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

by Brock Deskins

  Quayburn’s troops fought valiantly in hopes of escaping the trap they had fallen into, desperate to warn the city of Ulric’s betrayal, and they nearly succeeded. With the General leading the fighting retreat, he and two dozen of his men cut a hole through the rear ranks only to pull up short as Ulric’s pikemen and archers blocked the road ahead. The archers loosed their arrows and sent several men and horses crashing to the ground.

  General Quayburn spotted Ulric atop his horse near the top of the hill to his right. He knew that he would not survive this battle, but it would make his death feel rewarded if he could take that traitorous bastard with him.

  General Quayburn fought like a man possessed, hacking and slashing through the men standing between him and his sole chance at vengeance. Bloody spittle flew from his mouth with every curse and demonic scream of outrage. The enraged General inched his way forward as he cut down mercenary after mercenary until he finally won through. He spurred his horse up the slope of the hill where the traitor Ulric waited, a mocking smile upon his lips.

  “Ulric!” Quayburn shouted as he charged forward.

  A small bald man with a suntanned and weather-beaten face interposed himself between him and the Duke. Quayburn slashed down at the man who easily parried the powerful stroke with his sword. Quayburn took note of the blade’s unique design. As long as a broad sword, it came to a sharp, upturned point like an oversized hunting knife. A deep blood groove ran from tip to hilt, and the back edge of the blade was deeply serrated.

  The General repeatedly slashed at the bald, sneering man but was unable to break through the skilled swordsman’s defense.

  “Who are you?” Quayburn demanded to know.

  “Don’t you recognize me, General? I’m the man who just killed you,” Kayne replied with an evil smile as he thrust his blade at the General.

  General Quayburn heard the sword punch through his steel breastplate before he felt it. By the time his brain registered the lethal blow, his world was already fading into the black of nothingness. As he slipped from the saddle, he felt a world of weightlessness wash over him. It was as if he were a feather being born away by the wind. He never felt the impact as he tumbled from his saddle and struck the ground.

  Kayne wiped the gore from his blade before sheathing it and casually guided his horse next to Duke Ulric. Both men watched the scene below as the last of the Brightridge men was slain.

  “Shall we move on to the next phase of your plan, Duke?” Kayne asked.

  “I need to collect my fallen men first,” Duke Ulric replied. “I cannot have their bodies littering the ground out here. Besides, they still have a role to play. Come to think of it, so do yours.”

  Kayne flashed the Duke a knowing smile. “Ah, of course, you cannot have a battle without casualties now can you?”

  “Precisely.”

  Kayne’s mercenaries rode to Brightridge and harried the defenders upon the walls with arrows while looting the homes built outside the castle walls and setting them aflame. Ulric’s troops rode in shortly after, and the two sides replayed the battle just as they had in Edmonton, but this time they had far more real corpses with which to litter the field thanks to General Quayburn’s gallantry.

  Ulric once again drove the invaders off, his cavalry pursuing them into the hills as Ulric reaped the cheers of the city’s defenders. With boastful proclamations of his noble intentions of ridding the kingdom of these savage invaders, he and his men set off once more, leaving behind a grateful city full of mourning citizens.

  What had once been a city full of his strongest opponents now looked to him with favor. Placing several men in key taverns and inns to boast of the Duke’s beneficence and questioning the King’s failure to provide support and safety helped strengthen his position even more.

  The land was far more populated near Brightridge, so Kayne and Ulric were forced to march nearly a full day before reaching an area where they could camp and rest, secure from spying eyes.

  “You promised me some good profits, Ulric. I lost quite a few good men today, and I would like you to tell me how you are going to make sure I am well compensated,” Kayne demanded as they sat near a fire drinking brandy that was far below Ulric’s usual standards of refinement.

  “If you thought this endeavor was without some risk to life, then you insult both our intelligences, Kayne. Our next objective is Groveswood. Are you familiar with it?”

  “Can’t really say that I am,” Kayne replied with a shake of his bald head.

  “Groveswood is a small but wealthy town where rich nobles like to vacation and retire. There is a lot of wealth in that town, and you will be free to plunder it for all it is worth.”

  “It sounds a little too good to be true. What’s the catch?”

  Ulric shrugged his shoulders. “No catch really. There are a good number of guards given the limited population, but they are little more than an overrated city watch. I also need you to avoid killing very many of the populace. It would not do me much good to have you sack the town and have no one to complain to the King about it. I need these men’s support when I make my bid for the crown, therefore I need them alive.”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard. I’ve never known a noble to fight for himself much. Once the guards are slain, the nobles will likely cower in their homes and give us whatever we demand to make us go away and spare their useless lives,” agreed Kayne.

  ***

  The keep was in absolute chaos. Hundreds of workers were quarrying, shaping, and mortaring stone for the new buildings and the curtain wall. Woodcutters were falling trees and shaping timbers. Some children were busy trying to keep out of the way, some were apprenticing, and others were going through sword drills and archery practice with Ewen, Alex, Zeke, and Jansen.

  However, that was not the source of the tension and raw nerves currently felt by the master of the tower and his friend Rusty. It was the hoarse screaming coming from behind the closed door to Rusty and Colleen’s room.

  Colleen went into labor early that afternoon and was surrounded by a team of midwives, an herbalist, and Evan while Azerick and Rusty paced outside the door. Rusty sprinted for the door every time Colleen cried out only to be stopped by Azerick.

  “She is doing fine, Rusty, calm down,” Azerick reassured his friend.

  “It doesn’t sound like she’s doing fine to me. Do you have that healing potion ready?”

  “Yes, for the fifth time, I have the potion ready.”

  Another cry of pain and exertion came from Colleen followed by the high-pitched wail of an infant complaining about the bright, cold world into which it was just born. Azerick and Rusty looked at each other for a split second before racing for the door that one of the midwives was opening.

  “Not yet, you two,” the midwife told them bluntly.

  “I heard a cry,” Rusty exclaimed, “a baby cry! Is there something wrong?”

  “No, there is nothing wrong. We just are not finished yet.”

  “Not finished yet? She pushes, the baby comes out, you spank its butt, and it cries, which it has done! What else is there?”

  A second cry filled the room in answer to Rusty’s question.

  “Twins,” the midwife said simply.

  “Get out of my way, woman!” Rusty demanded as both he and Azerick tried to push past the midwife at the same time.

  In their haste to get into the room they managed to wedge each other into the doorframe.

  “Back up so I can get in!” Rusty demanded.

  “I’m the godfather, you back up!” Azerick shouted back, wriggling and elbowing.

  Rusty paused in his struggles and looked at Azerick incredulously. “I’m the father-father, you moron!”

  Azerick stopped and looked at his best friend. “You’re right, Rusty, I’m sorry. You go ahead.”

  Rusty shook his head. “No, you were right. You are the godfather and I will have plenty of time, you go ahead.”

  “Are you sure? Because it is not like I won’t see th
e baby right after…,”

  “Franklin Lazarus Cossington, get your skinny white butt in here, you idiot!” Colleen screamed from the bed.

  Rusty ran into the room, tripped over the comforter that Colleen had pushed onto the floor during her struggles, and fell headlong into the nightstand. He jumped back to his feet holding his hand over the large red lump steadily growing on his forehead.

  “I’m up, I’m ok. How are you doing, dear? Where’s my son? It is a son right? No? That’s okay, a girl is great too,” Rusty babbled as he spun around in an attempt to orient himself.

  Colleen grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bed. “Rusty, slow down. Your son, daughter, and I are doing just fine.”

  “A son, I have son? So, it’s a boy?”

  “Son’s almost always are,” Colleen said, smiling up at him.

  “And a daughter!”

  Tears of joy ran shamelessly down Rusty’s face as he saw his son and the infant’s twin sister nestled in Colleen’s arms and suckling.

  “Congratulations, Rusty, they are beautiful,” Azerick told him and clapped him on the back.

  “Say hello to your godson, Elias Azerick Cossington,” Colleen said, “and your goddaughter Trisha Rosemary Cossington.

  “Elias? When you said you were going to name a boy after me I thought…”

  “We were, Az, but when we were trying names out, you know to hear how they sounded, we went with my Grandfather’s name first and yours for his middle name,” Rusty replied, looking a little uncomfortable.

  “My name did not sound right? What’s wrong with my name?”

  “Nothing, it’s a fine name—for you. It is just, well how many people have you met named Azerick? I could not bear to see him go through all the trouble you did.”

  “My problems had nothing to do with my name!”

  “No, fortunately you were able to aggravate people enough not to notice. You are also the only Azerick I have ever known, and what are your major achievements? Street rat, cutpurse, pickpocket, burglary, assaulting an old man, unlawful use of transmogrification magic, and you have killed how many people at the ripe old age of twenty—ten, twenty?”

  “Rusty, stop teasing,” Colleen chided. “Azerick, we love you dearly, and you are Elias and Trisha’s godfather because we both think you are the best godfather they could have.”

  “Thank you, Colleen,” Azerick replied and turned to Rusty. “She’s right you know. I am the best godfather they could have. And as for you being their father, well, they’ll just have to do the best they can with what they have to work with.”

  “Will you two stop it? This is a joyous occasion,” Colleen scolded them both.

  Azerick looked at Rusty. “We are going to need another crib and bassinet.”

  “And more baby clothes and swaddling cloths!” Rusty added.

  “We need to get to town!” they both exclaimed and rushed out the door toward the stables.

  A few moments later, Colleen heard their pounding feet announcing their return.

  “Uh, are you doing all right, dear? Azerick and I need to go into town. Will you be okay while we are gone?”

  “I think right now I will be doing better with you both gone for a little while.”

  “Okay, I love you, honey. We’ll be right back I promise.”

  The two spellcasters took Azerick’s coach, pulling Peck away from his friends to drive them. The sun was already setting, and they were going to have to hurry if they wanted to catch the craftsman still in his shop. The coach raced down the streets, drawing angry glares from pedestrians, but Peck was a good driver and never went faster than he felt was safe.

  They caught the carpenter they were looking for just as he was securing the doors of his workshop with a stout chain and lock.

  “Master Orville, a moment before you lock up,” Azerick called out while he stood on the running board and clung to the side of the coach.

  Azerick leapt from the coach before Peck was able to bring it to a complete stop and ran toward the carpenter, hastened by the coach’s momentum.

  “Ah, Magus Azerick, what can I do for you?”

  “I need a crib right away. Do you have any already built?” Azerick asked as Rusty ran up beside him.

  The carpenter rubbed his chin with his hand. “No, can’t say I have any built, but I think I have the pieces cut out so I can put one together. I could have it for you by tomorrow afternoon.”

  Rusty and Azerick both shook their heads. “We need it now, Orville. Rusty’s wife just gave birth to twins; a girl and a boy, and we only have the one bassinet,” Azerick explained.

  “Well, congratulations young fellow! It’s not often a man gets twice blessed like that. I suppose I could put together a rocking cradle pretty quick. Darned if you didn’t come on the one day the missus let’s me go the tavern and play cards with my friends.”

  “I’ll buy your drinks tonight for you and your friends if you will put the cradle together right now,” Azerick offered. “I will even pay you extra for the rush.”

  Orville scratched at the prickly grey hairs dotting his chin. “Oh, all right. It won’t be painted just so you know.”

  “That’s fine, Orville, thank you, you’re a life saver,” Rusty replied.

  The carpenter fished the key back out of his pocket, opened the big iron lock, and pulled the chain out of the thick door handles. Azerick and Rusty followed Orville inside the large woodshop. It was quite dark inside until Orville lit a few oil lamps. The shop smelled of fresh wood and sawdust. Cabinets, dressers, beds, wardrobes, tables, and chairs filled a large portion of the shop in various stages of completion.

  Orville crossed the workshop, rummaged around in a rack of large cubbyholes built into the wall, and began selecting the precut pieces that he needed to build the cradle. He took the pieces to a worktable and laid them all out.

  “If you lads are in as big a hurry as I am, you can help me sand the pieces down,” Orville said and pointed to a bin containing pots of sand of various coarseness and a few sanding blocks.

  The two mages grabbed a sanding block and a pot of sand and took them over to the table. After a quick demonstration of proper sanding techniques, all three got busy sanding down the pieces. It took them nearly half an hour before Orville declared them smooth enough and began tacking them together with wooden dowels and ornate brass nails with large rounded heads.

  “Well, there’s your cradle. I’ll get busy on that crib for you tomorrow, but this should keep you and the wee ones for the nonce,” Orville declared. “And now I am thirsty.”

  The three men loaded into the coach. Orville gave Peck directions, and they soon arrived at the tavern where Orville’s friends were waiting. It was a large tavern, not seedy, but not pretentious either. It was located in the heart of the artisans’ district, so most of the clientele were working people with respectable incomes, particularly now that Azerick employed a large number of them.

  A group of four men seated around a table waved to Orville as they entered. A deck of playing cards yet to be dealt sat in the middle of the table while the four men sipped at their mugs, obviously waiting for the carpenter to arrive. Everyone knew Azerick, at least by name, and welcomed him to the table. Azerick introduced Rusty who got an equally warm reception once Orville told them what had delayed him.

  Azerick flagged down a serving woman and ordered a round of whatever the men were drinking. “All right, gentlemen, Rusty and I should be getting back. Enjoy yourselves.”

  “Hold on now,” one of the men said. “This is a special occasion. Sit and have a drink with us.”

  “I don’t know, we should really get back,” Rusty said uncertainly.

  “And do what? The little missus is exhausted and probably sleeping, and I’m sure ya got a nursemaid or two watching the babes,” the man urged. “You’re gonna be plenty busy for some time, so ya may as well enjoy a drink while ya can. Besides, we ain’t toasted ya. It’s tradition!”

  Rusty and Aze
rick looked at each other and shrugged. “I suppose we can sit for a drink.”

  “That’s the spirit! Hey, missy, two more ales!” he shouted.

  Each of the men toasted Rusty in turn. Word quickly got around that Rusty’s wife had just given birth to twins, and others within the tavern wanted to toast him and his family as well. Azerick and Rusty drained their mugs long before the toasts were complete, so they ordered another round and drank to each of the well-wishers.

  Feeling exceptionally festive after his fourth cup, Azerick stood on his chair and demanded everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, my best friend Rusty just gave birth to twins! I mean his wife gave birth to twins, not Rusty. That would have hurt, and I am pretty sure they are his even though they are awfully cute.”

  He paused for the laughter to subside. “Tonight, we toast him and his lovely wife and his beautiful son and daughter who are also my godchildren. May the gods watch over him and his family, keep them safe and prosperous, and hopes to hells they grow up to look like their mother!” Azerick shouted, his tongue feeling thickened and slurring his words.

  The crowd roared their approval although not as loud as when Azerick had announced the drinks were on him tonight. The tavern was alive with celebration; many of the patrons even came by to shake Rusty’s hand and personally wish him congratulations and luck. Only one person in the tavern did not share in the festivities although he too was feeling a bit joyful himself.

  The Rook skulked in a shadowy corner at a small table to himself.

  So, you are Rusty. Then that must be your friend Azerick. How incredibly fortuitous, the Rook thought to himself. It would seem the fates have given you two babes but at the cost of your dearest friend. This may be the first time one of my targets ever bought me a drink before I killed him.

  No one heard the soft chuckling of the assassin’s amusement. Two hours and several mugs of beer and ale later, the two friends stumbled out of the tavern and into the street.