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

by Brock Deskins

  “Mister, you obviously got some power to you, but I would still watch my back. Butch has got a terrible temper and a streak of vengeance a mile long,” Louis cautioned the sorcerer.

  Azerick just nodded, unconcerned with the town tough. Maude stood up from her chair and walked up to the bar next to Azerick.

  “Mind if I buy you a drink?” Maude asked.

  Azerick glanced her way and looked back forward. “I already have one, besides, I do not date men.”

  Maude’s face turned crimson. “I was not asking you for a date, nor am I a man.”

  Azerick turned toward the big warrior woman and grinned. “I know. I apologize; I am in an ill sort of humor lately. What can I do for you?”

  Maude’s face returned to a more natural color. “My name’s Maude, those two over there are my friends. We run a small adventuring company, and I think we have a place that you could fill quite well.”

  Maude’s face flushed once more as Azerick smiled pointedly at what she just said. “Sorry, bad humor again. I am not an adventurer, Maude. No thank you.”

  “We are on a mission from the King. If you were to help us, I am certain you would gain considerable royal favor and a sizable reward.”

  “I am afraid I am not much of a patriot, and I have no need of more gold,” Azerick responded, flatly refusing her offer.

  “Well, we’ll be here for another day or two if you change your mind. If you do change your mind and we aren’t here, King Jarvin and his advisors will likely know where to find us.”

  “What did he say?” Malek asked once Maude sat back down.

  “Forget him, he’s a complete ass,” Maude answered.

  “He thought you were a man didn’t he?” Borik asked with a grin.

  “Shut up, dwarf!” Maude snarled.

  “I told you that you should let your hair grow out,” Malek said.

  “And shave your mustache!” Borik howled with laughter.

  Maude slapped Borik in the back of his head. “I do not have a mustache! Look out!”

  Azerick looked up just in time to see Butch standing inside the doorway pointing a crossbow at him. Azerick muttered a word and made a gesture just as the man pulled the trigger and released its deadly bolt. The grim smile slid from Butch’s face as the broad-headed, heavy quarrel stopped just inches from Azerick’s chest. Butch’s eyes opened wide when the bolt reversed its direction as it hovered just in front of the sorcerer.

  Azerick sent the projectile flying back at its owner with such force that the fletching was lost in Butch’s chest and pinned him to the wall. Butch’s two former friends stood just in the doorway looking on in fear before running off in a panic.

  “Looks like you have a new wall hanging,” Azerick told the stunned barkeep. “I am sorry it is so ugly, I was never much of an artist.”

  The tavern was silent, only Maude and her friends seemed to be unfazed by the events this evening. Several patrons found they had urgent business elsewhere, but there were still quite a few hardcore drinkers that were not going to let a little fight and death scare them off. If anything, it gave them more reason to drown their worries.

  Several minutes later, the pounding of several pairs of heavy boots sounded on the wooden walkway outside the tavern, and half a dozen armed men marched in. One man stepped hesitantly forward after examining Butch’s corpse hanging on the wall near the entrance.

  The man swallowed and addressed the spellcaster who was still sitting on a stool and calmly drinking his beer. “Sir, as Captain of the Watch in the town of Sandusk, with the authority to uphold the laws of the kingdom of Valeria as set down by King Jarvin, I am placing you under arrest!”

  Azerick turned and looked at the man. The Captain was a young man, perhaps twenty-five years old, handsome with an honest face; the kind that probably had nearly every woman in Sandusk crooning at the sight of him in his official city watch armor and uniform.

  “On what charge, Captain?” Azerick asked.

  “For the murder of that man hanging on the wall over there,” the Captain replied.

  Azerick turned back around in his stool and faced the bar. “It would seem you have a slight problem in that regard, Captain.”

  “What problem is that?” the Captain asked, the rawness of his nerves evident in his voice.

  “I do not much feel like being arrested right now, so go away and play toy soldiers somewhere else.”

  “Sir, if you do not come peacefully, I will be forced to arrest you by force of arms.”

  “And you would die if you tried. Do you really wish to die tonight, Captain? Do your men?”

  “Sir, please come along. From what I have heard and what I see here, I know that you are powerful with magic, and that my men and I may have little chance of forcing an arrest upon you. Nevertheless, I am the law in Sandusk, and I am duty bound to uphold those laws even at a risk of my own life. So please come peacefully, or I will use whatever force I can, no matter how futile that may be, to arrest you.”

  Azerick felt bad for threatening the honorable man and about his own moody disposition. “Look, Captain; that man and his two friends pulled steel on me, and I sent them running with a lesson and a warning. They chose not to heed that warning, and Butch returned with a crossbow and attempted to kill me. In his attempt he died. It is a clear case of self-defense that I am certain will be corroborated by most everyone in this bar. I doubt there is a citizen in Sandusk who would not thank me for ridding them of that man.”

  “It’s true, John, Butch come in here and fired that crossbow right at him. It was Butch’s fault he chose the wrong man to try to kill, and I’m glad he’s dead even if he did die with a large bar tab,” Louis told the Captain.

  The watch captain looked from face to face and everyone in the bar nodded his or her agreement. “Take that man down from the wall,” the Captain ordered his men. “I pray that you will not be forced to defend yourself in my town again, magus. It may be best if you left as soon as you conclude whatever business you have here.”

  “Do not be concerned, Captain, I am merely passing through.”

  The watch captain looked at Azerick for a moment as if to say something further then thought better of it and walked away while his men pulled Butch off the wall and carried him out, leaving behind a large red streak of blood that ran into a puddle on the floor.

  Azerick finished his beer in a few quick gulps and left, suddenly eager for the silence and solitude of his room. The few citizens walking the streets all stared at Azerick when he walked past them, the small town gossip chain having once again proved an efficient news medium. Even the woman who ran the boarding house looked askance at him when he walked through the common sitting room and up the stairs to his room.

  Azerick opened the door using the small iron key he had been given when he rented the room and stepped in, casually swinging the door shut behind him. The room was dark, but enough light came through the window to give the bed, dresser, and small table a distinct if dark silhouette. He had not taken more than two or three steps toward his bed when Azerick heard the faintest squeak of a floorboard just behind him. He leapt forward and spun, just narrowly dodging the attacker’s thrust. Burning pain flared across his side as a blade skipped off his ribs.

  The sorcerer’s mind raced with a burst of adrenalin and, in a fraction of a second, he understood several things. The shield he had erected when Butch tried to kill him had just saved his life a second time. Had the blade not skipped off the invisible armor it would have pierced his right lung instead of simply opening the large gash in his side. He could already feel the warm blood flowing freely down his side, soaking his damaged shirt and leaving large spatters all over the hardwood floor.

  Azerick also saw that the attacker was about the same size as he was and with a similar build but quicker and stronger. The man wielded the blade in his hand like a trained professional and came at him relentlessly, making it impossible for Azerick to get off a spell. Azerick twisted away and once a
gain narrowly escaped a lethal slash. A second deep cut added its own source of blood to the now ruined silk shirt.

  The sorcerer realized how severe the cuts were as he began noticeably fatiguing due to blood loss. The floor was also becoming treacherously slick underfoot with the numerous puddles of blood. The man lunged with his blade, aiming for Azerick’s vulnerable throat. Luck was with him as the assassin’s lead foot slipped in a puddle of Azerick’s blood, causing him to overextend himself.

  Azerick took advantage of the assassin’s momentary loss of balance and grabbed the man’s weapon hand tightly in his grip. His attacker forced Azerick back and pressed him against the far wall, trying to shove the blade against his throat. The sorcerer’s eyes widened in shock as the pale light streaming through the window revealed his attacker’s face. It was a face he knew better than any other—his own.

  Azerick’s mind reeled as he tried to process the fact that a twin he never knew existed was trying to kill him. Even the clothes looked to be the same from what he could tell in the gloomy room.

  The assassin took advantage of Azerick’s temporary distraction and hooked a foot behind the sorcerer’s heel, tripping him to the floor. The killer landed atop his struggling target and slowly forced the sharp blade down toward Azerick’s throat.

  Azerick released his grip with his left hand in a wild gambit, hoping to keep the blade from slicing into his neck with only the strength of his right arm pitted against the stronger attacker. He only needed a second, and that was about all the time he was going to get.

  Azerick called his staff to his hand and grasped it in a short grip just below the arcanum sphere. He mentally forced the orb to elongate into a twelve-inch spear tip and thrust it deep into his twin’s side. The assassin’s mouth gaped open impossibly wide, letting out an inhuman screech of pain.

  With a thought, one of the many runes engraved onto the staff flared and released a massive surge of power through the spear tip. With a clap of thunder, pieces of the assassin’s entrails blew completely out of his left side making a wet, sickening slap when they struck the wall and dropped onto the floor in a reeking, smoking pile.

  A hesitant knocking sounded at his door followed by the voice of the woman who ran the boarding house. “Master Giles, I heard a commotion. Are you all right? Should I call the watch?”

  Azerick rolled the very dead body off him, staggered to a chair, and sat down heavily. “No need, madam. Everything is fine.”

  He reached into the special pockets sewn into his cloak, plucked out a small metal vial, and drank the contents after he pulled the cork out with his teeth and spat it onto the floor. He waited as the healing potion made his wounds itch as they knitted together. After a couple of minutes, he popped a second potion and drank it down as well.

  Azerick sat in the chair, forcing himself to steady his breathing and waited for his heart to quit racing. Once he felt in control once more, he conjured a bright light and went to examine his twin. The man on the floor was his exact copy, down to the scar on the top of his head usually concealed by his hair. Even the man’s clothes were nearly identical as if he had purposely purchased them to match his own, which he almost certainly did.

  Azerick lamented that he had stabbed the man in the side. He could have replaced his ruined shirt, but the assassin’s was now in worse shape than his was. Azerick was more aggravated at the loss of one of his favorite shirts than the attempted assassination. He was becoming accustomed to people trying to kill him. He only had the one black silk shirt, and there was no way he was going to find another one in this backwater town.

  Azerick wondered if it even counted as a backwater town since there was probably not an open source of water for fifty miles in any direction. He pulled a deep burgundy silk shirt from his travel pack and replaced the ruined black one after washing the blood off himself then returned to the mystery of the assassin.

  Azerick knew he did not have a twin brother. The creature must be a doppelganger, a shape shifter. He had probably even met the creature at some point during his travels, shook hands, or came into some other physical contact that allowed the creature to mimic him with such precise detail.

  Azerick knelt down next to the doppelganger and felt through his pockets. He found a small pouch of coins and tossed it onto the bed. He had several more knives and a shortsword of good quality but was otherwise unremarkable. He discovered a small, hard lump in the lining of the creature’s cloak and found the hidden pocket. Inside was a large, facetted, black gem about an inch in diameter, identical to the one he had found on the assassin’s body back at the keep.

  It radiated with a feint aura of magic. Azerick gripped the gem tightly and focused his mind into it. He had a good idea what the stones were used for, but even so, was startled when a tinny voice emanated from the gem with a slight buzz.

  “What is it?”

  “The sorcerer is dead,” Azerick spoke into the gem “What do you wish me to do now?”

  “Excellent work, you are to be commended. You have succeeded where the Rook has failed. General Baneford has failed to eliminate the king’s pet adventurers. You shall rectify that problem, but not until they have proven themselves useful to us. You will infiltrate their band, retrieve Dundalor’s helm, and take it to General Baneford. You may eliminate Maude and her brood once you acquire the helm. I will leave the timing to your discretion.”

  “Does the woman or her companions know the location of the helm?”

  “I am uncertain of that, but the late headmaster sent me the location of the helm before he was killed. That should provide you with an additional excuse to join them.”

  Azerick received an image in his mind of a very detailed map showing the precise location of the artifact.

  “I will give this speaking gem to Baneford shortly, along with the rest of his promised trade. You may contact him directly for his location once you find the helm. I will know when he has taken possession of it, and I will retrieve Dundalor’s armor from him at my leisure.”

  Azerick smiled triumphantly with his newfound knowledge. He now had a direct link to this newest assassin, the artifact, the name of General Baneford, and an unknown wizard. If this wizard was giving Baneford something in exchange for the armor, the General must know who the wizard is. Azerick was almost giddy at the prospect. He felt so close to the truth now, so close to getting his long-awaited revenge, he could taste it. And it tasted divine.

  He thought his desire for revenge had been dulled with the starting of his school. He thought he had moved on, had grown beyond the need for such violent retribution. He had thought wrong. Azerick’s longing for justice may have cooled, but it needed only a small amount of air to fan the flame once again with a fiery intensity.

  Azerick picked the purse up from his bed, peeked inside, and found a rather substantial sum. He was sure it did not contain the full payment for his assassination, at least he hoped not or he was very disappointed. Granted, the amount the pouch contained would keep a simple man living comfortably for a few years, but he liked to think he was worth far more than this. If not, he would just have to try harder.

  Azerick walked downstairs and approached the proprietress of the boarding house. “I will require a different room, madam,” Azerick said as he approached the large desk that she was sitting behind.

  The woman looked up over her spectacles. “Is there a problem with the room, Master Giles?”

  “Yes, I am afraid mine has become…despoiled and no longer fit for occupancy.” Azerick tossed the assassin’s pouch of gold onto the desk.

  “What is this?” she asked as she opened the draw cord and gaped at the contents.

  “Call it a cleaning deposit. I suggest you hire a couple of men with a strong fortitude to take care of the matter. I will return later this evening.”

  Azerick left the woman wondering what he meant and was nearly halfway back to the Sandy Bottom when he heard the scream.

  I told her to get someone else.

&
nbsp; Azerick stepped inside the tavern to be greeted by a wall of silence that lasted until he crossed the room and took a seat at Maude’s table.

  “I have reconsidered your offer, Maude, if you would still like me to accompany you and your friends on this quest of yours.”

  “Of course we would. We recently suffered the tragic loss of our wizard and could greatly use your assistance.”

  “Yeah, tragic is a word I suppose,” Borik grumbled into his beer. “It’s almost as tragic as drinking this waste-warm beer.”

  Maude tried to kick him under the table but aimed at where the ankle would be on a normal sized person. Since Borik’s feet did not even touch the floor, she missed completely.

  “Was there a problem with your wizard,” Azerick asked, “or is it simply a dwarf’s general dislike of all spellcasters?”

  “Borik’s just surly because of the lousy warm beer in this place. Between that and his rats nest of a beard, his head tends to overheat and it makes him stupid,” Maude informed her new member.

  “Here, Borik, try this.”

  Azerick conjured up his tiny frozen ball of ice and dropped it into the dwarf’s beer. Borik felt the cup grow cold in his meaty hand and glared at the sorcerer suspiciously.

  “Don’t worry, it is safe,” Azerick told the dwarf in his own rough language.

  Borik took a small sip of his beer and his eyes went round. He drained the mug in one hard pull, slammed it onto the table, and wiped the foam from his beard with his sleeve with a satisfying smack of his lips.

  “Good gods on donkey-back that’s good! Maude, can we keep him? I’ll feed him and everything, I promise!” Borik shouted and yelled for Louis to bring over three more mugs then asked if anyone else needed a refill.

  Maude could not help but grin at the surly dwarf. “I thought you hated magic, Borik?”

  “I never seen any that was worth anything before! Now this is pure genius! Go on, magic boy, and make with the ice,” he ordered Azerick as Louis came bearing a tray full of filled mugs and a full pitcher. “So where’d ya learn to speak dwarf like that, wizard?”