The Sorcerer's Destiny (The Sorcerer's Path)

by Deskins, Brock

  “Are you saying you can’t…take down…the gate?” Allister struggled to ask as he began losing consciousness.

  Tears flowed down the old archmage’s face and spattered onto Allister’s wrinkled forehead like rain. “There’s one way, my love. Go stand at Solarian’s side. I’ll see you very soon.”

  Aggie gently laid Allister’s head onto the ground and stood. She faced the furious horde but looked far beyond them to the shimmering well of power residing far away in another dimension. The archmage opened herself completely to the flow of magic, holding nothing back.

  “Damn…fool…woman,” Allister mumbled, coughed, and breathed a final shuttering breath.

  Aggie’s tears burned with silver light, blinding her as the Source poured into her body far beyond her ability to control. She struggled to contain the power as long as she could. Brilliant, argent light shot from her eyes and mouth as she released a silent, anguished scream. Unable to contain the magic any longer, the pent up energy exploded with cataclysmic violence. The powerful blast destroyed the gate and scoured the gorge clean for half a mile in every direction.

  ***

  Jarvin and Yusuf’s forces were unable to hold the pass. The relentless Ravager assault had pushed his men out of the gulch and into the expanding basin just beyond it. The human front stretched thinner as the ravager lines widened, and every minute the horde pushed them back farther and thinned their lines closer to the breaking point.

  A titanic explosion shook the ground beneath them and was so powerful it was visible even over the tall butte. The sky above the horizon lit up with a light bright enough to force anyone looking at it to turn away and shield their eyes despite being a clear afternoon, and a huge column of dust rose into the sky like a colossal mushroom.

  “I think the wizards have done it!” Jarvin shouted excitedly.

  Yusuf nodded grimly. “Yes, surely good news on the whole but likely too little and too late for us.”

  Jarvin’s excitement evaporated under the heat of reality. There were still tens of thousands of ravagers trying to shove through the pass, and more were climbing over it and descending into the gulch to decimate his people. Their soldiers fought valiantly, their morale and courage bolstered by their Kings fighting alongside them. Most armies would have broken ranks and retreated under such disparaging odds and brutality, but his and Yusuf’s men would fight to the last knowing their leaders would die beside them for a cause greater than the lives of any man, even a king.

  The trembling ground shuddering from the cataclysmic blast ceased, but another source of shaking replaced it and it was growing stronger. Thunderous battle cries and shrill trilling resonated across the battlefield as a horde of ogres, orcs, and goblins poured over the eastern hills and descended upon the human’s left flank like an avalanche.

  “Damn cowardly jackals!” Jarvin shouted furiously as he helplessly watched doom fall upon his already beleaguered forces.

  His mouth fell open and his eyes narrowed in confusion as the first of the brute horde fell upon the ravagers climbing over the butte to their front before slamming into those filling the valley.

  “I think you judge too quickly,” Yusuf hollered with the laugh of a man pardoned just before the headman swung his axe.

  Goblins sprinted around and through the legs of ravagers, leaping onto their backs, and plunging their blades into them with psychotic fervor. Orcs and massive ogre warriors waded into the fight with more organization and discipline but with equal brutality. What truly held Jarvin’s attention were the three figures wearing plate armor of incredible blackness.

  “By the gods, they wear Dundalor’s armor,” Jarvin said with reverence and a bit of fear.

  “What is this?” Yusuf asked.

  “They wear the armor created by the dwarven master smith Dundalor Ironforge and gifted to my ancestor to fight the dragons during the Great Revolution. How could they have such a thing?”

  “It appears yours was not the only ancestor gifted, nor the only hero to stand and fight.”

  Jarvin slowly wagged his head. “How much of our history has been forgotten? How much of it is an outright lie?”

  “Let us be more concerned with the truths of today than the lies of yesterday.”

  “You are a wiser man than I, Yusuf.”

  “Better-looking as well!” The Sumaran King chortled. “Yet another truth of today.”

  Jarvin’s laugh was cut short when a ravager’s blade went spinning over the forward ranks of warriors and slipped between the narrow gap of the King’s helm and breastplate. Yusuf dropped from his mount and caught Jarvin as he swayed and fell from his saddle. The Sumaran gently lowered the King to the ground and slipped off his helm.

  The knife was buried in the hollow of Jarvin’s throat and was bleeding profusely. His jaw worked up and down but the blade made it impossible to speak. Several of his Blackguards tightened their defensive ring around the King and pulled him and Yusuf away from the press of battle. Jarvin reached for the handle of knife protruding from his throat but Yusuf held his wrist fast.

  “No, my friend, if we remove it, you will surely die.”

  Jarvin pulled his hand toward the hilt again and pleaded with Yusuf with his eyes. They had no Chosen with them, and they both knew he would never live long enough to return to the main camp. Jarvin waved forward the Blackguard who had retrieved his fallen sword. The elite soldier placed the hilt of the saint sword in his King’s hand. With another beseeching look to Yusuf, the Sumaran gently extracted the lethal blade.

  “For…my…son,” Jarvin said in a raspy, gurgling voice. “He knows…what must…be done.”

  Yusuf gripped Jarvin’s fist tightly in his hand. “I will see he gets it, my friend. You have my word.”

  Jarvin forced a smile onto his face and squeezed Yusuf’s hand. Yusuf knelt at Jarvin’s side until Solarian’s life-giving flames went out in his eyes and his soul ascended to their god’s celestial palace like a cinder born upon the wind.

  The ring of Blackguards suddenly tensed and lifted their blades high as an enormous shadow draped itself across the knot of humans. Yusuf did not even have to stand to see the source of their unease. Towering above the group stood a massive figure bedecked in gleaming, black plate armor from head to toe. Yusuf instantly found himself lost in its depthless ebony sheen. The Sumaran forced himself to focus, stood, and motioned Jarvin’s elite warriors to stand aside. Yusuf stepped boldly to the outer ring of men and stood before the hulking ogre.

  Sefket doffed his gold-trimmed onyx helm and held it in the crook of his arm just above the handle of the massive battle axe hanging from his thick leather belt. “Are you the human king?”

  Ogres were little more than folklore in his kingdom, but the stories regarded the creatures as subhuman brutes, barely more intelligent than animals. But when Yusuf looked into the piercing yellow eyes of the creature standing before him, he did not see an animal or even a savage tribal chief. He saw a being of strength, pride, and nobility every bit the equal to his own.

  “I am Yusuf Sabaht, King of the Sumaran people.” Yusuf extended an arm toward Jarvin’s body. “There lies Jarvin Ollander, King of the Valerian people.”

  Sefket turned his huge palms toward the sky and growled something unintelligible to the humans’ ears. “He died defending his kin. There can be no more honorable death than that. I am Sefket, King of all the Kin. Your people are too few, and a king has fallen. Take your soldiers and return the King to his people. The Kin shall defend this pass and wipe this scourge from our world.”

  “Thank you, Sefket. We owe your people a great debt. I hope we can repay it one day.”

  “There is but one way your kind can show their gratitude.”

  “How? Name it and it is yours if it is in my power to give.”

  “Remember today. Remember what the Kin have never and will never forget.”

  “I will, Sefket,” Yusuf swore. “Your deeds will be written in a hundred books and upon a thousa
nd scrolls. We will carve it into the walls of our greatest cities so that all will be reminded of what you have done for us.”

  “We shall see.” Sefket donned his helm, took his enormous battle axe in hand, and waded back into the fray.

  Yusuf ordered the Blackguards to secure their King’s body and ordered a retreat. The crack of lightning and the cacophonic booming of thunder punctuated the clarion calls of horns as the human survivors formed ranks and left the fighting to the Kin. Yusuf looked to the three remaining wizards riding next to him as the air began tingling with the presence of magic.

  “Not us,” one said in answer to the unspoken question. “There is a powerful shamanic and even druidic influence to it.”

  “Will it be enough for the brutes to hold the pass?”

  “We did not get a good estimate of their numbers, but their forces appeared to be quite strong. Shamans may not be able to stand toe to toe with a mage, but once their ritual magic gets ramped up it can be devastating over a much larger area than any of us can achieve. Assuming those savages don’t break and run, they will provide a good bulwark for our southern defenses.”

  “They are not savages, magus, and it will do us all good to understand that,” Yusuf said in rebuke. “The misunderstandings between all our peoples has contributed to the disaster we face today, and we must learn from it, or we are sure to repeat them until we either learn or our ignorance becomes our end.”

  The wizard had the decency to look chastised. “You are a wise King, Highness.”

  “Good-looking too,” he responded with a grin directed at Jarvin’s shrouded body tied onto the saddle of his mount.

  It was a long, somber ride back to the camp. The sun was just settling into the horizon when they reached the southern battle line reinforced with every available fighter Prince Miles was able to pull from the reserves and battlefront. The air filled with the droning of hundreds of muttering voices as the contingent passed through the lines with more than half the horses carrying dead soldiers, many of them riding double, but it was the shrouded form carried at the head of the procession drawing everyone’s eyes.

  Miles pushed his mount toward the riders, leapt from the saddle, and began pulling at the straps securing Jarvin in place. “Father!”

  Yusuf hastily dismounted and restrained the anguished Prince in a tight embrace. “Be strong, son. Do not let your grief overwhelm you. There will be time for grieving later, but right now, you must be a pillar of strength for your people. You are now their King, and you must be a shining symbol of your father’s heroic sacrifice.”

  “I’m not ready!”

  “Yes, you are, my son. Your father knew you were ready when he left you to defend our people. I see in you much of your father’s courage and wisdom. His last thoughts and words were of you.” Yusuf presented Jarvin’s sword and crowned helm to the heir of the Valerian throne. “He knows you are ready for both of these and asked me to give them to you with his final words.”

  Miles replaced his own sword with his father’s and held the helm in his hands. “You say I am wise, but I know I’m not my father. Will you help me?”

  Yusuf embraced Miles once more. “You already show wisdom beyond your years. I pray my foolish sons do as well one day. Your father was my friend, as are you. I and my people will always stand with you. You will not fight this war nor suffer its ravages alone. Speaking of the war, how fairs the battle?”

  “It is bleak. What you see here is the bulk of our reserves, and they were fighting on the front not more than a couple hours ago. We are all exhausted, and I fear none of us will be able to rest for long.”

  “Has Azerick been able to close the enemy’s gates?”

  “No. He and his son have devised a plan, but they cannot get near enough to them to enact it. Our defense is as tenuous as ever, and it is failing fast.”

  “Let us confer with him. It may be time to roll the dice and strike with all our might without regard to what happens next. Otherwise, we may not get a chance to face the fallen gods at all.”

  Miles and Yusuf galloped up the hill to the heart of the allied command and left a squad of Blackguards to act as a funeral detail. The two kings found Azerick and Raijaun intently studying the battlefield with worried expressions while the elven King spoke in conference with one of his aerial scouts.

  “Azerick, are you able to reach the gates and destroy them yet?” Miles asked, the desperation evident in his voice.

  “Raijaun?”

  “Not yet, Father. Sandy is unable to fight past the dragons to reach the gates.”

  “Yusuf, I am glad to see you returned. Where is the King?” Azerick asked.

  “I am saddened to report he fell in battle. Miles is now your King.”

  “Highness, your loss is shared by us all. Long live the King.”

  Miles’ voice caught as he touched the saint sword’s hilt. “Thank you, Azerick. Your condolences are appreciated. We shall mourn as a nation when this is done.”

  “Where is Allister and Aggie?”

  Yusuf cleared his throat and spoke. “There was a great explosion deep within the gorge. It may be they perished while effecting the gate’s destruction.”

  King Duharhuln broke away from his conversation with the rider and approached. “That was one of the riders I sent south. He says the two wizards were near the gate when the explosion occurred. I am sorry, but it is very unlikely they survived.”

  Azerick felt as though he had been punched. Aggie was beloved by all who knew her, and Allister had become a surrogate father to him. The world suddenly felt a much lonelier place now.

  “Duharhuln, can your riders help clear a path to the gates?” Miles asked.

  “They have been trying, but we have suffered grievous losses and they are overwhelmed by the might of the dragons.”

  “Azerick, I know you and Raijaun have been reserving your strength to fight the Scions, but I fear it is no longer an option. If we do not destroy those gates now, facing the fallen gods will be all but pointless.”

  Azerick’s face fell and nodded his agreement. “You are likely right. Headmaster, contact your people and have them gather where we discussed. Yusuf, please ask Devlin to do the same. Miles, you must know that even if we are able to carve a path to the gates, it is unlikely very many of us will return. The ravagers will likely envelope our contingent, and we will have only the elves’ wizards to lend their arcane support.”

  “I understand, Azerick, but I see no other option if we are to cut off their unending supply of reinforcements. If you think there is any other way, I would gladly hear it.”

  Azerick shook his head, knowing that even if they severed the gangrenous limb, they would likely bleed to death. “I wish there was.”

  CHAPTER 23

  In a world far removed from any war, four gods looked down upon the raging battle, helplessly watching their followers die by the thousands. Sharrellan and Serron’s faces remained largely impassive, Solarian tried his hardest to appear stoic despite his grief and anger, and Ellanee wept openly.

  “We cannot stand by and just watch them die,” the goddess of nature pleaded.

  Solarian stroked her long, flowing hair. “We do not dare move before the Scions, or we will fail.”

  “My Hand is going to lead the wizards in a charge to destroy the gates,” Sharrellan said. “Even if they succeed, the races lack the strength to defeat the Scions’ minions with the loss of nearly all their arcane might, and he and Raijaun will be too weak to force the faceless ones to the battlefield of our choosing.”

  “Either path we choose leads to destruction.”

  “There is a third option,” Serron stated. “We send another army to break through the horde thus sparing our Guardians’ and wizards’ so they may still employ their power as needs be.”

  “We do not have another army!” Solarian shouted in exasperation.

  Sharrellan smiled coyly. “I do.”

  Solarian glared at his dark counterpart. “Yo
ur creatures are forbidden from entering the mortal world enmasse. You would unleash another scourge upon an already beleaguered people.”

  “Are you still so petty that you cannot trust me? Do you think I would risk my existence in some childish attempt to become the dominant deity of this world?”

  “What about when it is over?” Ellanee asked. “Will you willingly send your demonic army home, in its entirety, without hesitation or duplicity?”

  “I make it my most sacred vow. Do not forget, those are my supplicants dying down there as well.”

  “I second the motion to release the demons upon the Scion minions,” Serron voiced loudly.

  The sun god and goddess of nature exchanged worried looks but nodded their assent. The four gods placed a hand upon the large, flat-topped crystalline column in the center of the celestial palace’s Hall of the Gods. The four-colored crystal: amber, sapphire, emerald, and onyx flared with light as each god touched its surface.

  “Only the lesser demons, Sharrellan,” Solarian insisted. “We cannot risk your lords breaking free and pillaging the world.”

  “You tie my hands, Solarian, but it shall be as you command.”

  ***

  Azerick, Raijaun, Headmaster Florent, and Magus Skinner hastened down the slope toward the wizards’ gathering point to act as the point of the sword they hoped would be strong enough to stab deep into the enemy ranks and cut out its heart. None of them paid much heed to Tarth as he hummed and skipped along behind them.

  As they neared the base of the hill, the ground shook and large plumes of dust, ash, and fire erupted into the air as massive fissures reaching all the way to the abyss opened up. Demons swarmed from the pits like ants from a disturbed mound. Grackin and succubae flew into the air and attacked the dragons as balrog, harunden, powerful tar'raun'atu, and the devilish kamaris threw themselves at the ravagers.

  “What in the abyss?” Azerick exclaimed.

  Maureen looked at the sorcerer. “You would know better than the rest of us.”

  “Father, can you communicate with the demons and get them to clear a path for Sandy?”