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

by Brock Deskins

  “I wish I could do more for you, but that’s the best I can do for now,” Azerick told him.

  “I thank you for your help. It feels better already.”

  “Just try to avoid any fighting for a few weeks,” Azerick advised humorously.

  “Only if fighting avoids us,” Toron rumbled without a hint of mirth.

  Azerick walked next to Zeb as they negotiated their way through the underground labyrinth of tunnels. His people were exhausted, scared, and their rations were almost gone. And everyone was looking to him for all the answers.

  “I had to use the last of my water making a poultice for Toron. How is everyone else doing?” he asked the captain.

  “Not good. Even drinking sparingly, this will be the last day any of us will have so much as a drop,” Zeb reported worriedly.

  “As we near the surface we should find water as it seeps through the ground above and feeds the natural aquifers below. Every stalagmite and stalactite you see was formed by dripping water and minerals,” Toron’s deep voice came from behind them.

  Azerick added, “All we can do is keep going and hope that we find an underground spring or pool.”

  At the next short rest break Azerick, Zeb, and Balor collected every skin and jug that held any amount of water, consolidated it before passing it around, and gave an equal amount to each person. When the last person drank their mouthful, the last of the water was completely depleted. Unless they found water soon, their exodus may well come to an ignoble end.

  The small company marched until the weakest among them became too exhausted to continue before stopping for another long rest. Everyone’s throat was parched and people were becoming irritable and despondent, but their common cause helped keep them together. Another obstacle presented itself about three hours into the day’s march as the tunnel they were following suddenly came to an abrupt end.

  “Damn all the dark luck to the abyss!” Zeb cursed in frustration. “The last time the tunnel branched was where we started this morning!”

  A young man by the name of Derran stepped towards the wall, craning his neck up to try and glimpse the top of the cavern that was hidden in darkness. At a lad of only sixteen, Derran was the youngest sailor and former slave among them. He was known for his keen eyesight and was often put on watch duty in the crow’s nest when they were at sea.

  “I think the tunnel might continue up there. It looks a little darker towards the top than the surrounding rock,” he said, sharing his observation. “This wall don’t look too hard to climb. I’ll scramble up there and take a closer look.”

  Derran found some suitable handgrips and hiked one leg up, pushing off with it as soon as he found a secure foothold. He brought his other leg up and began to scale the rough rock face. The young sailor suddenly let out a yelp of surprise and appeared to levitate up the wall.

  Without hesitating to think, Azerick ran forward, leapt as high as he could, and grabbed hold of the belt strapped around Derran’s waist and pulled himself up, climbing the lad’s back like it was cargo netting. Whatever had hold of Derran was reeling both young men up the side of the wall like an angler landing a fish.

  “When we get to the top, grab the ledge as tightly as you can,” Azerick spoke into his ear as he climbed higher up Derran’s back.

  The two humans were nearly twenty feet above the cave floor when they reached the edge of the tunnel that continued above the gathered humans at the base of the wall. Azerick’s head appeared over the ledge first and stared into the black bulbous eyes of some strange chitin-covered creature.

  A long, black, ropey tongue-like appendage extended between two large mandibles had attached itself to Derran and was reeling them in. Not wanting to wait until they came within reach of the pair of massive claws the creature wielded, Azerick let loose a powerful blast of lightning right at the creature’s open mouth. Both humans dropped as the creature released its hold on its prey with a loud screech of pain. Fortunately, the young sailor had the presence of mind to grasp the ledge before they both fell painfully to the floor below.

  “Do you have a good grip?” Azerick asked the struggling young man under him.

  “Not good enough if you don’t get off my back in the next few seconds,” he grunted.

  Azerick grabbed at the rough floor of the cave and pushed off Derran’s shoulders until he was able to get his center of gravity over the ledge and safely onto the cave floor. He spun around on his stomach, grabbed Derran’s wrists, and helped pull him up over the ledge. The two young men sat on the ledge a moment to catch their breath.

  “Hey, you two all right up there?” Zeb called up from below.

  Azerick poked his head over the edge and answered. “Yeah, we’re fine. Derran was right. The passage continues up here.”

  “Well if you’re done foolin’ around with the local wildlife, maybe you can help get the rest of us up.”

  Azerick could see Zeb’s teeth shining in the light he carried and knew the old coot was teasing him. He would get everyone else up in a moment, but first he wanted to make sure there were no more surprises waiting for them up here. Derran drew one of the gnome picks from his belt as Azerick stepped towards the creature that now lay dead on its back.

  “Oh man that thing stinks,” Derran complained, drawing his arm over his nose.

  He looked it over as Azerick conjured up another light to get a better look at what lay behind it. The tunnel continued for as far as the sorcerer’s light could illuminate. Azerick turned around and walked back towards the edge with the intention of bringing everyone else up. He saw Derran digging his fingers into a large crack that his lightning bolt had rent in the creature’s hard carapace. Before Azerick could say anything, the lad drew out a large piece of white flesh that the intense heat of the lightning bolt cooked, and stuffed it into his mouth.

  “Hey, it tastes kind of like crab! Needs butter though,” he remarked.

  “Great, if you don’t die from poisoning we can eat some fresh meat tonight.”

  “You think it’s poisonous,” Derran asked as he stopped chewing, his words muffled by the meat stuffed in his cheeks.

  Azerick grinned at him. “Probably not, but I think the rest of us will wait a bit before joining you for dinner.”

  Derran shrugged his shoulders and began chewing again, figuring if the meat was poisonous it was too late to spit it out now. At least he would die with a full stomach. Azerick stepped near the edge of the cave and cast his magical doorway to get the rest of the group up to the top.

  Further exploration revealed a small pool of water about a hundred feet further back down the tunnel. It was more of a puddle than a pool. Dripping water had formed a bowl in the floor of the cave about three feet across and three inches deep. By the time everyone drank their fill and refilled everything that could hold water, there was less than half an inch of the cool water left. The water had a strong taste of minerals, but it was cool and refreshing and no one was about to complain. Derran did not yet feel any ill effects from eating the cave creature, so Azerick used his magic to cook the meat that the sailors and women cut from the carcass.

  Although they had only been marching a few hours today, they all decided that this would be a good place to rest and recuperate from their long ordeal before continuing their journey. Since there was no night or day in this subterranean abyss, the group did not need to wait for the sun to rise before marching on. After several hours of rest, they were ready to resume their quest to the surface.

  Mile after mile the group trudged through the cold, dank cavern, wondering if they would ever find their way out. All Azerick could do was encourage them to push on and try to ignore the fearful mutterings of those who were rapidly losing all hope.

  Near the end of the next day, excited whispering began to circulate among the refugees as a faint draft became evident within the tunnel. The whispers broke into wild cheering when one of the lead men shouted back that there was light up ahead. Azerick, Zeb, Toron, and the rest o
f the weary, runaway slaves raced towards the orange glow and fresh air that streamed into the tunnel from a large cleft partway up the side of a large mountain range.

  It was apparent that the sun was just setting and that they would spend one last night sheltered in the confines of the cave, but with jubilation not felt since they had escaped their captors. Azerick sat with his back to the fire that burned brightly, made from wood foraged from the forest below, and stared out at the clear, star-filled night.

  “You did it, lad,” Zeb said quietly as he took a seat next to the young sorcerer. “You gave these people hope and you gave them their freedom.”

  “Maybe there is something else waiting for me other than a life of anger and vengeance. What are you going to do now, Zeb?”

  “Find a port and a ship I guess. That’s all I really know. I imagine some of the other lads will follow me. Some may be done with sailing; not as I could blame them.”

  “I guess we will see soon enough,” Azerick said.

  “Yep.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Everyone woke early to watch what they all considered to be the most glorious sunrise of their lives. Men, women, and minotaur stared at the glowing horizon and watched in hushed anticipation as the ultimate symbol of freedom crested over the distant hills. Some wept, some hugged those next to them, and all felt their spirits brighten as the soft golden rays of the great fiery orb burned away the darkness. And not just the darkness from the land, but the bleakness from their souls.

  Azerick turned to look at his captain. “I would appreciate any advice you could offer on just what we do from here.”

  Zeb gave him a half smile and a soft grunt. “I’m not much of a land lubber, but I know everything ends up in the ocean eventually. I say we find the nearest river or stream and follow the flow. We’ll either find a settlement of some kind or the sea. I’ve been up and down Valaria’s coast a thousand times since I was a cabin boy, and I reckon I’d be able to tell ya pretty much where we are from the look of the coastline. Assuming we’re in Valaria that is.”

  Azerick nodded in agreement. “I have a good knowledge of geography, but without a reference point it’s useless. I imagine we will find a town along the river unless we are close to the sea. I guess our first step is to find us a waterway, follow it down, and see where it leads us.”

  “That’s the way I figure it,” Zeb nodded in agreement.

  Shortly after the sun cleared the top of the distant hills, the group headed west in hopes of finding civilization. Game was scarce and skittish, but they managed to bring down enough rabbits and squirrels to keep the group fed. A few wild roots and spices also made for a palatable stew. On the third day, two of the sailors brought down a small doe drinking at the edge of a river.

  The river was narrow, but fast and deep. They followed it downstream for the first three days and it never expanded to more than a hundred yards wide. Frothing whitewater rapids and waterfalls were common. Most of the falls were only a few feet in height, but one cascaded over a cliff and crashed into a deep pool a hundred feet below. The roar of thousands of gallons of water continuously striking the pool sounded like the charging of a thousand warhorses, or the continuous peal of thunder.

  The majestic cascade began its plunge at the top of a rocky cliff. The group was forced to follow a steep ridgeline for nearly half a day before the slope gentled enough for them to easily make their way back down to the river. After two more exhausting days of travel, they found the landscape slowly transforming from rough mountains to rolling hills.

  The hills eventually flattened out until the river opened up into a large valley. As the land smoothed out, the river grew wider and wider until a fired crossbow bolt would fall well short of reaching the distant bank.

  Almost immediately upon entering the valley, tilled fields and small farmhouses began dotting the countryside. Azerick let Zeb talk to the farmers, as he did not consider himself a very sociable person. The farmers stared warily at Toron, gripping flails, hoes, or pitchforks in a white-knuckled grip, but they were polite enough.

  The farmers told Zeb that they had a small town of maybe two thousand souls counting all the folks from the outlying farms and woodsmen called Riverdale. Riverdale was perhaps another three days on foot, but there were several farms that might allow them to take shelter in their barns and purchase food if they had something to trade for it.

  Most of the farmers treated them much like the first ones had. They were initially cautious of such a large number of strangers, especially the intimidating minotaur, but they were polite and allowed them all to rest in their barns to get out of the elements. After weeks of sleeping on the hard ground of the mountains and even harder stone of the caverns, the soft hay in the barn’s loft felt like a bed fit for royalty.

  Many of the gnomes had carried small lumps of raw gold and uncut gems that the humans were able to trade for milk, cheese, bread, and cooked oats. Such common fair tasted like a banquet after eating nothing but game meat and wild roots.

  Only one farmer gave them any trouble. A surly old codger that tilled a small patch of ground by himself was ready to fight the entire group of humans single-handedly if they did not clear out immediately. Even Toron was unable to impress the truculent farmer.

  They group slept outside that night, but they still had the food they had purchased along the way to keep them fed. The party spied a quaint community in the distance just past noon the next day.

  A wooden wall and palisade jutted up at least ten feet from ten-foot-high earthworks encircling the town. Wide wooden gates were propped open to admit those entering or leaving the town.

  Two men, town militia from the looks of them, stood a relaxed guard at the gates. One man leaned on a spear just in front of the gates while the other stood watch from the catwalk that was attached near the top of the inside of the wall.

  Azerick noted that the man on the ground had a crossbow slung over his back while the guard on the catwalk kept his resting between the pointed tips of the wall. The men did not seem overly surprised at their appearance. Azerick knew that they had probably been watching them approach the town for the last hour.

  As they drew nearer, he also noticed that over a score of armed men gathered just inside the gates. These were probably a group of militiamen hastily assembled in case the strangers proved to be troublesome.

  When Azerick and his band of refugees approached within about fifty feet of the gates, the guardsman on the ground called out to them.

  “Stop right there if you please,” he called out politely but intently.

  Zeb and his party complied with the man’s request. “Hail, guardsman. My name’s Zeb, ship’s captain and trader. My friends and I would like entrance to your fair town.”

  “Unless you brought a river barge upstream, you’re a long way from any boats, Captain. What is it you want in Riverdale?” the guard asked.

  “We are poor travelers trying to get home. We would like some lodging and to trade for some food and traveling supplies. I assure you that none of us wish your town or people any harm, we will abide by your laws, and cause no trouble while we’re here,” Zeb assured the guard.

  “Mayor Remkin has been told of your approach and will be here shortly. He’s the one to decide whether you come in or go around and be on your way. Normally we don’t bother travelers, but you’re a big bunch and more than bit haggard-looking, no offense. Plus, we don’t get many of your big friend’s type around here. Never in fact,” the guardsman informed them, a bit abashed for the lack of hospitality he was able to offer. The guard looked back towards the town beyond the open gates. “Here comes the mayor now. He’ll get it all straightened out.”

  A short, overweight man with a jovial face and wearing a well-made suit, that was at least ten years out of fashion, waddled quickly through the press of militia and gawking citizens to present himself to the travelers waiting outside his beloved town.

  Zeb stood slightly forward of the group so the ma
yor addressed him as the spokesman for them all.

  “Good day, travelers! I am Mayor Remkin. Please allow me to welcome you to our fair town,” the mayor crowed jubilantly.

  “Oh, so we are welcome after all. I was getting worried that we were not wanted here,” Zeb said sourly.

  The mayor’s plump face reddened at Zeb’s bitter comment and replied in a conciliatory voice. “Please forgive us of our cautious greeting. We are far from any major city and must rely on our own for most of our defense. It is rare to have so many travelers approach our gates at once, particularly with such a formidable looking, er, gentleman in their midst,” Mayor Remkin explained, looking up and down at Toron. “What brings you all to Riverdale if I may inquire?”

  Zeb gave a shortened version of their capture, escape, and travails through the caverns. “We only wish to rest, get some good warm food, and purchase or trade for some traveling supplies.”

  Mayor Remkin had remained silent throughout Zeb’s tale of woe and the guard nearly fell over as he leaned closer on his spear trying to eavesdrop. The mayor’s face went from flushed to pale then flush again as he listened to the party’s travails.

  “By the good gods above what an incredible ordeal you all went through! On behalf of the people of Riverdale, I bid you welcome. Follow me to our inn and I guarantee that you will drink and dine on my town’s hospitality. Perhaps if you are willing, you can regale the evening crowd with your story. We get so few tales of adventure or news of the kingdom out here, and we are all eager to hear of happenings outside our valley.”

  “I suppose that would be more than fair compensation for your generosity,” Zeb replied, brightening at the prospect of some proper food.

  “Follow me then and I’ll see that you poor folks are taken care of properly,” the mayor invited, turned, and preceded them down the packed dirt avenue.