The children spent the first three days lying on pallets of straw-stuffed mattresses in the main hall. Azerick was able to shuttle several carpenters up to the keep where they hastily constructed a multitude of beds and cots over the last week and placed them in the completed outbuildings that had once been barracks. That still left two score sleeping in the main hall.
Azerick had just gotten the carpenters returned to the city before the next big storm blew in and dropped another three feet of the cold, white powder. He put the men to use shoveling paths between the buildings and clearing the roofs before the weight of the snow brought them down.
By far, the worst thing he had on his mind was little Roger. Stephanie’s feet had healed quickly and completely, but Roger’s foot had suffered too much damage. His potions had done all they could, but it was not enough. Azerick had put the problem off as long as he could in hopes that there would be an improvement in the boy’s condition with further administrations of potion and poultices, but his efforts proved futile.
With the new snow, getting him to a healer in North Haven would be near to impossible. To make matters worse, the dead tissue on his toes had begun to give off an odor, and if they did not excise the infected portion of his foot soon he would die of blood poisoning. Azerick’s potions had staved off any infections thus far, but they were rapidly losing their ability to do even that. Roger had started a fever last night, and Azerick knew that something had to be done today, or it would be too late for the young boy.
With the profound weight of what he had to do hanging over him, he wearily dressed and descended the stairs, forgoing the opportunity to break his fast. His appetite was completely absent. Azerick was surprised to find Zeke and Evan apparently waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. Evan was the one man that had a decent enough education to help teach the children to read. Although he was an exceptionally quiet man, he seemed to enjoy teaching.
“Zeke, Evan, is there something you needed?” Azerick asked as he approached the two men.
“Aye, Azerick, Evan here has somethin' he’d like to talk to ya about,” Zeke replied and gave Evan a small push forward.
Zeke was one of the few who managed to drop the honorific attached to Azerick’s name when Azerick insisted it was not necessary.
“What is it, Evan?” Azerick asked.
“The boy, the one with the frostbitten foot, you have done all you can for him?” Evan asked just above a whisper.
“I am afraid so.”
Evan nodded with him. “The foot has begun to fester and he has started to run a fever, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, how did you know? Have you talked with one of the women watching over him?”
Evan shook his balding head. “No, Master Azerick, I merely saw him from a distance. The boy will have to have least a portion of his foot removed then,” the slight, quiet man stated.
“Yes, I am certain now, but I only came to the conclusion last night. How do you know this?”
Evan took a deep breath and swallowed hard as if wrestling with a very sensitive and difficult subject. “I was a field surgeon, a bone cutter they call us, in the army. My unit frequently engaged raiding parties and fought heavily armed bandits out of northern Sumara. I often had to remove shattered limbs from soldiers who had received the most grievous wounds. I would like to offer my help with the boy.”
“Evan, I would greatly appreciate any help, particularly from someone with experience in these things. I was afraid I would have to rely solely on my best judgment,” Azerick replied, breathing a sigh of relief.
Evan nodded and soon both men were in Azerick’s laboratory looking down on Roger who lay bravely on one of the wooden tables.
“I am to lose my foot then?” Roger asked with remarkable stoicism.
Evan closely examined the extent of the damage then looked up at the boy. “It is not as bad as I feared. You will lose the toes and perhaps a bit beyond that, but you will not lose the entire foot.”
“That’s good; I can get around well enough with a club foot. Better than I could with a peg leg,” Roger stated with a small smile.
Azerick could not help but admire the boy’s courage and acceptance of his fate. He knew that a great many grown men would have been reduced to tears of anger and fear at the prospect of losing even a portion of their foot.
“Drink this, Roger.” Azerick sat him up and tipped a vial of liquid to his lips. “It will let you sleep through the operation. When you awake, it will be all over with.”
Azerick laid the boy back down, gently resting his head on the pillow. Both men scrubbed their hands thoroughly with soap in a washbasin. The tools they needed to use, which consisted of little more than a razor, a small saw, file, and a needle and silk thread were in another basin of boiling water. The tools had been boiling for a while now, and it was time to take them out and set them on a clean towel.
“Why do you boil the tools?” Azerick asked Evan as they waited for them to cool down.
“It was discovered that doing so greatly reduced the occurrence of infection, though no one has discovered why. Many say that it may have some sort of ritual significance and drives out whatever it is that causes the corruption.”
“You are obviously quite educated to know so much about surgery. How is it that you found yourself in North Haven and homeless?”
“Zeke and I served together in the army. By the time our conscription duties came to an end, we had both become weary of battle. Zeke was as tired of all the bloodletting he was forced to do as I was trying to patch it. It came to the point that I was barely able to even perform my duties without a couple of stiff drinks to keep my hands from shaking. I could have tried to start my own practice, but people generally do not think well of bone cutters and avoid them at all costs. It would not have mattered though; I have not picked up another razor or saw since leaving the desert for cooler and less violent climates.”
“Will you be able to do this?”
Evan shook his head. “I don’t know. If I have trouble, I can talk you through the worst of it. Such a procedure is a test of nerve more than skill.” Evan patted the sleeping Roger firmly on his thigh but the boy did not stir. “I sure could have used that concoction when I was in the field. I can still hear the screams of men when I go to sleep. All right, let us begin.”
Evan up the extremely sharp razor and made the first cut along each side of Roger’s damaged foot from where the toes began to about halfway through the arch as well as straight across and just below the frostbitten area. He then cut away most of the thin top portion of skin before peeling back the thicker skin and muscle from the balls of Roger’s feet.
Azerick helped by using clean strips of loosely woven muslin to sop up the bleeding to keep the area Evan was working on visible. Evan then reached for the small saw, set it against the bone, then stopped and stared at it as his hands shook uncontrollably.
Evan lifted the saw away with tears in his eyes. “I can’t do it. You must cut the bone away.”
“Evan, I have never done such a thing!” Azerick exclaimed in dismay.
Evan looked Azerick in the eye. “It doesn’t matter. As I said before, it is more a test of nerve than of skill. I still have the skill, but I lack the nerve. I will tell you where to make the cut.”
Azerick took the saw and willed his nerves to calm. He nodded to Evan to let him know that he was ready.
“Cut swiftly but cleanly through the bones two inches beyond the base of the toes.”
“Why so far back? Why not one inch back where the dead tissue stops?”
“Because we will need to fold the thick flap of tissue over the end of the foot to pad the bones and suture it to the top of the foot. If you do not leave enough tissue to do so, it will stretch the skin uncomfortably thin and possibly pull the sutures out as it heals.”
Azerick took a deep breath, let it out, and then sawed through the bones precisely where Evan told him.
“Good, now take the file and ro
und off the bones.”
Azerick did as he was told, gritting his teeth with every rasping stroke of the file. Once that was finished and Evan declared the work acceptable, it was time to stitch it up.
“I believe I can handle this part.” Evan forced a thin smile. “Putting good sutures in is a test of skill.”
Azerick was impressed with the deftness with which Evan put in the sutures, tying each one off individually with a clever knot.
“And it is done,” Evan declared as he tied off the last stitch.
It was a shocking wound, but it looked far better than Azerick had thought it would once the stitches were in place. Azerick was able to get a small amount of healing potion down Roger’s unconscious throat to help speed the mending, but Evan suggested that he keep the boy asleep for at least a day to allow the pain of the fresh surgery to pass before he awakened. Azerick agreed and carried Roger to his bed in the main hall where his siblings anxiously awaited.
“Is he all right?” they all asked in one form or another at the same time.
“Yes, Roger is just fine. I am going to keep him asleep until tomorrow so that his foot will not pain him as much when he awakens.”
For the remainder of the day and night, Roger’s brother and sisters took turns dribbling small amounts of water into his mouth as well as the necessary amount of sleeping potion Azerick prescribed them to use.
Azerick returned to his room that night but stopped at his door when he heard a chorus of giggling coming from the floor above. Curious, he climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, paused just outside Ellyssa’s room, and listened to the laughter emanating from beyond the door. Azerick quietly pushed the door open and saw that Ellyssa and five other children were seated on the floor playing.
This in itself was innocuous enough, but what shocked Azerick was that each of the children had one or more glowing balls of colored light swirling around them or darting about the room. Ellyssa looked up and gasped when she saw her magus instructor watching them. All eyes turned toward Azerick and the luminous flying orbs winked out of existence.
Ellyssa looked like a child who had just gotten caught filching pastries from the kitchen. “Master Azerick, we were just playing.”
“Did these children create and control their own lights?” Azerick asked.
Ellyssa knew that she was not to cast spells without Azerick present much less teach other kids how to do so and thought she was in a great deal of trouble. “It was just a tiny, simple spell for fun. It couldn’t have started a fire or anything. It was just lights.”
Azerick took a seat in his apprentice’s desk chair so he would not appear so threatening. “You taught them how to make and control the lights; to cast a magical spell?”
Ellyssa nodded. “It was just for fun,” she repeated.
Azerick’s mind raced with the implications of what he had just witnessed here. These were only five of the one hundred forty-three children now residing at the keep.
How many have a propensity for using magic? Azerick wondered to himself.
Moreover, what consequences did this new discovery herald? Azerick looked up at his nervous apprentice.
“Am I in trouble?” Ellyssa asked.
“No, Ellyssa, you are not in trouble. I think I am in trouble though, a great deal more trouble than I had originally realized. Go ahead and keep playing with the lights, but nothing else,” Azerick told them all.
“We won’t, I promise!” Ellyssa swore.
Ellyssa had already introduced these children to magic. It could be dangerous to let them leave now untrained. Some might pursue higher levels of magic without proper instruction, and that was very dangerous indeed. He needed help he realized for the second time that day, and not just any help; he needed help from someone who knew magic. Azerick sat at his desk and pondered the situation for some time before picking up a quill and pulling a piece of blank parchment from his desk drawer.
Rusty,
I am not sure what to say or how to say it. I hope this letter finds you well. A lot has happened to me since last we saw each other, far too much to go into detail at this moment. I am certain there have been significant changes in your life as well.
Am I still being sought in Southport? Are you still attending The Academy? Have you and Colleen gotten married? I see now that I am digressing, so let me get to the point.
I need help. I have taken residence in an old keep a few miles northeast of North Haven. I have taken in more than seven score of homeless children between the ages of six and sixteen. To complicate matters, I have just discovered that at least a few of them are magically talented. I have not yet attempted to identify any others with latent magic potential but will do so tomorrow. I just cut half of a boy’s foot off, so I am a bit out of sorts at the moment.
You know that my skills lay as a sorcerer not a wizard. My apprentice, whom I took in only a few months ago, will soon exceed my ability to train her properly. I was hoping I could convince you to help me in training these children before they hurt themselves or others much as I did that day in class. You need not worry for lack of wealth. I am able to pay you whatever salary you need to support yourself and Colleen if she is still a part of your life. I hope you will come as soon as you are able, but if you cannot, I understand.
Your Friend,
Azerick
P.S. Tell no one of my location. My life may still depend on your secrecy.
Azerick cast a minor cantrip that made the ink dry instantly and made the parchment and ink invulnerable to water. He sealed it with wax and marked it with his signet ring that he had crafted last summer. The signet was a large A set over a tower with a lightning bolt shot through it. Now he had to get to a messenger service in North Haven, but the letter could sit there for weeks, possibly months before a rider could even make the journey south.
A ship was possible, but none of his were in port now, and he was loath to trust it with another. Even if he did, it could take well over a week for it to arrive.
Azerick decided this was unacceptable. He needed to find a faster method to get his message to Rusty. There were pigeons in North Haven, but they could only carry tiny scrolls bearing a few words. Azerick thought back to when he had built the small golem-like simulacrums. Could he build one that could fly, and could he make it capable of following such complicated instructions as to seeking out a particular individual?
Azerick wracked his brain and constructed the animated mechanical bird in his mind until he thought he had it all sorted out. He realized that he had one big problem. He was going to have to ask Wolf for his help. With a sigh of resignation, Azerick stood up, turned toward the door, and nearly fell over backward when he saw Wolf and Ghost standing a few feet away.
“Wolf, what in the blazes are you doing here?”
The half-elf shrugged his shoulders. “Ghost said you may need my help with something.”
“Ghost said that? Ghost the big black wolf that is now sitting in front of me, shedding on the carpet, and cleaning himself?”
The wolf looked up at the sound of his name with what Azerick would swear was a look of self-consciousness.
“That’s the only one I know.”
Azerick looked askance at Wolf. “Are you telling me that you talk to Ghost?”
“Sure, all the time, what else am I going to do? I’m a terrible whistler, and I can’t hold a tune worth a darn!” Wolf confessed, doubling over in laughter at his own joke.
“And Ghost—,”
“Can’t whistle either, but he does have a great singing voice!” Wolf began laughing hysterically.
Azerick shook his head, not in the mood for Wolf’s bizarre humor. “He talks back to you?”
“No, he’s too polite,” Wolf answered, grinning broadly at the fun word games.
“Damn it, Wolf, would you be serious for one minute, this is important!”
The smile slid from Wolf’s face. “For someone who came asking me for help, you aren’t being very nice.”
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“I’m sorry, it is just that—wait a minute, I did not come looking for you; you were in my room!”
Wolf began laughing once more, holding his arms across his stomach in his usual manner of hilarity.
“Wolf, please!” Azerick pleaded.
“Oh, fine. What do you want?”
“Those feathers you used for Ellyssa’s darts, can you get more of them?”
“I suppose so. How many do you need?”
“I need as many as you can get. Nearly a full count of flight and tail feathers at the least.”
“It sounds like you need them pretty bad,” Wolf observed. “What’s in it for me?”
“Wolf, you have eaten as much as four grown men out of my larder since you came here.”
“Pfft, not lately. You’ve gone and given most of it away to those freeloaders.”
“If they are freeloaders, then what are you?”
“Hey, I poached mine fair and square. Law of the wild!”
“What do you want for the feathers, Wolf?”
“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out when you bring it to me.”
Azerick knew that he had just been baited and trapped and could only shake his head in resignation. “I’ll need them as soon as you can get them.”
“Okay, I’ll have them tomorrow,” Wolf promised. “Hey, what is that?” Wolf asked, pointing at the small window of Azerick’s room.
Azerick turned his head to look then turned back. “What, I don’t see anything.” However, Wolf and Ghost had seemingly vanished.
“Pretty mysterious aren’t I!” Wolf said from right behind him and doubled over laughing when Azerick spun around. “You need to relax. you’re too jumpy.” Wolf said as he and Ghost walked out the door.
Azerick was unable to prevent the smile of amusement and perhaps just a little fondness for the wild young man. Azerick walked down to Simon’s room who had already retired for the night, weary of teaching the children mathematics. He rapped lightly on the door and waited patiently. Within a minute, Simon’s owlish face appeared in the now opened portal wearing a flannel night robe and blinking back the light from the hall.
The Sorcerer's Path Box Set: Book 1-4 Page 84
