups as the shades raked incorporeal claws through her mount, rolling as the poor warhorse whinnied in terror, bucked, and fell to the ground. The shadows continued to attack the poor animal even after it ceased moving, drawing every bit of life out of it they could before seeking fresher prey.

  Samone rolled to her feet, slipped her shield onto her arm, and shouted a prayer to her god. Her sword burst into a radiant white light, driving back the oppressive cold and fear the shades emanated with their presence and opposition to all things living. The paladin lashed out at the death spawn, fury powering her strokes over the loss of her faithful mount. Her holy sword, blessed with the light of Solarian, hewed down the shades as they left the dead horse and focused their attack on the humans.

  The other three members of the group, who were slightly slower in their charge and response, dismounted, knowing that fighting these kinds of creatures from horseback was not to their advantage.

  Brother Charles wrapped himself in the protections of his faith as he rushed to aid Samone who was seemingly oblivious to the tide of undead creatures rapidly bearing down upon her. The Chosen of Solarian raised his holy amulet made of gold surrounding a large sphere of purest amber and shouted a rebuke empowered by his faith at the advancing hoard.

  The nearest zombies and skeletons, along with several of the shades attacking Samone, crumbled as the holy symbol burst into light and illuminated the graveyard in a brilliant yellow glow. Many of the undead monsters not destroyed fled from the power of the light, unable to stand in the presence of the power of a god that considered them anathema, and put as much distance between themselves and the holy power as they could.

  Kyle saw that despite the cleric’s effectiveness, there were still dozens, even scores, of the monstrosities still advancing with evil intent. Unable to use most of his spells in such close combat, he elected to deal with those farther back and let the warriors deal with the ones up close.

  The wizard spoke arcane words of magic and raised a towering wall of flame that stretched twenty feet high and practically bisected the huge cemetery. The wall of fire caught at least a dozen of the creatures in conflagration, incinerating them instantly. Those were the lucky ones. The ones near the edge of the roaring flames combusted and flailed about, sometimes grappling with their own in mindless panic.

  The undead not caught in the inferno backed away and sought to go around the flames to attack the living humans. Kyle was about to unleash a powerful explosive fireball into the thickest ranks of undead when something hit him hard from behind.

  The mage rolled forward and away from the source of the attack and came up with his hands spread and a spell on his lips. He saw Griff swinging his sword in a series of swift strikes through one of the shades that must have come out of the ground or snuck up from behind them.

  The big warrior’s swings seemed to pass right through the shadowy creature, but the third and fifth strike of the complex attack routine bit home, and the insubstantial creature burst apart like smoke caught in a fierce wind.

  “You can burn up all the scary skeletons and zombies you want, but it’s the ones you don’t see that will get you.” The big
warrior smiled at the wizard.

  “Thank you, Griff.”

  Griff nodded at the wizard. “We’ll let Samone and Chuck handle those up close. You watch that way, I’ll watch this way, and we’ll both watch each other’s back as they make their way around those flames.”

  Kyle nodded and turned so that he could look at the left end of the flame wall and still keep Griff in sight with minimal head turning. The mage launched magical attack after attack the instant any undead appeared around the end of the flames before slowing down and letting them group up some before annihilating them enmasse.

  Griff let them come to him for the most part. His blade was also blessed by his order, as were all the weapons belonging to members of Solarian’s Light, and he made short work of the creatures. The Sword of Solarian fought with an economy of movement, never wasting more strength or energy than necessary as he fell into the comfortable rhythm of his fighting routine.

  Samone and the priest laid down the last of the dreadful shades and moved to support Griff and the wizard. The tide of undead seemed unending as more and more of the creatures clawed their way out of the soil, bent on destroying all life they encountered.

  Exhaustion was quickly taking its toll on the group. Everyone moved slower, and Charles and Kyle had exhausted their spells long ago. Brother Charles put his mace and shield to effective use, while Kyle was forced to use his few precious wands and scrolls whenever the undead threatened to overwhelm the fighters.

  The clash between the living and the dead raged for just over an hour though it felt far longer to the weary band. When the battle was finally over, the group simply stood and caught their breath as they surveyed the carnage.

  Kyle was the first to break the silence. “What in the abyss was that?”

  The group had been fighting pockets of undead for weeks, but nothing approaching this level of uprising.

  “The start of what is probably a far greater problem than anyone realizes,” Samone replied ominously. “You did good, wizard. I’m glad we had your help on this one.”

  Kyle just nodded as he looked around at the piles of hacked, mutilated, and scorched corpses. Griff gave him a friendly slap on the back and got a nod from the quiet cleric. Kyle was now officially part of the team. Looking at the battlefield before them, he was not surprised at the lack of joy such an induction brought him.

  ***

  Duchess Mellina sat upon her throne as she addressed the lord standing before her.

  “Lord Effrin, Due to this year’s hardships and to celebrate the sudden rise in employment, thanks mostly to one of our newer citizens, I have decided to hold an elaborate summer festival. As you are aware, the city of Southport puts on a rather splendid magical lights display, and I would like to emulate it if possible. Please pay a visit to Magus Azerick and ask him if it is possible, and if he would be willing to put on a show for us.”

  The swarthy, gaudily dressed minister of festivities bowed deeply. “It would be my pleasure, Your Grace.”

  Lord Effrin ordered his coach brought around immediately, and within minutes, boarded the bright, red-enameled carriage.

  ***

  Grick was naturally a night owl, and he was just about to mount the stairs and return to his room for some much-needed sleep after a long and successful night of chasing rats when someone began pounding on the door. Grick knew that the sorcerer was in the basement and would not interrupt his work to answer the door, the cook was in the kitchen and probably did not hear it over the clattering of pans, and Simon and his counters were not yet here. Grick turned away from the stairs with a sigh and went to the door.

  He depressed the door handle, which was about at face level for him, and pulled open the door to the small antechamber that allowed people to wait inside to avoid inclement weather. Grick opened the door and stared up at the ridiculously dressed man standing on the other side.

  The lord’s cloths were made of bright silk and fluffy lace. The velvet pants were so tight they were almost lewd, especially considering Grick’s height and close proximity to the man’s waistline. Ruffles of white silk erupted over the top button of his bright orange vest and hid his skinny neck. His black hair was brushed back and held in the unbreakable grip of some kind of grease, and he wore more makeup than a high-priced bordello girl.

  “Ew, what in the world are you?” Lord Effrin asked, dramatically, cringing away and sneering down at the goblin as if he had just stepped in something foul with his expensive, green suede shoes and silk stockings. The lord held a scented kerchief to his nose. “You there, creature. You will take me to your master and announce me. I am Lord Effrin, Her Grace’s Minister of Festivities and Recreation.”

  Grick continued to stare at the snobbish lord knowing that the master would not care to be disturbed by this foppish man. Lord Effrin apparently mistook the goblin’s hesitation as being feebleminded and spoke again very slowly.

  “I am Lord Eff-rin. Take me to your Mas-ter.” He tapped Grick in the chest with his ornate walking cane and made a brushing motion with the hand holding the lacy, scented kerchief before shoving it back under his large, beak-like nose.

  Grick turned around and received two more light taps on his back from the walking cane. “That’s it, creature, take me to your master like a good boy, or thing, or whatever you are.”

  Grick led the insufferable man down the stairs to the cellar and stopped in front of the laboratory door. Lord Effrin waited for the goblin to knock or enter the room, but it became obvious that the goblin was not going to do either one. He rapped on the door with the polished silver knob of his walking cane.

  Azerick opened the door and saw the dandy standing before him then looked down at Grick.

  “This fracknok want to see you, master.” Grick jerked his thumb at Lord Effrin before walking away.

  Grick had been teaching Azerick some words in the goblin tongue, and the word fracknok was one of the more rude insults of a language that was largely comprised of rude insults. The rat catcher did not immediately climb the stairs, but instead chose to hide just around the corner at the base of the steps leading to the main hall. He had a feeling this meeting might be entertaining.

  “By the gods, that thing actually speaks,” Lord Effrin said.

  The lord waited for the magus to bow or give some sort of acknowledgement of being in the presence of a man of superior status. When no sign of obsequiousness was forthcoming, Lord Effrin assumed the man must not be aware of his station.

  “Magus, I am Lord Effrin, Her Grace’s Minister of Festivities and Recreation.”

  Grick was right, this man is definitely a fracknok.

  Azerick wondered if the Duchess just made up these outlandish titles to give the pompous nobility something to do and to give them a sense of purpose.

  Good lord, is this man as simple as his servant? I thought these wizards were supposed to be educated types, Effrin thought as Azerick continued to stare at him without speaking.

  “Ahem, Her Grace, the Duchess of North Haven, has declared that there will be a holiday on the last day of summer. She has demanded your service and requires you to put on a magical display that will put the one produced in Southport to shame.”

  Azerick continued to stare at the man without speaking as the lord continued after pausing for a comment from the sorcerer that was not forthcoming.

  “Now then, I was thinking of numerous, large, fiery blasts such as I have witnessed in Southport, but for the big finale, an enormous flock of snow swans fly over the city and burst into a multitude of brilliant sparkles! Well, wizard, do you think you can pull it off?” Lord Effrin asked in exasperation when Azerick continued to stare at him.

  Azerick slammed the door in the man’s face with force.

  Definitely a fracknok, Azerick thought as he went back to brewing his healing potions.

  He discovered that serious injuries often resulted from the kind of large-scale work involved in repairing the keep. Keeping a supply of his potions on hand
not only eased the suffering of those injured, it kept productivity at its peak.

  Lord Effrin pounded furiously on the closed door with the cane. “Now see here! I am Lord Effrin, and I speak for Duchess Mellina! I will not be treated rudely by a jumped up peasant and street corner charlatan! Do you hear me?”

  Azerick opened the door once more.

  “Now, that is more like it. You are fortunate that I am in a reasonable mood and may accept your apology without ordering you lashed for impertinence.”

  Grick did not need to see what exactly the master was going to do to the fracknok, but he knew the man would be leaving, and likely with a great deal of haste. He rushed upstairs and held the front doors open. The goblin had just gotten the outer doors open when a shrill scream echoed through the hall, and Lord Effrin streaked by and literally dove into his waiting carriage, yanking the curtains shut as the coach sped away far swifter than safety would demand. Grick watched the fancy coach race down the dirt road, bouncing dangerously with every pothole it hit. Grick closed the doors and finally climbed the stairs back to his room and went to sleep.

  ***

  Ellyssa had six darts stuffed in her quiver. She practiced against a straw target she and Peck put together. She had quickly learned that hitting a fleeing rat was much harder than killing a large roast sitting immobile on the dining table.

  Peck was out exercising the horses in the recently completed paddock. He had even started letting Ellyssa ride one of the calmer horses while he held a long tether clipped to the horse’s bridle. The boy could not read worth a lick, but he had a natural affinity with horses. Ellyssa was working with him on his reading outside the normal class times.

  Azerick hired Mistress Caroline, a tutor and scholar who came well recommended, to teach most of the standard lessons, which left Azerick only having to guide Ellyssa in her magic studies. Peck was not an exceptional student, but what he lacked in book smarts he made up in determination. Azerick wished Ellyssa applied herself half so much as the stablehand, even though she still advanced at a rapid pace.