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

by Brock Deskins

  “Stand down, Captain, the magus is a friend of this court and is under no formal charges,” she admonished gently.

  “As for you,” the Duchess said, turning her attention towards Lord Effrin, “I will speak to you regarding your changing my instructions and issuing arrest warrants without my authority, later.”

  The Duchess turned back towards Azerick. “However, Magus, I do need to speak with you about a very serious incident that I cannot allow.”

  “What is that, Your Grace?” Azerick asked innocently.

  Duchess Mellina’s face became even sterner. “Do not bandy words with me, Magus. You know very well of what I am speaking. Just look at Lord Effrin.”

  Azerick turned his head and looked at the minister. The nobleman’s entire head had elongated, his eyes were nearly on the sides of his head, and his ears came to a point and stood nearly a foot tall. A black bristly tail hung uncomfortably out of the back of his blue velvet trousers.

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I do not see the problem. If you are talking about his wardrobe, I feel it is ridiculous, but I am afraid I lack the fashion sense to give an honest appraisal,” Azerick replied, feigning ignorance.

  “You turned my minister into an ass!” Mellina almost shouted. “He hid in his rooms all day yesterday wailing. It took us until this morning to coax him out and explain what had befallen him. Now what do you have to say for yourself, Magus?”

  “Your Grace, I cannot take responsibility for his being an ass. He was an ass long before I ever met him. I simply removed the illusion of his humanity,” Azerick stated seriously.

  Lady Miranda, who stood next to and just behind her mother, had to cover her smile with her hand.

  The Duchess was less amused. “Magus, I do not find this humorous in the least nor can I have you going about turning my nobles into quasi-farm animals. Why did you feel the need to inflict such a curse on a member of my court?”

  “He was beyond rude and presumed to give me orders like a servant. I am no man’s—or woman’s—servant and I thought making a visual example out of the lord was appropriate.”

  Captain Brague shouted his outrage. “You dare make veiled threats against the Duchess in her very own hall? I should have your head!”

  “You should be so lucky seeing as yours in such dire need of replacing,” Azerick returned without hesitation.

  “Enough, both of you!” the Duchess commanded. “From what I have heard and witnessed, I can imagine Lord Effrin’s behavior and I will discuss such things with him at length. Kindly return him to normal immediately, I can hardly converse with him as he is.”

  “I am sorry, Your Grace, but I cannot do that. However the spell will wear off on its own by morning,” Azerick assured the Duchess.

  “Very well, Magus Azerick. I hope that in the future you will inform me of any impropriety regarding my citizens and allow me to deal with them myself,” Duchess Mellina said adamantly.

  “I shall endeavor to do so—Your Grace,” Azerick said, deliberately pausing for emphasis.

  “Magus, allow me to escort you out,” Captain Brague offered.

  “Oh, I think I know my way, Captain.”

  “Oh, but I insist,” the captain persisted with false politeness and guided Azerick out of the hall with a gentle hand on his elbow.

  “Now you listen to me, wizard, there are proper forms of protocol that will be maintained. The Duchess may allow you a small measure of informality but I will not! You may have snowed over the Duchess and Lady Miranda with your exploits, but not me. I know exactly what kind of character you are, and know you that I am watching.”

  Azerick turned to Captain Brague as they reached the portico of the palace. “Thank you, Captain, for that informative lecture. I shall take it under advisement.”

  “You had better, wizard,” the captain warned as he turned away and tramped back down the hall.

  As soon as the captain turned his back, Azerick made a quick gesture and whispered a word of power. The next step Captain Brague took was accompanied by a loud squeal of metal on metal. The captain stopped and cocked his ear, not hearing any further noise, he resumed his pace but stopped as the screeching sound echoed through the marbled hall once more.

  Brague shrugged his shoulders, which produced the noise once again. Grabbing the bottom of his well-polished breastplate, he adjusted his armor and took another step, which elicited another irritating screech. Frustrated, he stomped down the passage with every step producing the obnoxious noise.

  Azerick smiled at his childish revenge, mounted Horse who was waiting for him in the hands of a groom just outside, and rode out of the palace gates and into the city. He decided that he would visit the docks since he was here, something that he had not done recently, to find out if anyone had heard anything about Captain Zeb or his ship. Horse’s iron shoes rang against the cobbled streets as he plodded along, the horse’s pace dictated as much by the street traffic as his own lethargy.

  Even moving at a walk, it did not take long for Azerick to reach the shipping district and the docks. North Haven’s harbor was considerably smaller than Southport’s was, sporting only four long docks that reached out into the bay to allow ships to load and unload their precious cargos.

  Even if North Haven had twice as many, it would not have taken Azerick long to spot Toron’s large, horned head as he helped unload cargo from the ship’s hold. Azerick forced Horse into a gallop, oblivious of the shouts and curses of the pedestrians, and rode right out onto the wooden dock. Horse came to a skidding halt as Azerick reined in hard.

  “Toron!” Azerick shouted and waved.

  The big minotaur looked up from where he was guiding a large cargo net laden with crates out of the ship’s hold that bore the name Freedom Wind. As soon as the big cog-wheeled hoist lifted the crates clear of the ship’s deck, Toron yelled for Zeb and Balor and ran down the gangplank towards Azerick.

  “I knew you would be coming back,” Toron’s deep voice rumbled as he slapped Azerick on his thigh. “Zeb stored your books for me at the bank here in town.”

  Even sitting on Horse, Azerick was level with the tips of Toron’s horns. “I know; I picked them up a couple weeks ago, thank you, Toron. I knew you would not let me down.”

  “Azerick, my boy!” Zeb shouted as he and Balor ran down the dock towards him.

  Azerick swung off Horse to meet them and was immediately wrapped in a fierce hug by his former captain and shipmate.

  “Where have you been, lad? Did you fight that dragon? What happened?” Zeb and Balor asked excitedly.

  “It’s a long story. Let’s talk over a drink,” Azerick suggested.

  “Toron,” Zeb said, “tell the men to finish unloading Freedom and meet us at Barnacles.”

  Zeb and Balor took Azerick to Barnacles, a favorite tavern of the sailors and dockworkers. Azerick was impressed with the establishment the moment he entered. Although not as fancy and quiet as the Golden Glade, the tavern was big and clean. The bar was a large square where two bartenders catered to the dozens of customers that were already keeping them busy even at this early hour. When the sun set, it was all they could do to service their customers efficiently with the four bartenders and six serving women that worked the nightshift. Even with the number of patrons already eating and drinking, the trio had no problem finding an open table.

  “Now tell me what all happened after you went to face that scaly monster,” Zeb urged.

  Azerick shook his head. “No, if I tell you now I will have to repeat everything a dozen times by the time everyone else gets here. You tell me what happened to you all after you set sail,” Azerick insisted.

  Zeb leaned back in his chair, his expression making it clear he would be more than happy to talk about his ship. Technically the ship belonged to a large portion of the entire crew since most of the men had a hand in building it, but they all unanimously voted Zeb as captain. Most of the men that crewed Freedom Winds had sailed with Zeb before and escaped from the psyling
city with him and Azerick.

  “We christened the ship Freedom Winds the day after you left to have at it with that dragon. We loaded up a good amount of raw iron and topped off the hold with timbers that we cut ourselves. We guided her downriver for several days before we hit the first big town in the plains along the river.”

  Zeb had to pause and take a hefty swig of beer. “We dropped anchor at a town called Bruneford’s Mill. We made a good amount of coin and still filled our hold with dried wheat, oats, corn, and rice. The river kept getting wider but lost depth the further we sailed downriver. Twice we had to throw out lines and pull the ship off a sandbar, and once we even had to pay a man to hook up his mules to pull us free, but we made it. Once we reached the sea, we had a choice of going to Southport or North Haven. Even though I could get a better price in North Haven, I chose Southport because they have a larger market and a better chance of finding another load of cargo. Since then, we’ve been running cargo up and down the coast. She’s got a shallow draft, having been built to get down the river, so we stay pretty much in sight of land, but we’re making it. A couple of years and we may have enough to get us a proper seagoing ship.”

  Azerick leaned forward in his chair. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. How would you like to have five ships under your command with me as a silent partner?”

  “What are you saying, lad? It would take a king’s ransom to float that many ships. I know of a few decent boats that some of the merchants are being forced to sell because of the lousy economy right now, but even at auction, you’re talking thousands of gold crowns. Where would we get that kind of money? None of us even have enough collateral to get that kind of credit.”

  Azerick leaned back in his chair once more. “You don’t think I just grabbed my own stuff in that dragon’s cave do you?” Azerick asked smiling.

  Both Zeb and Balor sputtered in their beers. “You mean to tell me you got a dragon’s hoard of gold?” Balor whispered sharply. “How in the devils did you manage to haul it all the way over here?”

  “That is my little secret, but trust me, I have the capital to make us the largest shipping company in North Haven,” Azerick assured them.

  “Do you know what that means, lad?” Zeb asked conspiratorially.

  “What?” Azerick asked.

  “It means you’re buyin'!” Zeb and Balor both barked.

  Azerick saw Toron and the rest of Freedom’s crew walk in and take up seats near him, Zeb, and Balor. The sorcerer got up and walked over to the bar.

  One of the bartenders finished pouring a man his ale and approached Azerick as he waited patiently.

  “What can I get you, sir?” the barkeep asked in a friendly voice.

  Azerick dropped a three-inch stack of gold coins on the bar.

  “As long as my shipmates are in this bar, everyone drinks on me!” Azerick shouted jubilantly and tossed and extra gold coin to the bartender.

  Azerick’s declaration was met with a round of cheers and applause as the bartenders and serving women began getting flooded with orders. Azerick took two trays loaded with beer and ale to his former crewmembers who cheered and patted him on the back but not until he set the precarious beverage-laden trays down for fear of him spilling them.

  “Lad, there’s gonna be a few captains and dock foremen that’s not gonna be pleased with your generosity,” Zeb told him humorously.

  Azerick spent the next hour telling his friends about his battle with the dragon, his time spent with the dwarves, and how he took over the keep outside of the city.

  “Only you could have pulled off antics of that magnitude,” Zeb told him. “I think the god’s have an interest in you, son, whether for good or ill, they are looking at you.”

  “I just wish they would mind their own damn business and leave me alone. I have found a sense of peace and I would like to keep it that way,” Azerick replied irritably.

  “So are you serious about financing that shipping business?” Zeb asked.

  “Absolutely. Do you know a former sailor named Ewen?”

  “Is old Ewen still kicking about? He was first mate on one of your father’s ships when I was just a young sailor,” Zeb replied.

  Azerick nodded. “He is in the city, living with his family. They moved out of Southport about a year ago. He said I should invest my wealth instead of just letting it gather dust and my accountant agrees with him.”

  “How do you want to go about it?” Zeb asked.

  “The next chance you get, come up to the keep and meet with my accountant, Simon. Better yet, I will send him to meet you down here with scripts of purchase. You can bid on ships at auction, buy them outright, or commission some to be built, whatever you think is best,” Azerick explained.

  “We’ll need crews, supplies, and equipment,” Zeb stated anxiously.

  “Again, I will leave it all up to you and Simon to work out the details. I am a silent partner in this.”

  Azerick and Zeb continued to hammer out the details until late that afternoon when the sorcerer finally bid him and his friends farewell and returned to his keep.

  CHAPTER 7

  Langdon’s Crossing was a quiet, medium-sized town, whose greatest commodity was its wool exports. Massive herds of sheep and silkwool goats roamed the open grasslands under the watchful eyes of their herders and trained dogs. It was also the primary southern trading town between many of the smaller towns in the southern portion of the Habberback Plains and the desert nomads of Sumara.

  The Sumaran nomads traded for the raw wool and silkwool and made extravagant carpets of unparalleled quality, which they would then return with the next year, and sell at the markets of Langdon’s Crossing. From there, the carpets and tapestries would find their way into the homes of nearly every wealthy merchant and nobleman in Valaria.

  This made Langdon’s Crossing a rather wealthy town for its size. The hotter weather made for thick morning fog as a cold front blew in over the river that emptied into the sea. This allowed for General Baneford and his brood to ride within a quarter mile of the gates unseen. Every bridle, weapon, and other metallic object whose rattle and clank would give them away had been well muffled with strips of cloth. As the dark outline of Langdon’s Crossing’s sandstone walls became visible, General Baneford signaled his man to sound the charge.

  A brief clarion shattered the early morning silence. The minimal guard force manning the walls and gates hesitated in confusion and indecision until the thundering of hooves brought home the reality of what was happening. Watch sergeants sounded orders to secure the gates and called for the rousing of the entire city’s guards. Unfortunately for the guards of Langdon’s Crossings, a score of men under the attacking general’s command had infiltrated the town days before and moved without hesitation.

  Light but voluminous cloaks that were commonly worn in the region concealed the armor and short bows of the General’s men. Arrows from the disguised attackers abruptly cut short many of the orders the watch commanders barked. The infiltrators rushed the northern gate through which General Baneford and his men hoped to charge virtually unopposed.

  The success of the entire daring raid hinged on the loyal men inside the town to keep those gates open. Otherwise, even the small militia that endeavored to defend the town would crush the raiders against its sandstone walls.

  The men inside rushed the gates with swords drawn and hacked at the guards who were trying to secure them. The sharp ringing of steel against steel mixed with the duller thumps of swords cutting and piercing the leather and chain brigandines of the defenders. Shrill cries of men rent the air as their lifeblood flowed from mortal wounds. Two of the infiltrators went down under crossbow fire and a third was run through by a guard’s spear, but the rest were able to take control of the gates and force them wide open.

  Seeing that the only apparent source of the attack came from the north, hastily armored guards flowed from bunkhouses and all but a handful of spotters deserted their posts to reinforce the
northern section of Langdon’s Crossing.

  The knot of surprised and disorganized guards and militia reached the gates just in time to run head-on into the charging cavalry of Baneford’s Brood. The defenders put up a determined but futile defense as the mounted attackers cut through their ranks with brutal efficiency.

  Within thirty minutes, all but a few sporadic and pitifully short battles had ended. Langdon’s Crossing was now in the hands of Baneford’s Brood to pillage at their leisure. Men began kicking in doors of shops and homes, carrying out armfuls of valuables amidst the fearful and angry screams of the owners.

  “Get a detail to secure those horses!” the General commanded, pointing towards a corral that held at least two dozen of the valuable animals. “Procure some wagons and hook some horses up to draw them.”

  General Baneford turned towards the sound of a woman’s scream close to his left. He saw a young woman with a torn blouse try to run from a nearby house only to be grabbed and dragged back through the doorway by a pair of his men. The General swung off his horse and stalked towards the home and the continued sound of screaming with a white knuckled grip on his longsword.

  The burly commander stepped through the open door to find one of his men tearing the clothes off the woman he had thrown onto a bed that lay in the far corner of the small home. The other man stood leering, apparently waiting his turn.

  A young man, probably the woman’s husband, lay dead on the floor with an obvious stab wound he had received trying to defend his wife. General Baneford snatched the surprised voyeur by the back of his armor, easily parried the soldier’s reactionary sword swing, and threw him bodily out the door. The other soldier, too engrossed in his own activities to notice his accomplice’s plight, fell heavily across the nearly naked woman as the General struck the flat of his blade upside the man’s head.

  The woman shoved herself fearfully into a corner of the room as General Baneford dragged the unconscious soldier out of the house by his right ankle.

  “Officers to me!” the General bellowed, his verbal order relayed by a bugle call.