Azerick took up the huge, coiled length of vine and threaded it as close as he could get through the tree tops without attracting those flying nightmares. He wedged his staff between two moss-covered boulders and tied the end of the vine to its middle. Azerick grabbed another vine, secured it near the top of the last tree, and pulled with all his might. Angry wallix took to the skies once more as the tree swayed, groaned, and cracked as it tilted sharply. The vine snapped taut and pulled the other trees down with it. This moment would determine if his plan had a chance to work or if he had just wasted half the day. The row of trees leaned and cracked in succession but did not fall as the vine supported their weight and kept them upright but leaning several degrees. Satisfied his trap was not going to collapse under its own weight, Azerick set to work painstakingly carving runes onto the ground, rocks, and trees with the claw of his index finger.
***
The river swept the borghast matron all the way back to her nest site near the pool below the falls before she was able to extract herself from the water. She was exhausted. Borghast were not strong swimmers, but her desire to seek retribution on the crafty creature kept her struggling to stay afloat until the river calmed enough to drag herself to safety. She rested for an hour before resuming her hunt, easily following the killer’s stench through the jungle despite its traveling through the trees and rarely touching the ground.
The borghast matron raced through the jungle, tearing at the foliage with wild abandon as if she were swimming through a lake of impenetrable green water and leaving a wake of shredded vegetation. Small animals fled from her path as she tore a wide swath through the jungle and clamored up the slope toward the mountain top. It took her nearly a day to reach the mountain, and it would take several more hours to scale it. Her instincts told her the creature was drawn to the strange tear in the sky. Perhaps it had fallen out of it and was trying to get home. She could not allow that to happen. Her mounting fatigue did nothing to ease the fury raging inside her. Every burning muscle and labored breath acted as a bellows pump, stoking her anger to even greater intensity until it burned so hot she was certain it would consume her.
Darkness fell and still she pressed on. Her eyes had no trouble seeing in the pure blackness of a jungle too dense to ever witness the light of the twin moons or the star-dotted sky even on the rare occasion that the clouds allowed them to gaze down upon their world. A light drizzle began to fall as she neared the high plateau, and she slowed to a predator’s hunting pace. Unlike her earlier reckless, destructive sprint through the jungle, there was no tearing of leaves or snapping of branches to betray her presence.
Heavier droplets of water cascaded down her face as she pushed her head through a thick wall of vegetation and spotted her quarry scratching in the dirt and on rocks and trees. It seemed a peculiar thing to do, and she wondered if it was looking for food. The creature finished what it was doing, moved a ways away, and began scratching on a tree trunk once again. When it moved to another spot farther away, she slinked from her concealment to see what it was doing. The gouges were made with deliberate care with straight lines and uniform arcs and circles. Were they territorial markers? She flicked her tongue at them and recoiled. There was something grossly unnatural to them. It tasted bitter and made her tongue tingle like a nearby lightning strike. Her first instinct was to destroy them. No creature dared to claim territory belonging to her, but that might alert it to her presence. Better to leave them for now.
The matron slipped silently back into the thicker brush and crept closer to her family’s killer. It was near the edge of the plateau and only a few yards from where she hid. The creature was strong, but not quite as strong as she was. Nothing in this world was as strong as a mature borghast. It might be cleverer, but it lacked her ferocity. She could defeat it, but she had to be careful and respect its capabilities. She waited until the killer was bent over a large stone jutting from the dirt and fully engaged in its marking before charging from her hiding spot. She aimed for the creature’s neck in hopes of inflicting a fatal wound, but it must have sensed her attack and rolled away at the last second. Her claws cut deep wounds into its shoulder and upper arm. She chose not to press her attack and instead raced into the jungle and disappeared into the darkness.
Azerick felt a soft tremor in the ground beneath his feet and instinctively rolled to his right just before the beast’s claws ripped new gashes down his left arm. In the fraction of a second it took to get to his feet, the creature was gone. The only evidence of its existence was the blood running freely down his arm. He was amazed at how swiftly and silently a creature that size could move. There was not the slightest rustle of branches to betray its presence despite knowing that it was stalking him just beyond the range of his sight.
He turned a slow circle, gripping a stout branch in his hands and holding it defensively before him. Azerick was as prepared as he could be for this confrontation, but his nerves tingled with real fear in anticipation of the next assault. He spun toward a noise in the brush to his right and set himself for the charge. Once again, he did not detect the creature’s presence until it was nearly upon him. Azerick had to dive forward and felt the creature’s claws tear into his side before he even saw it. He spun and swung his club, but the borghast was already gone, vanishing into the night like a vengeful jungle spirit.
Azerick realized he was not dealing with a mere animal, but a creature of cunning and intelligence. Perhaps not on a human level, but enough to know how to ambush, use distractions, and thrust and retreat to bleed him out without risking the danger of a head-on fight. He could not afford to stand here and let the creature pick him apart. Azerick sprinted toward the site of his trap. It was more open, and there were fewer places for the monster to launch its ambushes.
The sorcerer raced for the stand of trees he had prepared. A flash of movement cut across the path ahead of him. He stopped and listened, searching the darkness for any sign of the borghast. Of course, there was none. Even the wind seemed afraid to blow for fear of drawing the creature’s attention. The only sound was the heavy drumming of his heart. Azerick hefted his club and felt foolish for taking a small amount of comfort in its feeble defense.
He took a few more cautious steps toward his trap and barely registered the dark shape detach itself from the trunk of a nearby tree twenty feet above him. Azerick swung his weapon with all his strength just before a massive weight bore him to the ground. The dull thud of the tree limb striking the monster’s boney armor broke the silence permeating the jungle. Azerick dropped the feeble weapon and used his hands to push the snapping jaws with their dagger-sized teeth from his throat. His arms trembled beneath the strain as drool rained down on him and fangs clashed inches from his face. Azerick gasped as the creature raked the claws of one foot down the length of his thigh. He could feel his blood pouring freely from the horrible gashes as the borghast tried to raise its foot high enough to disembowel him.
The lethal movement sacrificed the matron’s position and allowed Azerick to get his leg beneath her. Heaving with all his might, he flung the borghast beast off him and sent her crashing into the brush. Wasting no time to worry about his injuries, Azerick rolled to his feet and ran. His left leg felt mushy and slow to respond to his dictates to run. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he leapt into the air and used his wings to glide across the tangling undergrowth.
No longer concerned with stealth, Azerick could hear the borghast crashing through the brush after him. His leg buckled when he came down, but he quickly righted himself and began a loping hobble toward his staff.
Seeing her prey wounded and trying to reach its weapon, the borghast matron charged headlong in pursuit. A vine stretched taut and low across its path tripped up the matron and sent her crashing to the ground. With a frustrated roar, she dug her claws into the ground and charged forward. The creature’s leg had finally given out and it was fetched up against a large boulder, desperately trying to stem the bleeding. She needed to finish th
is fight before it could reach its weapon.
A slender tree sprang upward with a whoosh of air and the sharp crack of a whip. A strong tug on her ankle sent her falling once more. She was far too heavy for the trap to lift her from the ground, but it did slow and infuriate her. The matron slashed at the vine cinched around her ankle. The creature had not moved and lay just a couple hundred feet away, its face contorted in pain and weak from blood loss. She tore at the vine keeping her from her vengeance with her claws and charged ahead only to find a web of crisscrossing vines set to trip and entangle her. Refusing to allow anything to keep her from her prey, she began hacking and clawing her way forward.
Azerick watched the creature slash its way toward him, snarling and alternating hateful glares at him the vines impeding its progress. His nerves were raw, and it took all his discipline to wait and not act too soon. Forcing himself to remain calm, he waited until the creature was in the center of his trap before he sprang it. Azerick summoned his staff to hand, effectively pulling the linchpin holding everything in place. Everything started to go as planned until the tree nearest him snagged in the branches of the one next to it. Dropping his crippled ruse, he leapt up, sprinted to the tree, and cleaved its trunk with a mighty swing. The tree fell, pulled the cords tied to the others, and began the cascade effect he had hoped for.
The borghast matron tore another vine free from around her leg and looked up to see her prey appear to shake off its injury and begin running. She roared, thinking he was trying to escape, but it stopped and hewed into a tree with its strange weapon. The tree toppled, and others within the area cracked and fell as well. The strange marks the creature scratched into the trunks exploded and trees began raining down around her. Real fear set in as she desperately tried to avoid being crushed by the falling timbers, a feat made especially challenging due to the numerous vines strung across the area. The matron leapt high into the air and hurled herself at the killer, leaping and bounding over the woven strands. She was only a few yards away from achieving her revenge when a massive weight fell across her back and pinned her to the ground.
The matron heard her ribs snap and the felt the air blasted from her lungs. She struggled to work her way free but found her efforts futile. She tasted blood in her mouth and tried to draw a breath to shout a final curse and found the attempt equally useless. She hated this creature more than anything in the world, but it was a good death. She died battling a superior predator instead of growing old and feeble until the day her instincts demanded she walk into the jungle and surrender her life and territory to a more worthy borghast. She looked up at the rare opening in the trees and basked in the glow of the twin moons peering through a rare break in the clouds. The matron sensed the creature’s approach and opened her eyes as its shadow fell over her.
“I am the Hand of Sharrellan. Death finds all those who fall beneath my shadow.” Azerick raised his staff, the arcanum spear tip gleaming in the moonlight, and thrust. “But not today.”
Azerick used his spear as a lever and heaved, lifting the tree just a couple scant inches and pushed a stout branch beneath it. His efforts provided just enough relief to allow the borghast matron to breathe. He sat on the fallen tree near the matron and examined his wounded leg, which was already on its way to mending.
“I know you don’t understand me, but I am going to talk anyway. Not that there is much else for either of us to do but talk and listen. I am sorry about killing your family. They were your family, weren’t they? I could see it in the hatred you had for me. I know that hatred very well. It too set me on a path of violence, and it killed me as well, only I came back. I came back so I could kill some more. It seems like my only purpose for existing has been to end some person or another. I always told myself it was necessary, that it was for the greater good, and that I didn’t have a choice. But I did. I always had a choice no matter how unpleasant it might have been. I chose to put myself in situations that could only be resolved through killing another. So many times I could have chosen to distance myself, to let the cards fall where they may. When did it become my responsibility to save everyone? When did I gain the right to impose my sense of morality on the world?”
Azerick looked down at the trapped creature appearing to be hanging on his every word. “I’ll tell you when: the day I was born a human. My sense of justice, right, and wrong demanded I not sit idle. My ability to enforce it gave me leave to do so. That’s a human trait as well. So I did and so I will continue to do until someone or something stronger stops me. Something tells me your kind is the undisputed rulers of this world.” He looked up at the tree tops. “Except maybe those awful things. If there is something bigger and meaner than you, I sure don’t want to meet it. Then I came along and upset the status quo. Who will kick me off the top of my mountain? The Scions? Maybe, but I have an entire world fighting with me. I cannot lose that battle. Power requires a balance or it becomes a force of destruction. I am the balance against the Scions and they against me, but what happens when they are gone? Who will provide the balance? My son? Which one? Raijaun has the power if he ever acknowledges it, but I do not think he could find the heart to kill me. Daebian surely has the heart to do it, and the gods only know if he has the power. If your child was nearly as vexing as Daebian I think I may have done you a favor. Forgive me, I am in an ill mood, and I should not make light of your loss. Would you like to hear how I ended up here? We have nothing but time, and you seem to be a willing listener. It all started when I was a boy in Southport…”
CHAPTER 15
A tense silence lay over the city of North Haven like a funeral shroud. The walls swarmed with soldiers, and armed civilians trained as militia garrisoned the streets. Heavy ballistae and catapults stood like giants ready to hurl boulders and spears at the approaching enemy horde. Those unable to fight waited in their homes, many camping near the magical gate ready to flee with the few possessions they are allowed to bring with them.
Miranda stood in gleaming scale mail atop the castle battlements and stared out across the sea, willing her eyes to see something she prayed would never arrive. Her mother and General Brague stood with her, equally prepared for battle. It was the third day since she had abandoned the school, her home, and relocated to the city. She spotted Raijaun approach out of the corner of her eye but did not turn her gaze away from the horizon.
“Have you had any luck spying our enemy?” she asked.
Raijaun stepped to the battlement and towered over her. “No. We have tried, but none of us are able to pierce the veil with which the Scions have cloaked their army, but they are near. I can feel it.”
“What of your father?”
Raijaun shook his head. “We still cannot locate him.”
“Damn fine time for him to take a vacation,” the General muttered.
Miranda spun on the man and punched him in his breastplate, her gauntleted hand eliciting the sharp ringing of steel on steel. “Azerick has risked his life many times over for this city and its people! If there was any way he could be here then he would be here!”
Duchess Mellina laid a hand on her daughter’s arm. “We know that, dear. We are all under a great deal of stress and are worried about him.”
“I know I just…damn him! Damn him and his idiotic ideas! I told him he was being foolish. I told him this was going to happen.”
“Then it must have been very important for him to take the risk.” The Duchess looked to Raijaun. “You said they were close. Should we start moving the people through the gates now?”
“It is ill-advised,” Raijaun answered. “The Scions will certainly sense the operation of the gates, discern their purpose, and know where they lead. If we activate them too soon, they could split their forces and attack Brelland. If we allow them to divide us, we will certainly perish.”
“There are over sixty thousand people crammed into the city right now,” General Brague pointed out. “It is going to take time to get them all through. If we wait for them to attack, a
lot of people could die waiting to get through.”
“Some people will die. It is inevitable, but if we act too soon more will perish.”
“You sound as dispassionate as your father!”
“I am as pragmatic as my father.”
“Gregory, just because Azerick is not here does not mean you can pick a fight with my grandson to make yourself feel better.”
The General looked abashed and cast his eyes to the stones beneath his feet. “Yes, dear.”
“You are getting restless. Why don’t you go check on our defenses and inspire some morale in our troops?”
“Yes, dear.”
Miranda watched the General depart and turned to her mother. “How long have you and General Brague been…close?”
“He has been family since before you were born, but I suppose you mean in a more intimate manner.”
“Intimate?”
“I am old, not dead. Now wipe that smirk off your face.”
“I am happy for you both, and you are not old, Mother.”
“And likely not going to get there either thanks to these damned gods and their minions.”
“We will prevail. Azerick will come back, and he will not let them win. Not even the abyss was able to hold him and keep him from me, and these creatures won’t either.”
The Duchess put her arm around her daughter and gave her a reassuring hug. It was a warm sentiment despite all the metal and leather. Miranda stared out across the ocean and thought of her son, praying he was safe. He was smart and resourceful. With any luck, he had already taken a ship and sailed far to the south. The harbor was nearly bereft of ships as many families chose to sail as far to the south and west as possible in hopes of avoiding the war. No one had tried to stop them. Azerick even allowed several of his captains and crew to load their families aboard his ships and set sail for what they prayed was safety. Azerick knew their attempt was futile. There was no safe place on this world, but he let them go instead of destroying their faith.
The Sorcerer's Destiny (The Sorcerer's Path) Page 23
