The Sorcerer's Legacy (The Sorcerer's Path)

by Brock Deskins

  The Sorcerer’s Legacy

  Book three of the Sorcerer’s Path

  By

  Brock E. Deskins

  Published by Brock E. Deskins

  Ver. 2

  ISBN: 978-1-4661-3466-9

  Cover Illustration Copyright © 2012

  Copyright ©2011 Brock E. Deskins

  Copyright, Legal Notice and Disclaimer:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people beyond the conditions of your purchase. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  Epilogue

  Deleted Scenes

  From the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Azerick grasped the bars set in the wooden door of the cell, screaming and wrenching on them with all his strength as the man advanced upon his father, knife in hand.

  The door gave way and Azerick rushed in to find the room in the grips of an inferno. Flames licked at nearly every surface of the wooden structure. Screams of terror caught his attention and turned to find Jon and the others huddled in the far corner of the room.

  Azerick called for them to flee, but when he turned back around, the door was shut tight and refused to open. He threw his shoulder into the barrier over and over as the flames consumed everything in the room.

  The door finally surrendered to his abuse and he crashed through it and into another room where the drunken sailor was about to plunge a knife into his mother. He threw himself at the man, but instead of barreling into him, Azerick flew up into the air, leaving the city far below.

  Azerick flew so high that the city was lost in the darkness of the night. A bright white brilliance suddenly put everything into stark contrast and nearly blinded him. An enormous blast leveled everything for miles around. Azerick felt the force of the explosion strike him like a wave of water, but instead of the expected thunderous boom, he heard the death cries of thousands of souls. Azerick awoke to those cries mixed with the faint sound of a woman’s laughter.

  Had anyone ever experienced so much, suffered so much, and lost so much in so few years? In the last few years of his nineteen—or was it twenty now—years of life he had lost his home, family, more friends than he cared to remember, and his wife and unborn child. He was possibly wanted for murdering the son of a powerful nobleman. Was it murder? Did it even matter whether or not it was? Certainly not to Travis and probably not to his father, Lord Beaumonte.

  The young sorcerer had been enslaved and turned into a pet to fight for the pleasure of a powerful and sinister creature imagined only in the worst of nightmares. He managed to escape the psyling’s control but at the cost of his wife and child.

  He had also found stalwart friends in the men he sailed with and who he helped lead to freedom. He found friends in the dwarves who took him in and exchanged knowledge. Now he had a home, but not only was it a decrepit ruin, it was haunted by a spirit mourning for the loss of her family.

  All these thoughts led to Azerick’s uneasy sleep that night. The faces of friends and family, both living and dead, haunted his dreams. It made him question what he really wanted in his life. Until recently, that answer had been easy—revenge. But his stay with Duncan, and even the year he spent teaching herb lore to Anna, had shown him that a life of peace and learning could be had, even rewarding. Perhaps he should let go of the past; it only seemed to bring more pain and destruction.

  Azerick climbed out of his bed, sore and stiff. His back ached as he removed his shirt and looked at himself in the mirror. The shirt showed no signs of damage even though four long, dark stripes decorated his back where the spectral claws had raked him. His lungs burned whenever he took a deep breath as if they had been frost burnt. Azerick now knew the extent of what he faced. Now came the tricky part of figuring out what to do about it.

  He could simply fight the undead creature, but his mind immediately thought of Delinda and their child she had been carrying. He knew the loss that held the spectre here in the world of the living and could not help but sympathize with her. He spent a good amount of the day pouring over his books in search of information that may help him solve this dilemma without having to destroy the distraught mother. Azerick found a few references to ghosts and haunting spirits but the information they contained provided little insight to a solution.

  He finally gave in to his stomach’s incessant demand for food and went down to the common room just in time for lunch. The inn was busy with its lunchtime customers that appeared to be comprised mostly of the more prosperous storeowners and businessmen. With his new clothes, Azerick did not look completely out of place and drew no more stares than would any stranger to a new town.

  The woman that came to his table and took his order was older but still managed to maintain enough of her good looks that Azerick could see that she was once a true beauty in her prime.

  After a warm lunch of thick, savory stew and fresh baked bread, Azerick got directions to the only public library in the city. He made his way across the quarter and found the building easily enough. It was one of the grander structures even in this upper-class part of the city. Huge fluted columns lined the front and sculpted sphinxes stood guard at the foot of the wide stairs that led up to the polished bronze-plated doors.

  Azerick was enthralled from the moment he entered the grand building. Although he could espy some small private reading rooms through arched doorways, the vast majority of the three-story structure was dedicated to books. Thousands of books and tomes sat in row after row upon shelves that lined every inch of the colossal chamber. Polished wooden ladders set on casters allowed access to the higher shelves. A grand central stairway set in the center of the room spiraled up to each of the upper floors.

  “You look a bit overwhelmed, young man. Perhaps I can assist you if you are looking for something in particular,” a voice croaked to his right.

  Azerick turned and saw an old man in well-tailored robes, slightly hunched over, and staring at him through a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles.

  “This library is unbelievable. I thought the library at the Academy was extensive, but this is just incredible!”

  The old man laid a withered hand on Azerick’s elbow and chuckled softly. “It has that affect on everybody who appreciates books the first time they lay their eyes on my library.”

  “This is all yours?” Azerick asked incredulously then felt like a fool the instant the words left his mouth.

  “Oh no, not mine personally but I have been here since I was a boy even younger than you are now, young sir,” the old man chuckled once again. “I have been the master librarian for sixty-three years now, so I tend to refer to it in a possessive form. No, the library belongs to all who appreciate knowledge. Our Duchess’s great grandfather started it within the first few years of his reign and it has been growing ever since. Of course
, those of us with a bit of inside knowledge of certain original letters know that the true force behind its creation was his wife. You said you have seen the great library at The Academy did you?”

  “Yes, sir, I was a student there for a short time,” Azerick replied.

  “You seem strong enough for the Martial Academy but I detect a brilliant spark of intellect in your eyes that suggests you were a student of the Scholar, or perhaps even the Magus Academy,” the librarian deduced.

  This time it was Azerick’s turn to laugh politely with the old man. “You have a keen eye, Master Librarian. Were you not a scholar you likely would have made an excellent magistrate.”

  The old man laughed hard enough to draw a few stares but no one would dare rebuke the old librarian.

  “Oh I can just see me now, hunting down criminals in the streets of the rougher districts, wielding a sword in one hand and a book of law in another!” he cackled as he flourished his ebony cane like he was dueling a brigand. “Oh thank you, young man. I have not had a good laugh like that in some time. I fear I am becoming either senile or rude in my dotage. I am Morvic, Morvic the Master Librarian. Sounds impressive does it not—Master Librarian? My title and a few copper coins will get me a fresh baked roll on just about any street corner in the city,” Morvic chuckled once more.

  “I am Azerick, Master Librarian, and you are most certainly not rude and I sincerely doubt a speck of senility,” Azerick returned graciously.

  Azerick found himself immediately fond of the friendly old librarian.

  “So tell me, young Azerick, and please call me Morvic, is that old coot Allister still grumbling about the Academy’s proud halls?”

  “Yes Mas—er, Morvic. He is the one that pulled a few strings that allowed me to attend, but he is not, well I mean to say that…” Azerick stumbled over how to respond politely.

  “You mean he is not as old as the decrepit old fool with whom you are speaking?” Morvic cackled again and poked Azerick in the chest with a gnarly old finger. “That man was old when I met him seventy years ago when I was just an apprentice librarian so don’t let him go and fool you! Anyway, enough of my babbling. I’m sure you came here for more important things than listening to me carry on.”

  “Well, I was hoping to find some information on ghosts or restless spirits,” Azerick supplied.

  “You certainly came to the right place. We have a real restless spirit atop the hill outside of the city, but I do not recommend going there myself. She’s not much for tolerating trespassers. The few folks foolish enough not to listen came back in various levels of insanity, if they came back at all. You could ask Allister about her, he was probably there when she died!” the old man laughed again and slapped his knee.

  “Seriously though,” he continued, “don’t you be going up there yourself. Let me show you where you might find what you’re looking for.”

  Azerick followed Morvic across the library where he pushed one of the rolling ladders past several rows of shelves then stopped.

  “Up there on the third shelf from the top. You’ll have to climb up yourself; I don’t get on the ladders much these days.”

  Azerick scaled the ladder and read the titles printed on the bindings while Morvic gave him directions from down below.

  “That blue one there next to your right elbow. That’s it, and the one next to that. You might want to look at the one with the dark green binding as well,” Morvic pointed out.

  Azerick came down the ladder carefully cradling the three books that Morvic had directed him to. He thanked the old librarian and sat at one of the many tables set up in the center of the vast library chamber.

  The sun was setting when Azerick thought he finally found what he was looking for. The book, written by a cleric of Solarian, stated that many spirits, although not necessarily malevolent by nature, often haunt a place or person due to a traumatic experience that, until resolved, will not allow them to pass beyond the veil between the living and the afterlife.

  The Lady’s spirit refused to pass on because her children were murdered and are gone. The murderers are long dead so it is impossible to avenge them, Azerick thought to himself. She wails for her missing children but her children are long dead. There is no way to bring them back to her. Were her children’s remains buried somewhere else and she wants them buried properly on the keep grounds?

  Even if their remains were still about, it is doubtful anyone would know where they were interred, and given the fact that pyres were more often used to send on the dead than tombs or graves back then, there may not be any remains left.

  It was getting late, so Azerick returned the books to their rightful place and left so Morvic could lock up for the night. He bid farewell to the ancient librarian and promised that he would likely be making many return visits. He was just passing the darkly shadowed side of a building when a man called out to him.

  “Sir, a moment of your time, please,” the man beckoned for him to come nearer.

  Azerick saw that there were two men and a young child wearing a worn, homespun dress that she was rapidly outgrowing. The girl was standing next to a nondescript man in patched, shabby clothing. They were definitely not the type of people who lived in this part of the city. The other man was fat, bordering on obese, but his clothes were of the highest quality and he carried himself with an air of superiority—exactly the type that lived here. It was the poor man with the child that had called out to him.

  “Sir, a moment, please,” the man repeated as Azerick cautiously drew closer. “You could use a girl about to help you with the daily running of your home, couldn’t you?” the man practically begged as his eyes darted between Azerick and the fat man.

  “Are you trying to sell me this child?” Azerick asked incredulously.

  The fat man loudly complained and made to move between the man and the newcomer. “Here now, we were in the middle of a business transaction! You cannot just stop negotiations and bring in a third party to drive the price up!”

  The man tried to ignore the wealthy man’s protest, sidled sideways with a hand on the girl’s boney shoulder, and continued to make his pitch. “Milord, she can cook, clean, and she’s smart as a whip!”

  “Can she read?” Azerick asked, though what compelled him to do so, he could not say.

  The last thing he needed was a child. Although, he would have had a child of his own right now if he had been able to rescue Delinda. His heart ached at the renewed memory of his loss.

  “Yes, milord, her mother teaches all our children to read and she’s the best reader of the bunch!”

  “I don’t give a damn if she can read or even speak for that matter! We had a deal on the table and you will damn well honor it or I’ll have you whipped for a cheat and a scoundrel,” the fat man swore angrily and gestured hostilely with his decorative walking stick.

  Azerick saw the look of fear in the father’s eyes, and it was not because of the threat of a beating. In one look, Azerick could see precisely that the disgusting fat man was a cruel and sadistic sort. Rage boiled up within him as he drew from the Source and sent a blast of raw force that sent the grotesque man tumbling into a heap several paces away.

  Renewed fear showed clearly on the father’s face as he now faced a man who obviously practiced magic, and like most common people, he had a deep fear of the unknown powers of magicians.

  “How much did that,” Azerick pointed to the fat man blubbering on the ground, “offer you for the girl?”

  “Thirty pieces of gold, milord,” the man answered fearfully.

  “I’m afraid I have only twenty to offer. It would appear that he is able to outbid me,” Azerick told the man, wanting to gauge his reaction.

  “You would give her a good home and treat her well and fairly?” the father asked nervously, casting a look at the bloated form still cowering on the ground.

  Greed overcame the fat man’s fear as he once again protested. “Here now, I made the higher bid! You must sell to me by rights
!”

  Azerick took two long strides and glared down at the man, pointing a shaking finger, barely able to keep himself from rendering him into a pile of congealing offal. “You fat disgusting slug! If I ever hear of you trying to purchase another human being, I will take great pleasure in turning you into the pig you really are! A sow at that, then I will pen you up with an amorous boar so that he can give you precisely what you deserve for the rest of your days!”

  The fat man quailed under the sorcerer’s furious gaze. Azerick turned back to the man and the young girl. The sorcerer looked into the girl’s hazel green eyes, which nearly matched his own, as she looked up at him, fearfully but unflinchingly meeting his gaze.

  “Tell me, why you would sell her to me when that, man, offered you considerably more?” Azerick asked the father.

  “Milord, I want her to have a decent home. Her mother and I both love her dearly but this last winter was hard and the next one promises to be even worse. I ain’t been able to find work in nearly a year and if I don’t find a way to make some money soon my whole family will starve,” the man explained, practically weeping openly now. “Twenty gold crowns will be plenty to see that my family gets enough to eat for some time. I don’t believe in slavery, especially for my little girl, but my older boy can work and help provide for the family and my other boy is just a babe still suckling on his mum. Please, milord, say you’ll give her a good home and treat her fair.”

  Azerick studied the girl intently, studying and seeing her with more than just his eyes, reached into the pocket of his cloak, pulled out a small crystal sphere the size of a plum, and put it in the girl’s hand.

  “I want you to concentrate on the sphere, child. Imagine it giving off a glow like that of a candle or a small lamp. Inside your body, there is great energy that you can shape and direct into the orb just as there is energy in everything around you. Find it and shape it into light. You can do it, just concentrate.”