Zeb’s crew finished off the last of the pot of stew. They put Ruben in one of the tents and insisted he eat on his pallet then get some rest. He nearly punched Rick when the fellow oarsman tried to feed him, teasing him about needing to have the meat chunks chewed for him first.
They slept tightly packed, not bothering to unload the second tent from the sled that carried the big bear hide and meat. They filled the opening in the palisade with packed snow and established a guard roster for the rest of the night. It was not until after midnight, and all but the two men on watch had gone to sleep, when the attack came.
There was no warning, no call to battle, or shouted challenge. The huge Eislanders simply walked out of the mists right in front of a man named Carter, grabbed his head in their calloused hands, and twisted with such strength that his head was nearly torn off his shoulders. Then all hell broke loose.
CHAPTER 3
It took them nearly an hour to circle around to where they left the horses tethered. Despite everyone’s fatigue, Azerick convinced the rest of the group that it would be prudent to get out of the area before setting up camp. They rode for two hours before deciding they had gone far enough to avoid being seen by anyone searching for the ruins. The party set up camp in a small depression that would hide them from view unless someone walked right on top of them.
When it came time for Azerick to pull his watch shift, he made a comfortable seat in the sand, leaned against his saddle, and pulled the black gem from a pocket. He gripped the stone tightly in his palm, bent his concentration upon it, and tried to make contact with General Baneford.
It took a solid minute before Azerick felt the first touch of the General’s sending and another minute before the man was able to focus his thoughts enough for his words to come through intelligibly.
“Uh, hello?” The General’s clumsy sending came.
“You are General Baneford?”
“Yes, gods this is eerie, I’m Baneford.”
“I have recovered the helm. Where shall I meet you?”
“Have you eliminated the others?”
“Not yet. I thought you might have use for them as captives. Besides, this is a rough land, and I may still need them to help me reach you. You can capture them or kill them at your leisure then. I should have little problem neutralizing them once we meet.”
“Adventurers are generally in business for personal gain. If I can sway their allegiance, I may have a use for them. If not, I certainly owe them for the death of so many of my men.”
General Baneford described where he and his men were waiting and even managed to provide a rough mental picture of the area. He was not far, perhaps two days to the northwest in the abandoned ruins of some ancient outpost. These harsh lands were dotted with them. As wells dried up and the desert sands changed the geography, whole towns packed up and moved to more hospitable areas, leaving nothing behind but the desiccated remains of their stone and brick buildings.
Azerick woke the others as the sun was setting. After a quick meal of dry trail bread and cheese, he took the lead, setting a quick pace toward the northwest. He deflected inquiries about the helm by telling Maude and the others that it was best that the helm remain inside his magical bag because it would prevent any magical scrying, and an artifact as powerful as the helm would be like a brilliant beacon on a clear night for anyone attempting to divine its location.
“If we head straight west, we should cross the trade road that runs south to Langdon’s Crossing. It will make for easier traveling,” Maude suggested.
Azerick shook his head. “We do not know where the men who are looking for the helm are, and we run the risk of crossing their path if we ride the roads. There are also reports of at least two large bands of marauders looting towns inside the kingdom. Langdon’s Crossing was one of the first towns hit. It would be a bitter pill to swallow to have finally gotten one of the pieces you have worked so hard to find just to get robbed by a bunch of highwaymen on your way to present it to the King.”
Maude could not argue with the mage’s reasoning, but she could not fully banish the nagging feeling of unease lingering in the shadowy recesses of her mind.
As the party rode through their second night of travel, it seemed to Maude that Azerick was even more aloof than usual, answering any questions with the briefest of answers but otherwise remaining silent. Borik was happy when he found that they were not out of beer after all.
The dark silhouette of stone ruins protruded out of a low, rocky hilltop on the distant horizon, breaking up the clear starry night sky. Just before they reached the first sand-scoured, tumbled down blocks of former buildings, Azerick reined in Horse and dismounted.
“This looks like a good place to rest up. It will be nice to have some shelter from the wind for a while,” Azerick told the group.
The others followed Azerick’s lead, swung out of their saddles, and proceeded to walk deeper into the ruins. They found a small roofless building with three walls still standing that made a good stable for the horses by using a length of rope to cordon off the open end.
“With luck, there will be another structure somewhat intact that will provide us with some decent shelter,” Azerick told them as he walked further into the ruins.
A creaking sound to the right drew Maude’s attention. A few yards away, an iron crow’s cage swung from a pole. Maude thought that it contained a pile of clothing and bones until she saw a long-fingered, delicate hand slip through the bars. Maude crept closer and gasped as the cage gently rotated in the breeze and she saw the gaunt face of the prisoner inside.
“Tarth!” Maude shouted and ran at the cage. “Oh, Tarth, what happened to you? Are you all right?” Maude grabbed the hand that was thrust through the bars.
“Oh, Maudeline, it is awful!” Tarth wailed. “I have not had a bath in days, my robes are torn and soiled, and my fingers have the most awful cuticles—cuticles, Maudeline! I think my arm may be broken too, but I have been unable to focus on such an inconsequential thing.”
Several men chose that moment to separate themselves from the shadows of the ruins ahead and to each side of them. Maude, Borik, and Malek immediately drew their weapons and prepared to defend themselves.
Azerick spun and dropped a ward of silence on the cleric and followed it with a binding spell, paralyzing all three adventurers before they even had the chance to understand what was happening. Rage burned through Maude when she realized Azerick’s betrayal.
Gritting her teeth, she forced her muscles to move and broke free of the invisible chains that seemed to freeze her in place. With a savage snarl, she ran at Azerick, sword held high. A rune flared brightly on Azerick’s staff and threw Maude painfully onto her back. Before she regained her feet, stone pillars surrounded her in a makeshift cage.
“You traitorous bastard!” Maude shouted and pounded on the stone rods with her gauntleted fists.
Azerick reached into his bag and pulled out the gleaming black helm, its edges outlined in gold, as a large man wearing the armor that obviously went with the helm approached. Azerick casually tossed the helm to General Baneford when he came forward, his face split in a wide grin.
“You have done most excellently, changeling,” the General congratulated. “I’ll admit that I know very little of your kind, but I had thought that you could only mimic your victim’s appearance, not their abilities. I see from the way you handled these fools that I was mistaken.”
“Actually, General, you are quite correct in your understanding. A doppelganger would not be able to steal a spellcaster’s ability to wield magic.”
General Baneford furrowed his brow, taking a second to comprehend exactly what this creature meant.
This is the wizard not the changeling!
Before he could even shout an order to his men, runes flared brightly on the staff in the sorcerer’s hand. Stone spikes and towering walls of flames encircled the small area in which they stood, separating the General from his men.
“No
w, General, you will tell me who has you collecting these artifacts, and who hired the assassin that tried to kill me; a man known as the Rook.”
General Baneford shook his head and chuckled without a hint of mirth. “You stupid, young fool, you have no way to force me to answer any of your questions,” he said and donned the helm.
General Baneford felt a powerful surge suffuse his body. He felt stronger, faster, and invincible. He began to second-guess his bargain with the black wizard. With this armor, he could keep the gifts that the wizard had given him as well as Dundalor’s armor, and no man could ever take it away. No man, no army could stop him! With a concerted effort, he suppressed his sudden power-hungry greed. He made a deal and gave his word, and he never went back on his word, unless the one he had given it to betrayed him. So far, the wizard had dealt fairly.
“You just gave up the only chance you had of overpowering me,” General Baneford said, his voice sounding hollow from within the confines of the helm.
He drew the magnificent sword that the wizard had given him along with the other arms and armor and stalked toward the sorcerer.
“You are a powerful young man. Join me, and I promise you a place in my command, otherwise I will have to cut you and these other fools down where you all stand.”
“No chance, General. Tell me who the wizard is, or you will not live to enjoy that armor or any other.”
The fearsome-looking general laughed again as he continued stalking toward the young mage.
“Bad choice, General.”
The hard stone opened beneath General Baneford’s feet. His hands went up and out in an attempt to arrest his fall, but the smooth sides of the shaft gave him no purchase. He struck the bottom perhaps twelve feet down. General Baneford looked up and saw the grim face of the young sorcerer peering down at him.
“Now that I have your undivided attention, General, tell me who hired the assassin and who sent you after this armor.”
“You cannot maintain that fire forever, and when it goes out my men will cut you down!”
Even now, they could all hear the angry shouts from the men on the other side of the flaming barrier.
Azerick shook his head. “You are at my mercy, General. I can kill you before those flames disappear and be long gone. Now tell me what I want to know.”
“You cannot harm me, not while I wear this armor! I am invulnerable to your magic and your weapons!”
“General Baneford, do you consider yourself a good student of history?” Azerick asked in a conversational tone.
“What nonsense are you spewing now?”
“I myself am quite fond of history. So much can be learned from our forefathers. In fact, it can almost be said that one well versed enough in history can foretell the future. Do you recall anyone throughout history by the name of King Bertrand or Emperor Bertrand?” Azerick quizzed the angry general.
“No, and why in world would I care?”
Azerick smiled down at the trapped general. “Lord Bertrand managed to steal Dundalor’s armor from King Archibald through a rather audacious plot to overthrow his rule and replace the Ollander bloodline with his own. Now, if he were truly invincible, as the armor purports the wearer to be, why was he never king?”
If Azerick could have seen through the glossy black helm, he would have seen the General’s face pale as he quietly replied. “He failed. He had the armor but he still failed.”
“That’s right, General, he failed. Do you know how he failed?”
Azerick saw the General shake his head in the negative.
“Lord Bertrand and his men were lined up on the south bank of the Crook River at Ballinger’s Bridge. King Archibald arrayed his own troops on the north bank of the river before Bertrand could get his men across uncontested. Archibald knew he could not defeat Bertrand and his soldiers, and Bertrand knew that he could not get his men across the bridge without suffering horrendous losses. His intent was to march his forces to a wide, natural ford several leagues downstream, but that would take days of marching, and Archibald’s troops could reach it just as fast as he could, and he would still be forced to fight at a disadvantage though not nearly as great as crossing the bridge. Are you still following me, General?” Azerick asked his captive audience. “The most important part is coming up.”
“Yeah, I’m listening to your drivel!” Baneford yelled up at the arrogant, young spell caster.
General Baneford had never shown fear in the face of an enemy, and he would certainly not do so in front of this whelp, but something in the young wizard’s voice and demeanor greatly unnerved him. Coupled with the fact that he was stuck in a hole and unable to anything about it was beyond maddening.
“Archibald knew he could punish Bertrand’s troops at the ford, but he could not defeat them. So, against all common sense, King Archibald strode out onto the center of the bridge and challenged Bertrand to single combat with undisputed rule of the realm as the prize. Lord Bertrand laughed all the way to the center of the bridge where he gladly accepted Archibald’s foolish challenge. Most people were quite aware of the armor’s power. Its history was still fresh in most people’s minds.
“In an even more bizarre move, Archibald stripped off all of his armor except for his breastplate and gauntlets, loudly proclaiming that Bertrand was a pathetic usurper who relied on magical armor to see him to victory because he was too weak and too stupid to achieve it by his own strength and wits.
“Bertrand was furious and attacked Archibald before he was even set to begin the battle. Archibald narrowly deflected the cowardly attack and set himself to receive Bertrand in a test of arms. Lord Bertrand, thoroughly incensed, thought to use the greater strength his armor provided him to overwhelm the King’s skill. He also had no fear of being struck, because he knew that Archibald’s blade could never harm him.
“Bertrand’s tactic would have worked just as it had several times before in his many battles, but Archibald was canny and was just as aware of Bertrand’s advantages. It was several minutes into the fight, both men were near the rail of the bridge, their sword hilts locked together as Bertrand’s magical strength slowly shoved Archibald to his knees. The King stared up into the eye slits of the black helmed warrior and smiled. With a surge of strength, he shoved with all his might and sent them both over the rail and into the muddy waters of the river below.”
General Baneford continued to look up and listen to the young sorcerer’s recitation, seemingly compelled to hang on his every word, and swallowed nervously as he looked upon the young man’s smile, the very smile he imagined that King Archibald wore just before he threw them both into the frigid river.
“I think you see where this is going, General. Archibald shed his breastplate and gauntlets and swam to the distant shore. Bertrand was not seen again until Archibald’s men managed to dredge his corpse out of the river several days later. The King knew that the armor was too dangerous to leave intact, so he had his most trusted wizards scatter the pieces throughout the realm. Now tell me, General, how long can you hold your breath?” Azerick asked, his smile sliding from his face and replaced with a cold look of unchallengeable purpose.
Azerick raised his staff, and a dwarven rune for stone and water flared. The solid granite at General Baneford’s feet lost all cohesion and flowed over the tops of his boots.
“What do you want from me!” he shouted, feeling more vulnerable and helpless than he ever had in his life.
“I told you what I want, General. It is a very simple request.”
General Baneford sighed. He hated to tell this wizard, or demon, or whatever the hell he was, anything, but he had never actually pledged any sort of loyalty to the Black Tower wizard as he had Ulric. He had fulfilled the spirit of their bargain to the best of his ability.
“I don’t know who sent the assassin, but I do know the Rook is affiliated with the Black Tower wizards who are the same ones that asked me to get them the armor.”
Black tower wizards. A great deal was star
ting to make sense to him now. The Black Tower wizards were an order of mages bent on reclaiming the power they once wielded in the realm. Even the King treaded lightly where the black wizards were concerned. The slow but inevitable attrition of wizards that were able to attain truly powerful levels of magic eventually allowed the good people of Valeria to cast them out of the kingdom. They rebuilt their great black tower in a city a few days ride southeast of Langdon’s Crossing in Sumara.
The Rook was affiliated with the Black Tower who had his father attempt to smuggle a piece of the armor into the kingdom. He got caught, and the tower sent the Rook to silence him. But why did the Rook come after him? He had nothing to do with the armor or the politics behind its acquisition.
The attack on Miranda was no mere hold up. Could it have been a kidnapping, and was it linked to all of this? The bandits had failed because of him. It was possible someone had sent the Rook in retaliation. Whatever the reason, it appeared that someone in the Black Tower would have answers.
“Tell me about Darius Giles and his murder.”
“I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“He was a prisoner in Southport. He had one of the pieces that I assume you recovered somehow,” Azerick explained. “Someone killed him in his cell. I am surmising it was the work of the Rook as well.”
“I don’t know anything about that. I haven’t stepped foot in Southport in nearly eight years. I was told to recover the gauntlets from some king’s men around that time, and that was a hundred miles from Southport. Now get me out of this blasted hole, or leave so my men may retrieve me, we had a deal!”
“I am well aware of our deal, General. I am a man of my word, are you?” Azerick asked.
General Baneford shed his ebony and gold helm. “I am a man of my word, wizard.”
“I will free you, but you must order your men to stand down and leave us all in peace. You will take your soldiers wherever you please, but you will not trouble Valeria and her people any longer.”
The Sorcerer's Path Box Set: Book 1-4 Page 109
