The Sorcerer's Torment (The Sorcerer's Path)

by Brock Deskins

  The next day, with Lord Xornan’s permission, he had the materials for four more shelving units delivered to the vault room landing. Since he was the only one allowed in the room, he had to cart the lumber inside and construct the shelves himself. Azerick did not mind the manual labor. It actually felt good to work with his hands for once instead of simply burying his nose in a book. He made space against one wall where he stacked the boards that would eventually become bookshelves before diving back into cataloging the waiting books.

  Every few hours, he took a break from reading and organizing the books and put one of the shelving units together. Once constructed, he went back to the books for a time and repeated the process. It only took two days before he had put together all four bookshelves. He had also completely organized and cataloged one entire cabinet of books.

  He was midway through his cataloging of his second rack of books when Lord Xornan glided into the room with six humans and four minotaurs in tow.

  I may be gone for several days. Inform anyone that may seek an audience with me that I will see them upon my return. Handle any other business that comes up as you see fit in accordance with my previous guidance. Continue your work here, but be prepared for another bout in The Games when I return.

  Without waiting for a reply, Lord Xornan strode onto the dais of the arch and touched several of the colorful crystals in sequence. After a short pause, the large diamond in the center glowed with a bright, white radiance. The psyling touched the illuminated gem and the golden runes on the arch flared to life with a light of their own.

  The inner area of the stone arch shimmered for a moment before resolving into a barren scene of reddish stone and blowing dust. Lord Xornan and his entourage stepped through the arch and into the wasteland beyond. Azerick watched the small group walk several paces into the desert before the gate wavered once more and the mauve stone wall of the vault was once again the only thing visible beyond the arch.

  Azerick spent most of his days and evenings locked inside the vault, but he endeavored to spend at least lunch with Delinda and occasionally dinner. He had to force himself, with her urging, to take the time to make good on his promise to show her how to brew the healing draught. He spent a couple of hours each day talking and teaching her to brew the healing potions. Delinda was very bright and made a quick study. She was gifted in the use of plants and herbs, showing great promise as a master herbalist and healer.

  He stood over her shoulder while she ground several dried leaves into a fine powder. The smell of lavender from her hair mixing with the crushed herbs in the mortar drove him to distraction. His mind began to drift from the task of creating potions to what it would be like to hold Delinda in his arms and to feel her deft hands caress his skin.

  “Are these ground up fine enough?” She asked, looking up at him over her shoulder.

  It took all his resolve to keep from bending down and kissing her passionately right then as she smiled up at him.

  “Uh, yeah that’s fine,” He breathed out heavily, just now aware that he had been holding his breath.

  “So what’s next?”

  He looked over to where a glass flask sat over a flame, its contents steadily boiling. “You mix the other three components that you ground previously and drop them into the boiling water. Let me turn the flame down while you mix them.”

  Delinda dumped the contents of the mortar into a ceramic bowl, poured the crushed contents of three other bowls into the first one, and then mixed them thoroughly while Azerick turned down the flame under the flask down so that the water went from a rapid boil to a slow simmer. Once he declared the components properly mixed, she carefully poured them into the flask.

  “Now mix it with the glass rod until the powder dissolves as much as possible. You will have to keep stirring it every fifteen minutes for the next four hours.”

  She picked up the glass rod, inserted it into the neck of the flask, and stirred the contents until they were thoroughly mixed and mostly dissolved in the water. The flask’s contents quickly took on the color of a thick, black tea.

  “Now we wait. Just make sure you keep mixing it on schedule,” he reminded her and turned an hourglass over.

  “So, what do you want to talk about while we wait?” she asked, as she sat against the table with the heels of her palms pressed against the edge.

  How about how bad I want to kiss you right now? “I don’t know. What do you want to talk about?”

  “Did you see Lord Xornan leave? Do you know where he went?” she asked.

  “Yes, he used a magical gate that is at the top of the tower. I don’t know where he went or what he was going to do though,” he told her, glad to have a topic of conversation to talk about. “He took ten guards with him; six human, four minotaur. They had some big packs on their backs. The minotaurs and humans did; not Xornan of course.”

  “He must be on one of his expeditions to add a new bauble to his collection. I have heard of his vault and that he travels to many places to add to his hoard of rare and magical items, but I have never been up there to see any of it myself. What do you do up there all day long?”

  “He has me organizing everything right now. For things that are so important to him, he does not seem to take very good care of them.”

  “For him I think it is the getting more than the having. Everything about him is all about prestige. He likes to tell others about the rare and valuable things he has. His ability to lord it over others is more valuable to him than their actual use or worth. It is the same for his slaves too. We are only useful or valuable so long as we serve a purpose or benefit his reputation.”

  “I thought it was the gold he won from betting on me,” Azerick said.

  “Gold is not that important to him, though he will kill anyone who steals from him or cheats him. Your winning brings the prestige that he covets. He will punish you severely if you lose. It’s not because of the gold, but because your loss would appear to be a weakness. Any weakness you display he feels others presume it to be a weakness of his.”

  “I guess I better not lose then,” Azerick replied with a grin.

  She scowled back at him. “No, you had best not. This is neither a joke nor a game of any kind. Most who lose in the arena do not survive. Even if your opponent allows you to live, you will be punished terribly afterwards. I would not like to see that at all.”

  Azerick felt that this was a good time to change the subject. “You need to stir your potion now,” he told her as he turned the timer back over. “So what would you like to do with your life some day?”

  “What do you mean? I am a slave. I have no life nor hope for any other,” she replied dejectedly.

  “You will not always be a slave. We will escape him one day. I cannot allow myself to believe that this is all my life will ever come to. I have some unfinished tasks that I will return to one day,” Azerick told her with certainty.

  “How will you get away? He binds us with something stronger than chains. We are secured by a lock that has no key and cannot be picked or forced open,” she insisted resolutely.

  “I will kill him someday, and I will not waste half my life before I do. I will play his game for now, as I must, but some day my chance will come and I will take it.”

  “No, you cannot even think such a thing! He knows what we think, and if he so much as thinks you can hurt him he will punish you or kill you. I have tried to defy his orders, but every time I try my mind refuses to do anything except what he says.”

  “He knows that I want to kill him. My defiance amuses him. I do not know how I will do it, but he will make a mistake someday or I will figure something out. Time to stir your potion again,” he informed her.

  Delinda turned back to the table and mixed the simmering potion once again then turned back towards Azerick. “I do not see how you can hope to oppose him when you are even afraid of me,” she asked with a mischievous grin.

  “What do you mean? I am not afraid of you.”

 
; “Then why don’t you kiss me?”

  Azerick’s eyes went wide and his heart suddenly started pounding in his chest like a drum. “Um, what makes you think I want to kiss you?”

  “I think you try very hard to hide your emotions, but in this regard, you are terrible at it. I don’t need to have Lord Xornan’s mind reading ability to see something that obvious.”

  “What makes you think you can read me so well?”

  “When you are helpless against those around you, you learn to read them so you know who you can trust and who to avoid. I have been a slave for a while now. It has not been an easy life,” she said, trying to hide the pain behind her eyes.

  “You mean Lord Xornan—” Azerick hesitated in asking.

  Delinda followed his line of reasoning and gave a small laugh. “No, I do not think his likes are to the female persuasion.”

  “Oh, that’s good. Oh by the gods, you don’t think that he—?”

  This time she burst out in uncontrollable laughter. “No, I do not think he has any interest in humans of any sort,” she assured him once she caught her breath. “I am sorry for what has happened to me, but I have never been kissed by anyone I actually wanted to kiss me. Please understand.”

  Azerick cut off her words by taking her into his arms and kissing her ardently for several long moments, moments that he never wanted to end except that they both needed to breathe eventually.

  “Well, perhaps you are not such a coward after all,” she said playfully.

  “I’m afraid I have burned up most of my fear a long time ago. At least I thought I had until today. Now that that is taken care of, I cannot imagine what else is left to be afraid of,” he told her.

  “You could die in The Games.”

  “Death does not frighten me. The only remorse I would have is that I could not be with you.”

  “You would not have to wait long. If you were to die, I am certain that I would quickly follow you to the afterlife,” she promised, as she looked deep into his eyes.

  Azerick held her even closer and kissed her once again. They nearly ruined their potion when the timer had run out while they were preoccupied. Fortunately, Delinda remembered before it was too late and stirred the black liquid on time for the duration of its cooking cycle.

  Once the potion was finished simmering, Azerick showed her how to strain it through several cloth filters of increasing fineness then instructed her to allow it to cure for seven days in a sealed and completely opaque bottle. Once it was sealed and stored away from any light source, they stumbled up the stairs in each other’s arms and into Azerick’s chambers.

  CHAPTER 4

  Azerick awoke early the next morning. A weight across his chest startled him, but he smiled as he realized that it was just Delinda’s arm. He was elated to find her next to him. He was afraid that last night was just a dream. If it was all just a dream, he hoped that it never ended. Delinda’s eyes opened and she smiled back at him and held him tighter.

  “Good morning,” she greeted him warmly as she smiled and closed her eyes again.

  “And a great night,” he replied with a smile.

  “Men,” she sighed then dug her knuckles into his ribs. “Come on, get up. We both have work to do. Besides, I’m hungry.”

  “But it is cold out there and so warm in here,” Azerick groaned as he tried half heartedly to fend off her tickling.

  “Get up, lazy bones, before Lord Xornan comes back.”

  “He just left yesterday. I’m sure he won’t be back this soon.”

  Delinda rolled out of bed. “Fine, stay in bed all day, but you can lie here by yourself,” she told him as she slipped her dress on over her head.

  “Fine, I’m coming,” he complained morosely and followed her out of bed since there was no longer a reason to stay there.

  He shivered as his bare feet touched the cold floor and quickly stepped onto the thick rug next to the bed where his discarded clothes lay in a pile.

  “I’m going to go brush my hair and wash up in my room. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” She kissed him once then bounced out of the room and went downstairs.

  Azerick refreshed himself in the cold water of the washbasin that sat on a small table against the wall before dressing. He descended the stairs a few minutes later and made his way to the kitchen. The cook was already up and the kitchen was invitingly warm. The smell of cinnamon-spiced oats, bacon, and fried eggs filled the air.

  “Good morning, Cook. Has Delinda been in here yet this morning?” he asked the former ship’s cook that now prepared the meals for Lord Xornan’s household.

  “No, Azerick, can’t say as I’ve seen her since yesterday. What’s got you grinning like a fox in a henhouse?” he asked the young sorcerer. “Ah, I think I see,” he replied as Delinda walked into the kitchen and hugged Azerick’s arm.

  “Good morning, Cook. Do you mind if we help ourselves to a plate?” she asked in a chipper voice.

  “Good morn to you, lass. Of course not, help yourselves.”

  Azerick and Delinda each filled a bowl with oatmeal while Cook fried a couple eggs on the stove. He slid them onto plates, piled on several strips of bacon, and handed them to the young couple with a small bow. Azerick and his new love, first love actually, sat at a plain wooden table set against the far wall of the kitchen. Cook gave Azerick a wink then found something he had to do somewhere else.

  “So what are you going to do today?” Azerick asked as he poured honey onto his oats then did the same for Delinda.

  “Tend the garden as usual. The cold is making many of the plants lose their leaves and Lord Xornan gets very angry if he sees them on the ground. I also need to tend the spices in the hot house,” she replied. “Will you be going back to the vault?”

  “I suppose I had better. I don’t know how long Xornan expects me to take, but I had best show measurable progress or he may find me something less enjoyable to do.”

  “I cannot imagine there are too many less enjoyable tasks than organizing a bunch of dusty books, scrolls, and trinkets,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  “I actually enjoy it. Not the organizing so much, although that is not so bad, but I also get to research the artifacts and scrolls. Most of it can be rather dull I will agree, but you can also find some useful knowledge in some of those books and scrolls.”

  “I guess I would think differently if I were a powerful wizard. Let me know if you find anything that rakes the leaves or waters the plants.”

  “I’m a sorcerer, not a wizard, and I am not that powerful,” Azerick corrected her.

  “I’m afraid I do not know the difference. Enlighten me, oh-not-so powerful sorcerer,” she begged teasingly.

  “An invisible energy exists that wizards and sorcerers tap into and shape to create their spells. They call it the Source. It is the source of all arcane magic. If you could see it, it would look like a river of liquid silver,” he explained.

  “If it is invisible, how do you know what it would look like if you could see it?”

  “I saw it once when I first tapped the Source as a sorcerer. It was kind of an accident. Another student at the school I was at said some things that got me really angry. I accidentally connected to the Source, drew too much power, and I passed out. I was told that I was very lucky that I did not kill myself and everyone around me.”

  He paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “A wizard must use material components to make a connection to the source then shape it with gestures and words of magic. Those reagents contain a tiny amount of the Source, like everything in existence, and are sort of like a key to gain access to the Source. A sorcerer is said to have a natural connection with the source. We can touch it and harness its power without needing reagents to create a bridge to it. We also shape our spells differently. Once a wizard figures out what component he can use to strengthen his connection with the source and shape it into a spell, he can write it down for other wizards to copy and learn. But their spell is very specific and th
e shape of the weave must be precise or it will unravel. That is why you always find wizards with their noses in their spell books. They have to get the spell exactly right and cast it the exact same way each time. Sorcerers must create their spells on their own through their own study. How we shape our spells is unique to each of us. We do not have to write down and make sure we cast it the exact same way because we can make it work for us even if it is a little different each time. Since we cannot look at someone else’s spell and learn it like wizards can, it takes longer to create new spells, but we can harness more power more efficiently since we have a natural connection to the Source while wizards have to create an artificial connection with their reagents.”

  “What did the other student say to you to make you so angry? Did it have something to do with the pain you try to hide behind your eyes?” she asked him and grasped his hand in hers.

  Azerick looked away. “What you mean?”

  “I see it sometimes, when you think no one is looking. I feel it when you suddenly tense up for no reason, like you are trying so hard to hold something back.”

  Azerick took another deep breath and debated whether to tell her everything. Would she think he was a monster? A murderer? He warred with these thoughts for only a moment before deciding that he would keep nothing from her. She had a right to know everything about him. He told her what Travis had said about his mother and what had happened to her. He told her about his father and his revenge on the thieves’ guild and the man that killed his mother.

  She had tears in her eyes as she got up from the table. For a brief moment, he was terrified that she was going to run out the door, but she came around the table and held him tightly.