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

by Brock Deskins

  Zeb led the group through the throng of citizens who stood around talking in hushed tones about the strangers, especially the big minotaur. Azerick noticed that the gate guard ran and began spreading their tale as soon as they passed. It took only a few minutes to reach the inn that was located near the center of town.

  At three stories, it was the tallest building around with the exception of two large grain silos. The first two stories were rough stone, mortared in place. The third story was made of wood and had likely been built some time after the original two floors. The rest of the town was built primarily of wood logged from the abundance of trees that grew in the nearby hills and mountains. Most buildings were single-storied, but a few rose as high as two. All of the buildings were well maintained and none were seemingly allowed to weather or lose too much of the stain used to decorate them.

  The owner kept up the inside of the inn even better than the immaculate outside. Wagon wheels suspended from the rafters supported six oil lamps, each providing warm light to the interior of the common room. Two dozen tables, each surrounded by four chairs, and four long tables with benches provided seating for a large number of patrons.

  A long, well-polished bar ran nearly the entire length of the back of the inn. Through a swinging door wafted the scents of the entrees being prepared in preparation for the evening’s meals. A wide staircase with an ornately carved banister rose up to the second floor where several doors were visible behind an open balcony protected by a rail carved in the same fashion of the banister stretched out over the bar to look down on the common room below.

  The man standing behind the bar bore a striking resemblance to the mayor, albeit considerably thinner, which still put him just over the line of heavy. He looked up as they all strode in and Mayor Remkin hailed him.

  “Belkin, these are visitors to the town and my personal guests. Let’s get them washed up, fed, and bunked down for a couple nights until I can figure out what else we can do for them.”

  The innkeeper did a double take as he watched Toron duck his head to keep his horns from striking the wagon wheel chandelier then gave the mayor his attention.

  “I can put the ladies in one room and divide the gentlemen up between three others. It’ll be a bit cramped, but I can get some extra mattresses stuffed with straw and laid out for them,” the innkeeper told the mayor. Belkin called back to the kitchen where a plump woman with graying black hair promptly burst through the swinging door. “Sarah, we’ll be putting these folks up for a couple days. Rustle up some help and get washtubs taken up to rooms two, five, six, and eight. We’ll also need mattresses stuffed and brought up for each of them.”

  Sarah made a quick count and disappeared back into the kitchen where they could hear her issuing orders to more of the staff.

  “You folks look like you could use a drink. Food will be ready in about two hours if you can hold off a bit longer and make yourselves comfortable,” Belkin told them as he began pouring mugs of ale for the men and watered wine for the women.

  The innkeeper set the cups on the bar as soon as he poured them and promptly passed around with many words of thanks. When the last glass was poured and served, he waved the mayor over to him as his guests took up seats around several of the tables.

  As Azerick, Zeb, and the rest of their motley band sat sipping what to them was the finest drinks they had ever tasted, several men, women, and boys carted washtubs, buckets of water, and mattresses up the stairs. At the end of the long bar, the mayor and the innkeeper were having a hushed discussion.

  “Now, brother, maybe you can tell me what is going on. Who are these people and where did they come from, and what in the world is that massive bloke with the horns on his head?” Belkin asked his brother the mayor.

  “They say most of them were sailors that were captured by some foul creatures and made slaves somewhere far off. They escaped, though they didn’t really say how, crawled days through tunnels under the Witch Crag Mountains from the sound of it, and found their way here,” Mayor Remkin told his younger brother. “I figured to put them up for a time. Their stories alone will have your inn packed for several nights and more than make up for the cost of housing them.”

  “Not to cast aspersions on your good nature, but I find it hard to believe that even you would go through this much trouble to accommodate a gang of bedraggled strangers. What is it you are looking to get out of this?” Belkin asked, narrowing his eyes at his rotund brother.

  “I have not asked nor demanded anything in return, but I hope that I might convince them to stay on awhile and help us out. You know as well as I do that we need as many hands as we can get.”

  “I’m glad to hear you have some ulterior motive. For a moment there, I thought you had gone completely angelic. What about you know who?” Belkin asked seriously, all humor fading from his countenance.

  The smile dropped from the mayor’s face at the reference to the name not mentioned. “I imagine they’ll all be gone by the time he shows up. If for some reason they aren’t, I seriously doubt they will cause any trouble. Who would dare?”

  Remkin shook his head. “I don’t know, that big hairy fellow with the horns looks like one not to be pushed about, and have you spoken to the young man with the eyes that seem to look right through you?” he asked indicating Azerick.

  “No, he hasn’t said much of anything since I met them at the gate. He’s just a young sailor. What harm could he cause?”

  “Belkin, I’ve run inns for a long time, and I’ve met a lot of folks. I may not be as worldly and knowledgeable as some big city gossipmonger, but I can read people with the best of them. Mark my words, that lad is no mere sailor. They ever tell you how they all managed to escape from where they were held or what happened to the ones that held them?” the innkeeper asked his brother.

  “No, they never really gave me any details.”

  “I’ll bet my inn that lad played a big part in it, and whoever held them is no longer in any condition to ever try it again,” Remkin replied ominously.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Look how he carries himself. You see how everyone is enjoying themselves, talking, and laughing? Everyone but him. He keeps looking around the room, making sure no one surprises them like he alone is responsible for their safety,” Belkin stated his observations.

  “Maybe he is just paranoid. If half of what they say is true that would be enough to make any man wary,” Remkin replied.

  The mayor’s brother shook his head. “Nope, that’s the look of a predator, not prey. Anyone who runs an inn learns how to spot trouble quick if they want to stay in business for long. All the others in that band keeps looking at him, not the captain and not that big fellow. Push comes to shove, he’ll push back; mark my words.”

  Zeb, Azerick, Balor, and Toron sat at a table enjoying every sip of the finest ale they ever remembered tasting. Zeb and Balor both spoke freely, trying several times to get Azerick to join in on the conversation. Toron was his usual quiet self, offering little more than a grunt or a shrug of his big hairy shoulders in answer to any question posed to him. Azerick was too busy staring over his cup, watching the conversation of the innkeeper and the mayor, to follow his friends’ conversation.

  “I have to tell you, lad,” Zeb turned to Azerick, trying to involve him in their conversation once more, “I’ve set anchor in many ports and been to many places, but this is by far one of the friendliest. What do you think?”

  “They are gracious to be sure, but why? Why are they putting themselves out like this for a bunch of tattered strangers that look like they were pulled straight out of a gutter?” Azerick asked almost rhetorically.

  “They are small town folk, eager to hear of adventures and news beyond their secluded valley. It’s not so much to give a bit of food and a roof over our heads in exchange for some tales.”

  “I suppose not. Do me a favor though. Do not say anything about me other than I am an herbalist, and spread the word to the others,�
� Azerick insisted.

  “Sure, lad, I can do that. Do you really think there is something wrong here? Are we in trouble?” Zeb asked warily.

  “Something is not right, but I can’t say what. Just something I feel. It may not even be from them, but be careful. Guard yourselves and your tongues around them.”

  “Sure, lad, I’ll go tell the boys,” Zeb offered, picked up his tankard and made rounds to all the tables occupied by his men.

  Mayor Remkin finished his chat with his brother and waddled over to Azerick’s table. He glanced in Toron’s direction and saw that the minotaur was paying him no attention and sat down.

  “I hope you men are comfortable. Is there anything else I can do for you?” Remkin asked kindly.

  “No, mister mayor, you have been most generous to us all,” Balor replied, giving him a salute with his mug.

  The mayor turned to Azerick. “What about you, young sir? You do not look to be enjoying yourself as much as the others are. Is there something I can do for you to make your stay more enjoyable?”

  “Forgive me, Mayor Remkin, I am just lost in thought I guess. You have shown us every kindness; far more than anyone could ask,” Azerick responded flatly.

  “That is good to hear, good indeed. Tell me, I’m sorry I did not seem to catch your name.”

  “Azerick,” he replied shortly.

  “Tell me, Azerick, you do not appear to be a sailor like the others. You strike me more as an educated and contemplative sort. What is it you do if I may be so nosy?” the mayor prodded.

  “I’m an herbalist.”

  “Excellent! I should introduce you to Margaret Thistledown. She is our town healer. She’s getting on in age and is teaching her herb lore to Anna Tanner. You three should have a lot to talk about,” Mayor Remkin insisted.

  “Perhaps, if we are here long enough,” Azerick said evasively.

  The mayor clapped his hands together one time and stood up. “Well, I believe my brother Belkin has your rooms ready. Several wash tubs have been filled and there is a large communal bath with warm water through that door,” he told them, indicating a door near the kitchen entrance. “I will leave you all to get settled and relax before dinner is served.”

  The three former slaves looked at each other as the plump mayor walked out of the inn. Balor was the first to break the silence as Zeb sat back down with them.

  “He seems sincere. Do you still think there is danger here?” Balor asked Azerick.

  “I don’t know. I wish I did, but I just do not know,” Azerick replied shaking his head.

  “He is hiding something, keeping something from us, but I do not think he means us harm,” Toron said, adding his deep voice to the conversation for the first time.

  “What do you think he is hiding? We have nothing to steal or swindle,” Zeb said honestly.

  “So what should we do?” Balor asked.

  Azerick stood up from the table. “I for one am going to take a warm bath and eat every bit of food they will give me.”

  “And drink all the ale!” Toron joined in enthusiastically.

  The three men, the minotaur, and Cook took advantage of the large communal bath while the rest of the men and women were shown to their rooms and cleaned up in the provided wash tubs. The communal bath was far nicer than any of them had expected. It was simply tiled, but it was six feet on each side and three feet deep. Wisps of steam rose above the water, promising a deeply relaxing soak.

  “Now this is what I needed,” Azerick sighed, feeling relaxed for the first time in as long as he could remember.

  The water rose to just under his chin as he sat on a small stone step that ran along the entire bottom of the bath. The heat soaked deep into his muscles, unraveling knots that had been tense for so long that he thought that the pain was a normal part of his existence.

  “It is grand,” Zeb agreed. “However, I’m afraid I’m going to end up with more hair on me than Toron by the time we’re done,” he remarked as he pinched a wad of coarse, reddish-brown fur between his fingers and flung it out onto the floor.

  “You should be so lucky,” rumbled Toron, not even bothering to open his eyes.

  “I feel like a clam being boiled for supper. Mm steamed clams,” Cook mumbled almost asleep.

  Nearly an hour later, their skin as wrinkled as prunes, the men finally pried themselves away from the luxurious bath. Azerick noticed that the water never cooled, and that the bottom seemed to radiate heat.

  “They must have pipes running just under the bottom tiles with heat fed by a furnace or the kitchen stoves. It is a clever idea whoever thought of it,” Azerick remarked.

  They started to put their old filthy clothes back on when the door opened. The innkeeper stepped in carrying a stuffed burlap sack.

  “The mayor organized a collection and folks from the town donated a bunch of clothes. It’s nothing you would want to wear to a ball, but it’s clean and in decent shape. I would offer to get your own things washed, but I think they would all unravel if we tried,” Belkin said eying the rags in their hands.

  Zeb took the bag from the innkeeper and thanked him for his and the townsfolk’s continued generosity. Belkin nodded in appreciation and left them to get dressed. Zeb dumped the bag out and picked through the various articles of clothes, sizing everyone up as best he could. There was plenty to choose from, so it was not hard to find something for everyone. They even found a large pair of overalls and a heavy sleeveless shirt that almost fit Toron.

  When they finally walked out of the bath chamber, they found most of their band seated at the tables drinking wine, beer, and ale. In front of them were plates laden with slabs of beef, cooked vegetables, and fried potatoes. Loaves of bread so fresh that it was still warm lay in baskets on the tables. Many of the men broke out in cheers and applause as Zeb and Azerick stepped into the common room.

  They took a seat at an empty table and were promptly served. Everyone’s mouth began watering even before the plates were set down. The food was as delicious as it was plentiful. It was slow going, but Azerick managed to finish his plate, even going so far as to wipe it clean with a chunk of bread. When he looked over at Toron, he was surprised to see that the minotaur was only half finished with his own meal. That was until he noticed the two empty plates beneath the one from which he was eating.

  Azerick and Zeb were both leaning back in their chairs to take some of the pressure off their stomachs and sipping at ale when the mayor entered the common room. He gazed about the tables until his eyes settled on Zeb and Azerick. He gave them a friendly wave, which only Zeb returned, and strode over to their table.

  “Gentlemen, I trust you and your people are feeling better after a good bath and a fine meal?” he asked cordially.

  “And clean clothes,” Zeb added with a smile. “We owe you and your townspeople a great deal for their generosity and kindness.”

  Azerick shot the captain a hard look of caution. “It would not be called generosity if one expected something in return; only payment.”

  “Please, think nothing of it, we are all glad to help,” Remkin replied, waving off Zeb’s feeling of indebtedness. “However, if you would like to return a kindness for kindness I do have a small request. I have kept the locals away from here, at great difficulty I might add, so that you and your friends could refresh yourselves and eat in peace, but soon Belkin will have to open his doors to his regular customers and likely a great deal of infrequent ones. Everyone in town is going to want to meet you all, buy you drinks, and hear of your arduous journey. If you would be kind enough to indulge a bit of their curiosity then please consider any debt you feel you may be beholden to paid in kind.”

  “I’m sure my people would be glad to entertain yours with tales of their adventures and travels. It’s the least we could do I think,” Zeb responded and clasped the mayor’s soft, meaty hand in his own, once again missing Azerick’s glare.

  “I have passed the word about that we mustn’t pry too hard. If any of your
folk feel like anyone is overly nosy, please do not be afraid to politely tell them so,” the mayor insisted.

  “I’m sure we’ll be just fine, Mayor,” Zeb assured him.

  With a polite nod, Mayor Remkin excused himself and left. Within minutes, local townsfolk started filtering into the inn, ordering drinks and food. They slowly began striking up conversations and buying drinks for the newcomers, hoping to elicit a few stories from them. It was not hard to do. Most of the former sailors enjoyed spinning yarns and chatting with new faces.

  Three young women from the town surrounded young Derran. He regaled them with his daring exploit with the cave creature that roped him in and nearly made a meal of him. Except in his version it was Azerick that had been caught and he who had jumped onto his back, and plunged his pick through the creature’s brain. The girls let out a squeak of shock then broke into fits of laughter when Derran told them of how he had reached into the creature’s cracked shell, plucked out a chunk of meat, and popped it into his mouth. Azerick did not mind the young man’s spin on the event since it left his sorcery unmentioned.

  After several rounds of drinks, people even gathered the courage to talk to the taciturn Toron. A loud angry bellow and the sound of toppling chairs suddenly broke the congenial atmosphere and ended every conversation.

  Azerick looked towards the commotion and saw that Toron had a local pressed against the wall with one huge hand wrapped around his throat and was holding the man over a foot above the floor so that the angry minotaur could look him in the eyes. Azerick sprinted across the room and laid a hand on Toron’s muscular arm.

  “Toron, let him go! What’s the matter?”

  “This fool asked if my eating the beef tonight was something akin to cannibalism!” Toron growled. “Do I look like some grass-eating, cud-chewing, simple-minded bovine!” the minotaur roared.

  The terrified man tried to shake his head but it was held fast by Toron’s powerful grip. The man’s face was turning purple and Azerick knew he had to diffuse the situation quickly.