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

by Brock Deskins

  ***

  Maude, Malek, and Borik sat at a table in the Sandy Bottom drinking one warm ale after another while lamenting the loss of Tarth.

  “I can’t believe he’s gone,” Maude said for the tenth time in as many minutes. “I never got the chance to tell him how much he meant to me. I always felt like he needed me to take care of him.”

  “He was such an important part of our group. With him around, I did not feel like such an oddball. Even you two looked pretty normal next to him,” Malek said dolefully.

  “I never got to finish choking him to death,” Borik said. “I always thought I could get his brain straight if I just choked and shook him hard enough.”

  The barmaid walked over and refilled their mugs. “That man over there wanted me to pass a message to ya,” the barmaid told Maude.

  “What does he want?”

  The barmaid took a deep breath, leaned down, and whispered something in Maude’s ear.

  “Which one is it?” Maude asked with a smile.

  The barmaid pointed to a large man a couple tables over, a farmer, given the dirt under his fingernails. When he saw Maude look over, he gave her a smile and a wink.

  “Hey Maude, looks like you have an admirer,” Malek said.

  “It does, doesn’t it? Maybe this is exactly what I need to take my mind off Tarth.”

  Borik looked at Malek. “Is she smiling?”

  “Yes, she actually has a rather nice smile. She should do it more often.”

  Borik raised his left hand, blocking his peripheral view of Maude and the table of men and ducked his head. “Tell me when it’s over.”

  “When what’s over? She’s actually talking to him and still smiling.”

  “Oh, you just don’t get it do you, cleric?”

  “I don’t get wha—oh gods!”

  Maude grabbed the back of the man’s dirty hair and repeatedly slammed his face down into the table until he stopped moving. She dropped his face in his soup where he almost certainly would have drowned had his astonished friends not pulled the bowl away.

  “Feel better now, Maude?” Borik asked.

  “Yeah, a little bit,” Maude replied with a smile. “Still hurts though.”

  “Buck up, Maude, I’m sure you’ll get to kill someone real soon,” Borik assured her.

  “Gods I hope so. Even if I don’t, it was a sweet thing to say. Thanks for trying to cheer me up, Borik.”

  “Anytime.”

  ***

  It was late when Azerick rode into Sandusk. He got a room at the boarding house where he stabled Horse and walked into the Sandy Bottom to wash the trail dust out of his mouth. He sat at a stool next to a young man and ordered their best beer. He grimaced at the first taste, uttered a small incantation causing a small bead of ice to form in his upturned palm, and dropped it into the warm beverage. The outside of the mug instantly frosted up, and although it did not improve the flavor, at least it was cold.

  Azerick was enjoying his second frosty mug when three men strode into the tavern. The room hushed, and people moved away or looked down into their drinks. The largest of the three men sidled up to the young man next to Azerick. The young man looked to see who was behind him and nearly fell off the stool in his haste to vacate the seat.

  “Here you are, Butch, here’s your seat. I’m sorry I was in it. I thought for sure I’d be long gone before you showed.”

  “Oh no, Joe, you go right on ahead and sit in my seat. After all, you’re a dung-mucking sheep herder. Who am I to make you move from my seat,” Butch said, which got a good round of laughs from his two cronies.

  “Naw, that’s all right, Butch, you can sit here, honest I don’t mind,” Joe said.

  “Oh, now I have your permission to sit in my chair. That’s mighty generous of you, Joe.”

  “Come on, Butch, Joe’s getting off your stool. How about you sit down and have one on me?” The bartender asked, trying to defuse the situation.

  Butch turned his glare onto the bartender. “Shut your mouth, Louis. You can pour me a mug of your swill when I’m done. Where was I before I got interrupted?”

  “Butch, I didn’t mean that I was giving you permission like that, I know you don’t need my permission for nothin’,” Joe said while trying to get past Butch but was blocked by the two men with him.

  “Oh, you didn’t mean that did you?”

  “That’s right, Butch.”

  “So I guess I misunderstood you then.”

  “Yeah, Butch, just a big misunderstanding is all.”

  “I guess I’m too stupid to understand the words of a muck-kicking sheep herder, is that it?” Butch asked, all humor gone from his voice.

  “No, Butch, I nev—,” Joe’s words were cut off by Butch grabbing him by the front of his shirt, spinning him about, and throwing him halfway across the barroom floor.

  “You want my stool so bad, Joe? Then I’ll give it to you!” Butch yelled and lifted the barstool over his head, about to bring it down on the prone Joe.

  “Are you a betting man, Mister Butch?” Azerick asked and sipped his beer.

  Butch paused with the stool raised over his head. “What did you say to me, stranger?”

  “Don’t get involved, you’ll just get yourself hurt and more of my furniture busted up,” Louis the bartender urged him.

  “I said, are you a betting man, Mister Butch.” Azerick spun on his stool to face Butch.

  Butch set the barstool back down onto the floor. “What kind of bet?”

  “One I think you will most enjoy. I bet my gold against your silver that, with a few minutes of instruction from me, Joe down there can whip you like a mule driver pulling logs.”

  “You’ll put up gold against an equal amount of my silver betting that worthless dung heap can whip me?”

  “Yes.”

  “In a fight…with our fists?”

  “Correct.”

  “You must be stupid or crazy, boy. You’re on.” Butch smiled widely. “Give me all your silver; every bit right now,” Butch ordered his friends.

  Butch was absolutely giddy. He and his mates had just been paid, and for them the bet was substantial. He added his own silver to his friends’ and set it on the bar.

  “There ya go, stranger, twenty-seven silver swords! I hope you’re a rich man, or I’ll take my gold outta your crazy hide,” Butch promised.

  Azerick reached into his coin pouch and set a stack of gold coins on the bar. Azerick counted them aloud, swept all the coins into a glass, and gave it to the bartender to hold.

  “Get me a glass of red wine, Louis,” Azerick ordered.

  Louis set another cup onto the bar and filled it with his best, which made it almost palatable.

  “Follow me outside, Joe, so we may discuss strategy,” Azerick told the young man and stepped out onto the dirt street.

  “Mister, I don’t know what you’re doing, but I can’t fight Butch! Nobody in this town messes with Butch. You’re gonna get me killed! I’m sorry about all that money, but I ain’t gonna stay here and die for your entertainment,” Joe said and started walking away.

  Azerick grabbed Joe by the elbow. “Take a drink, Joe, and listen to me.” Joe sighed, took the cup from Azerick, and drank deeply in an attempt to settle his nerves. “The first thing you need to have is confidence. If you think you are going to lose, then you already have. Think positive and do not let fear rule you. Can you do that?”

  Joe thought a moment then nodded his head. “Yeah, I think I can! I’m gonna murder that guy! I’m tired of him pushing me and everyone in town around. I’m not gonna have my baby boy grow up thinking his dad’s a coward!”

  “That’s good, Joe,” Azerick said. “Now listen to me.”

  Azerick showed Joe how to block a wild swing and dodge a jab. He showed him how to hit not just with his fists but with his knees and elbows too.

  “Do you think you are ready, Joe?”

  Joe drained the last of the cup’s contents. “Yeah, let’s go get t
hat jerk!”

  Joe and Azerick walked back into the bar. Someone had pushed the tables back and cleared the center of the floor for the fight. Butch was sitting on his stool drinking ale, watching the door for Azerick and his fighter to return, and smiled malevolently when he saw them enter.

  He wiped the foam from his mouth and beard and stepped into the impromptu ring still smiling in anticipation of not only beating the sheepherder to a pulp, but also becoming a rather wealthier man in the process.

  “I can’t believe I’m getting paid so much to do something I would’a done for free,” Butch told Joe as he stepped toward him.

  “True, I would have gladly beaten you bloody and not asked a bent copper for it neither,” Joe replied, unusually full of confidence.

  Butch laughed loudly at the sheepherder’s bravado as Joe raised his arms in front of his face signaling he was ready. Despite Joe’s words, Butch could tell he was terrified. His hands quivered, sweat was running down his face, and his pupils were strangely dilated.

  Butch stuck his chin out and taunted Joe. “C’mon sheep lover, I’ll let ya get one for free.”

  Joe snapped off a rapid left right combo that snapped Butch’s head back. Joe looked at his fists as if they didn’t belong on the ends of his skinny arms.

  Butch shook his head and glared hatefully at Joe. “Why you no good little pile of sheep dung!” Butch roared and swung a huge right fist at the sheepherder intended to take his head right off with one blow.

  The punch looked slow as if Butch was just pantomiming the swing. Joe ducked and delivered three quick blows to Butch’s stomach which elicited a satisfying whoosh of expelled air. Butch swung with his left, Joe blocked it with his right forearm and snapped his head back again with two quick left jabs and a right cross that brought stars to the thug’s eyes.

  The first couple of blows Joe landed got the tavern crowd murmuring. The last combo had them laughing, which earned them harsh glares from Butch’s friends. Azerick sat on his stool with a knowing smile and sipping a fresh beer cooled with his magic.

  Butch shook his head in an attempt to clear it and came at Joe with more caution. Joe danced on his feet and smiled at Butch who had a rivulet of blood seeping from his nose and swollen lip. Butch tried a couple of quick jabs of the same kind that Joe had used so effectively, but the smaller man ducked his head to the side, avoiding each one with ease.

  “What’s the matter, Butch, can’t handle a little sheepherder?” Joe taunted, feeling exceptionally confident now.

  “I’ll kill you, you sheep lovin’ little bastard!” Butch snapped off another quick jab that Joe evaded without effort.

  “You should be grateful to me, Butch; if I weren’t a sheep lover you’d never been born.”

  Butch roared, ducked his head, and charged Joe with his arms spread out intending to wrap the smaller man up and use his weight to take him to the floor. Joe braced his right leg back, bent low at the waist, then snapped his right knee into the Butch’s face as he charged forward, standing him back up straight and in a daze. Joe swung a hard right cross catching Butch in the jaw and continued to follow through with the punch by spinning around and slamming his right elbow into Butch’s nose.

  Blood spattered, bone shattered, and cartilage cracked as the blow destroyed Butch’s nose. The thug’s eyes crossed and he flew backward, unconscious before he hit the floor. Everyone in the bar, with the exception of Butch’s friends, jumped to their feet and cheered the young sheepherder, several coming over and clapping him on the back and congratulating him on his victory.

  Joe bounded over to where Azerick still sat smiling and sipping his cold beer. “Mister, I don’t know what you done, but I thank you with all my heart. Butch has been terrorizing most of the folks in this town for as long as I can remember.”

  “Just remember one thing, Joe. Butch lost because he was a bully and, as a bully, was weak and a coward at heart. Make sure you don’t go and use your newfound courage and fighting skills to take his place,” Azerick warned the young man.

  “No, sir, I won’t. My pa raised me better’n that, don’t you worry.”

  “Here,” Azerick said when Louis set the glass of gold and silver on the bar next to him. “Take care of that young wife and son you have,” Azerick said and handed the entire glass of coins over to Joe.

  Joe’s eyes went round as Azerick pressed the glass into his hands. “Mister, I can’t take that! None of that money belonged to me.”

  “You did the fighting, Joe, you earned it. Don’t worry, it is not going to beggar me in the least.”

  “Thankee, sir! We are all gonna sleep warm this next winter!” Joe exclaimed, shook Azerick’s hand, and ran home to share his good fortune with his wife.

  Azerick smiled and shook his head, amused to be called sir given that he was maybe two years younger than Joe was. Had his hardships aged him so much so prematurely? He certainly felt it but did not realize it showed so much in his face and manner that it was so obvious to others as well.

  “Buddy, I don’t know what ya did for Joe, but folks around here are sure gonna appreciate it. You drink on the house for the rest of your stay, friend,” Louis said with an appreciative smile.

  “I appreciate the offer, Louis, but I prefer to pay for my drinks.”

  “You’d be doing me a disservice. We folks down here don’t have much more than our pride, so we guard it tenaciously.”

  “I do not want to reject your kind offer, so I will take my free drinks but tip for the service. How does that sound?”

  “Suits me fine, far be it from me to refuse another man’s generosity.”

  Butch’s friends were trying to wake up him up. He finally began coming around when one of them dumped half a bucket of water over his face.

  Butch sat up sputtering. “Wha’ happened?”

  “Ya got knocked out, Butch,” one of his friends answered.

  “How’d that happen?”

  “Dunno, Butch, he fought like a demon, he did. Hit ya in the face with his knee and then his elbow and down ya went.”

  Butch took a seat on a chair while his head cleared. “Louis, gimme a shot!”

  “You got coin to pay for it?” Louis asked, knowing Butch spent his last one betting on the fight.

  “You know I’m good for it!”

  “I know you already got a tab run up over thirty silver,” Louis countered.

  Azerick slid a silver coin across the bar and inclined his head toward Butch. Louis pulled a clay jug out from under the bar and filled a small clear glass with a colorless liquid that looked like water but smelled as if it could strip the tar off a ship’s hull. Butch downed the shot, squeezed his eyes shut, and gasped as the fiery brew ran down into his stomach. When he opened his eyes, they looked clear once more and burned with anger.

  Butch glared over at the sorcerer and saw him wearing a wry grin as he sipped his beer. “You did this! I don’t know what ya done, but it’s your fault!”

  Azerick turned toward the man. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You done somethin’. You cheated! That’s what it is, you cheated somehow!”

  Azerick shrugged his shoulders. “I do not recall any rules being stipulated or inferred, so I fail to see how I could have cheated.”

  “It don’t matter! I call ya cheat and you owe me that gold!”

  “Butch, are you saying that having lost to the student, you now wish to challenge the master?”

  Butch looked at the young man sitting casually on the barstool then glanced back at his friends. “C’mon boys, let’s teach this boyo what we do to cheats,” Butch said and pulled a dagger out from behind his back.

  Butch’s two friends pulled worn blades and advanced on Azerick. Malek began to stand up from his seat to intervene in the apparently one-sided fight, but Maude laid a restraining hand on his arm and shook her head. Azerick sat at ease on his stool but was mumbling the words to a spell and making unseen hand gestures between his legs.

  Butch lun
ged forward, blade extended in front of him. Azerick casually grabbed the wrist with his left hand and pulled the arm out wide, jumped up from his seat, and slammed his open palm into Butch’s chest with a shout. Butch felt as if he had just been kicked in the chest by a team of horses, flew back over a dozen feet, and slammed into the wall. He would have slumped down to the floor but an invisible force held him up and pressed him against the wall.

  “Don’t just stand there, you idiots, kill that bastard!” Butch roared in pain and fear.

  “I am afraid they cannot help you, Butch. Can you, boys?” Azerick asked as he picked up Butch’s fallen blade and traced its tip along the jaw line of one of Butch’s seemingly frozen friends.

  The man sweated profusely as he watched the blade outline his jaw and slide down to his throat, soft as a feather. Azerick calmly walked over to where Butch was pinned against the wall and slipped his knife back into the front of his trousers, heedless of any accidental injuries that he may cause.

  Butch’s eyes bulged when Azerick jammed the blade into the band of his trousers, nearly cutting him in a most sensitive area.

  “I knew you cheated. You magic’d the boy so he could beat me,” Butch said, still maintaining his belligerence despite his fear.

  “Perhaps, but if I could do that with a young sheepherder, imagine what I can do on my own,” Azerick said as he stood very close to Butch’s face.

  Azerick took a couple of paces back from the helpless man, released his spell, and let Butch fall to the ground. Butch quickly stood back up.

  “I’ll get you for this! You better watch your back, because I’m gonna make you pay!” Butch shouted and stormed out of the tavern.

  Azerick turned around and saw the other two men still rigidly standing where he had left them.

  “Are you two still here?” Azerick asked and released the spell on them as well.

  The moment the men felt themselves freed, they turned and bolted out of the door after Butch. Azerick sat back on his stool and returned to sipping his beer.