“What is it she plans to do with me?”
Joshua shook his head. “I do not think it is my place to say. She gave me no instructions to tell you such things.”
“Did she tell you not to tell me anything?”
“No, she did not.”
“What is your name?”
“Joshua.”
“I am Azerick. Tell me, Joshua, if you were in my position and I told you what was going to happen to you, would you be frightened, distraught?”
Joshua shuddered, knowing that he had very nearly been in this very position. “Yes, very much so.”
“Knowing your mistress, does she take pleasure in other people’s misery, enjoys causing them fear and pain?”
“Yes, she does. I have never met anyone who relishes the suffering of others the way she does.”
“Then she would probably enjoy knowing that I know what is in store for me since it could only cause me further anguish,” Azerick reasoned.
Joshua could not fault the logic and dialed to see that it made any difference whether the sorcerer knew or not the horror awaiting him.
“She plans to use your body as a vessel to bring a demon lord from the abyss to our realm.” Joshua squeezed the washrag he held in his hands. “She was going to use me until you came along. For all of these years I have served her, taken her abuse and beatings, listened to all her insults, telling me I was useless and still I served her, hoping that one day she would accept me as a wizard. Through all of that, for all of my years of service, she was going to kill me; worse, she was going to give my body to a demon and force my soul out into the abyss!” Joshua seethed.
“Give me the potion, Joshua. My arm and ribs are killing me,” Azerick said and drank down the potion.
The same familiar heat and tingling that he knew from his own potions suffused his body. It was a different color and had a different taste to it, but it was still bitter and unpleasant. His arm and ribs stopped hurting, and he found he could move it and take a full breath without serious pain.
“Joshua, none of us can know what is ever going to happen to us. Even when all appears hopeless and things are at their bleakest, chances arise to change our situation, our status. The hard part is recognizing when those opportunities arise and having the courage to take advantage of them when we do.”
“Aren’t you afraid of what they are going to do to you?”
“Not really, what good would it do me? I will remain focused, use my mind as best I can to resist whatever they throw at me, and be ready to take advantage of the slightest opportunity that may present itself. It is all I have ever done, and it has gotten me through a few situations that most would have seen as inescapable.”
“How old are you?” Joshua asked.
“How old do you think I am?”
The apprentice shook his head. “I don’t know. When I first saw you I would have thought you were not much older than me but now, listening to you, seeing the strength in you, and knowing you killed two wizards even when you were outnumbered, I just don’t know.”
Azerick smiled wanly at the young man. “I am barely older than you are Joshua, although I have seen and been through much. You may think I am an extraordinary spell caster, but I am not, not really. I am just a man who has found himself in extraordinary circumstances and done what I must to survive. That is all any of us can do.”
“I am sorry about what they are going to do to you. I do not think you deserve it.”
Azerick let out a small laugh. “There are those who would disagree with you, but I think most of them are as poor of character as your mistress, so I would not take any heed of their opinions.”
“You do not seem like an evil man, Azerick. What were you doing in Rapture?”
“Are you familiar with a man called the Rook,” Azerick asked and got his answer when he saw Joshua’s eyes go round. “Someone sent him to kill me, and I found out he was connected to the tower. Several years ago, a lifetime ago, someone murdered my father. That too was connected with the tower, or so I believe. I do not know if the Rook was the same man who murdered my father but, given his association with the tower and his methods, I suspect it is so. I came here for answers, and to ensure no one threatened my home or my family again.”
“I wish I could get you out of here even though Mistress Shakrill would kill me. At least I would die knowing I did something right in my life,” Joshua said forlornly.
“Now is not the time. We would both likely be killed. Remember what I said about doing what you must when the time comes. I cannot tell you when that is. Only you can be certain of that.”
Joshua shook his head again. “I couldn’t. I wish I had your courage, but I am a coward. I’m too afraid of Shakrill.”
“Courage is not the absence of fear, Joshua. It is doing what you must in spite of those fears. It is about not allowing fear to prevent you from doing what you know you must do. A person who knows no fear is a fool and will likely die gloriously and uselessly before they get the chance to do the most good.”
“I will try, I promise.”
“That is all any of us can do.”
“I had better go back before Mistress Shakrill calls for me. I do not know when the summoning will be, but it will be soon I suspect. This may sound stupid, but I wish you luck.”
Azerick smiled at the young apprentice. “It has served me rather well so far.”
Joshua departed, and Azerick stared up at the ceiling. “Sharrellan, if you truly do have greater plans for me, this would be a good time to step in and be more than just a voice in my head.” He counted his breaths for a full five minutes. “That’s what I thought. I’m just crazy.”
Azerick and Joshua spoke several more times over the next two days when the apprentice brought him food, water, and wine. Time had lost all meaning very early on. He often fell asleep, but he had no way of knowing for how long. Only his meals give him any sense of time, but he had no idea if Joshua brought them with any regularity. He raised his head off the floor and looked up when the door opened, expecting to see Joshua with his meal or at least a drink. When he saw that it was a woman, Azerick thought for a moment that his time had come to an end.
“Are you comfortable?” Shakrill asked.
“I’ve stayed in worse.”
“Really? I would love to hear about that. It is a shame we won’t have more time together. Seeing as how you have no more use for that lovely staff, would you tell me about it?”
“Tell me who sent the Rook to kill me, and maybe I will tell you something about my staff,” Azerick told the cruel wizard.
“I would be far more concerned with what I am going to do with you now than some attempt on your life. He tried, failed, and now is gone. Why should you care when any chance of revenge is beyond your grasp?”
“I despise a mystery, particularly when it involves me directly. If I am going to die, I would like to know. Maybe I will get a chance to haunt them later.”
Shakrill laughed with genuine pleasure. It was her kind of humor. “Some foolish nobleman,” she said, waving her hand as if it were inconsequential. “Apparently he is still a bit miffed about you blowing his only son to bits some time back. I do not understand it myself. Why risk yourself antagonizing a dangerous opponent for something so trivial? I suppose that is why I have no sentimental attachment for anything other than my own life and ambitions.”
Azerick could not believe that Travis’s father would go to such measures to avenge a son who had brought about his own death. Then again, none of them seemed to be the type to accept responsibility for their actions. Few nobles did. Now, here he was, staked out for sacrifice because he had followed the wrong trail. Or perhaps not.
“Did he kill my father as well?”
Shakrill looked at him in a mixture of confusion and irritation. “How should I know? The Rook kills so many people. Even if I cared, I could not keep track of them all.”
“He was a ship’s captain in Duke Ulric’s jail. He
was murdered in his cell because someone had tricked him into smuggling an artifact into the kingdom.”
The wizard shrugged ambivalently. “I am not privy to all of the Rook’s dealings, so I would know no more than I really cared to, which is not at all. You should focus on what is going to happen to you now, not all of the little inconveniences that have already come and gone. I answered your questions as best I could, now answer mine.”
“What do you want to know?”
“How did you come to possess it?”
“Some friends made it for me.”
“Dwarven friends? You must be full of stories. It is bound to you in blood, is it not?”
Azerick’s chains clinked as he shrugged. “Something like that.”
“Has Joshua told you what I plan to with you?”
“Host for a demon lord.”
“Klaraxis will inhabit your body; therefore he should be able to wield your staff. I think that is a poor choice for succession. Help bind the weapon to me, and I will make your transition as painless as I can.”
“No one can or ever will wield that staff other than me, but you will witness its full power when I destroy you and this entire tower.”
“I am glad you plan to fight to the end. It will make your anguish all the more pleasing.”
The dark archmage smiled as she left, finding pleasure in only two things in life: inflicting pain upon others and increasing her own formidable powers. As luck would have it, her current task was going to accomplish both, and that pleased her indeed.
CHAPTER 13
Sandy lay half-buried atop the dune where Azerick had left her, reading a book she borrowed from the magic bag he carried while he rested just before he left for the town. It took her nearly an hour to understand how it worked, but her dragon knowledge allowed her to figure it out. Lacking sugar cubes, the book was the only thing she found that piqued her interest.
The wind shifted and carried the scent and bleating of the goats roaming the nearby oasis to her senses. Her hunter instincts immediately caused her to pop her head up from the pages of the book and focus on the cloven-hoofed little vermin. Her sharp eyes brought the herd into perfect focus even though they were nearly a mile away.
Her stomach rumbled despite the several smoked sausages she had just finished not more than an hour ago. Sandy turned her gaze back toward the book and tried to renew her reading. She was not really hungry, and she promised Azerick she would stay here and not attract attention.
He made her promise. Him, a human, ordering her, a dragon, to make promises against her nature, a resentful little voice said inside her scaly head.
Who was he to tell her when and where to hunt? Besides, this had nothing to do with hunger; this was instinct—dragon instinct! She was a huntress, the most beautiful, powerful, and wise of predators. What right gave an inferior species the audacity to presume to dictate to her!
The little dragon turned her gaze back upon the unsuspecting goats and sank into the sand with a malicious chuckle. It took her only a short time to swim through the sand. She had no need to raise her head above the surface to see where the goats congregated. She could hear them milling about, bleating and munching the coarse grasses and shrubs that circled the oasis for a hundred yards in every direction.
Sandy sensed the change in the goats as she burrowed nearer. Their casual bleats were reduced to a few nervous noises as if the creatures could sense that a predator was near but were unable to see, smell, or hear it. Instinct made them group together, putting their young in the center while the rams stayed to the outside, waiting to butt heads with any interloper.
Six feet beneath the sand and directly below one of the goats, the little sand dragon launched herself upward with all her strength, breaching through the surface of the sand like a great-toothed devil shark breaching the surface of the ocean and taking one of the smaller sea mammals down into its cold depths to be devoured by the unstoppable predator.
At least that was what was supposed to have happened. She flawlessly executed the breaching attack, but it started going wrong immediately after contact with the enemy. Enemy, no longer prey, as the foul-smelling mammal kicked its hind legs like a mad drummer, striking Sandy in her sensitive snout and face. The counterattack was so sudden and effective that it caused her to lose her vice-like grip on the animal.
She spun about, hissing in pain, anger, and humility at the fleeing, wounded goat. A big ram took advantage of her distraction and butted her hard in the side. Sandy spun and snapped at the cantankerous beast and was hit from the other side by one of the younger males. Sandy quickly realized that the goats were a bit larger than she had first thought and put up a much stronger fight than she had anticipated.
Hissing in frustration, the little dragon lashed out with her powerful tail and snapped at the foul beasts with lightning quick strikes, but the agile goats were adept at avoiding her attacks and lunged in for a bone-bruising head butt whenever she was distracted. Learning from her mistakes, she feinted toward one of the younger males then whipped her tail around at the senior ram when he tried another rush, sending the goat sprawling in the sand.
Her victory was short lived as two more young males collided with her armored side, knocking her over with a yelp of pain. Having had enough of this frontal battle, Sandy dove under the sand just as the young shepherd, who had been dozing in the shade of a large palm tree, came running at the sound of the commotion. He reached his herd at the same time Sandy burst out from under the sand, grabbed the goat she had initially wounded, and pulled it under the surface.
The young shepherd, no more than twelve years old, looked on in fear at the sight of the goat seeming to have disappeared in a burst of sand. Gripping his long crook, he stared helplessly at where the goat had just been standing, trying to make sense of the blood droplets he saw in the sand.
The ground burst skyward in another spray of sand, showering him with grit. He tried to leap away but fell onto his back as the reptilian demon glared down at him with fierce green eyes and a maw full of wickedly sharp teeth still showing traces of blood and fur.
“What are you? Please don’t hurt me!” the boy wailed.
Sandy replied in perfect Sumaran. “I am the great and powerful,” Sandy hissed her dragon name. “You will bring me treasure as a token of my greatness.”
“What do you want? I am poor and have nothing,” the shepherd said, quavering in fear.
“You will bring me sugar cubes, all you have, or I will eat your goats and then you. Go, bring me my tribute, or I will find you in your home near the edge of town and devour you while you sleep!”
Sandy snorted in laughter as she watched the boy flee back toward the city, his sandals flapping against his feet and throwing up small sprays of sand. She had made a guess as to where he lived, figuring the poorest people lived near the edges of a city and, being a goat herder, probably had to take his goats in from time to time and the closer to their grazing land the better. Driving a bunch of stubborn goats through the city could prove arduous, so one would live as far from the center as possible.
The little dragon cast a glare of extreme hatred at the huddled mass of goats several yards away who watched her with wary, hostile eyes. She sank down into the sand with little effort of movement, never taking her eyes from the disgusting little beasts.
It took less than an hour for the shepherd to return, running back toward the herd with a small clay jar in his hands, his light muslin robes flapping behind him. Sandy watched the boy from where she lay in wait about halfway between him and the dune where Azerick had left her. The boy was breathing hard, partly from the exertion of running across the sands and partly out of fear. As Sandy came waddling up to him, his breath caught in his throat, and she thought he might actually make himself pass out despite the force of his previous respirations.
“You have brought my tribute?” she asked haughtily.
The shepherd dropped to his knees and pressed his face into the sand as
he held out the clay pot shaking in his hands. “Great sand demon, I could find no sugar, but I brought you the honey we use to sweeten our tea. Please do not eat me, we are poor, and it is the best I could do.”
Sandy nearly scoffed. These people always cried impoverishment. Given the size of his herd, she doubted his family was anywhere near starving and lived in far greater comfort than many of their neighbors. The wool made from the goats’ hair, cheese made from their milk, and meat sold after slaughter all brought in a decent income, and the fact that they had honey for their tea, a luxury item to be sure, only solidified her assumption.
Sandy glared at the boy. “I will spare you this one time, but should you ever fail to follow my demands in the future, I may not be so generous. You may depart—after you rub my scales down with sand.”
The shepherd’s normally tan skin blanched nearly white at the thought of touching the demon, but he dared not refuse. He set the pot of honey down before the dragon he thought was a demon and carefully rubbed handfuls of sand all around Sandy’s sides and back while she clasped the pot in her paws and dipped her long, violet tongue into the honey.
“Harder, goat boy, work the muscles while you are at it!”
She purred like a cat, fully contented by the relaxing buffing, massaging, and the exquisite taste of the honey. The dragon found the honey even more scrumptious than the sugar cubes. She would have to ask Azerick if he had any. If not, he would need to get some.
Sandy stared remorsefully at the empty pot of honey before casually tossing it away. She stood up, stretched, and yawned, shaking the loose sand from her scales.
“You have pleased me, goat boy. Your hands are most strong and dexterous, and the honey was delightful. I shall reward you by allowing you to repeat your ministrations tomorrow. Do not forget to bring more honey. You may go now.”
The shepherd stood on quivering knees, his arms exhausted from rubbing the creature’s scales, but he was slightly less terrified than he had been. He breathed a sigh of relief knowing that the demon was placated and was not going to dismember him on the spot. The thought of returning on the morrow filled him with dread however.
The Sorcerer's Path Box Set: Book 1-4 Page 122
