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

by Brock Deskins

  “How about you and I go take a look at him after I have some tea,” Azerick told Grick who simply shrugged and drank his coffee.

  The cleaning woman bounded down the stairs and burst frantically into the kitchen. “Master Azerick, there is a dead man in the—in his room!” the woman exclaimed, barely able to keep from shouting hysterically.

  “It is all right. I am aware of it and Grick and I are going to take care of it,” Azerick calmly assured her. “Why don’t you sit down and once you are calm, go ahead and take the rest of the day off.”

  The woman took a seat on a stool next to one of the kitchen counters while Agnes poured her some tea and tried to calm her down. Azerick was already feeling better by the time he finished his potion-spiked tea and had Grick lead him upstairs to his room where he had stashed the body.

  “What can you tell me about what he did last night, Grick?” Azerick asked as he examined the body.

  “Grick see him come through dining hall. He go in baby room with mother and nurse woman, but come back out quick. Then he go upstairs and do stuff outside your door,” Grick explained, waving his long arms and wriggling his fingers in a parody of spell casting. “Then he go in master’s chambers and look at you. He pull big knife out and make to stab you. His eyes glow all blue then Grick stab big rat man inna back then inna neck with pretty blade master give Grick. It go all sparkly when Grick stab him and then his eyes glow no more. Grick do ok for master?” Grick asked nervously.

  “You did very well, Grick. You saved my life.”

  The goblin bobbed his head up and down. “That good. Grick like job and nice room with much food to eat.”

  Azerick gave the goblin’s scrawny shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Grick will always have his job and nice room for as long as I am master of this tower.”

  “Good, Grick work extra hard, make sure master not get killed for long long time.”

  Azerick gazed at the face that looked up with sightless eyes from within the dark cowl. The man had a thin, almost gaunt face with a sharp patrician’s nose and a narrow chin. The eyes that once blazed with an Azure aura of life were now a lifeless yet still deep blue. Azerick cast a minor spell and examined the assassin’s body and belongings.

  Several items radiated with an aura of magic that only the sorcerer’s temporarily augmented sight could detect. He stripped off the man’s shoes, gloves, and cloak and searched through his pockets. Other than a strange black gem, he found little else other than a few thieves’ implements. His knife, Cloak clasp, and a few rings also glowed with an aura of magic, all of which Azerick would deposit in his vault for later study.

  Once he was finished, he went and found a few workers to take the body outside and cremate it far away from the citadel grounds. Rumors of the dead not staying buried made burning a much wiser course of action. Azerick sat at the dining table drinking tea and nibbling at a piece of fresh bread, lost in thought. He heard the wail of his godchildren, as they demanded to be fed.

  He was in their room last night, Azerick thought angrily. They could have been hurt or Colleen or Rusty because this man wanted me dead for some reason.

  Azerick could tell that the man was a hired professional. The killer himself likely had no interest in him beyond completing a job for which he had been hired. Who hired him and why? Azerick could not bear the thought of any of his friends being hurt or killed because of him. He had lost far too many people he cared about over the years and he was not going to lose any more.

  Did it have anything to do with the artifacts his father had been killed for? Azerick thought of the man that his former master had been talking with. He was in search of the artifacts. Was it the same man? Were they connected? There could be a link and the only way to find out would be to confront Devlin, his old master. Azerick knew he would have to get his master to reveal what he knew.

  ***

  General Baneford strode before his newest troops, looking them over and finding most of them thoroughly undesirable but he would change that. He had spent a great deal of the winter holed up in the ruins of an old citadel that looked over the stony plains just a day’s ride from the badlands.

  Once the weather became more favorable, he sent men out to the towns looking for recruits. He had thirty-four horses that needed men to ride them, but he was not so desperate as to hire just any petty thug or bloodthirsty mercenary.

  “You men were approached and chosen by my officers for two reasons; you knew how to fight and you looked like you had enough discipline to follow orders. If either of those attributes does not accurately describe you, then you had best leave now because lacking in either one will most assuredly get you killed; the former by your enemy and the latter by me!

  “I am a fair man and a disciplined man and I demand the same from my men. We are not a band of cutthroats, rapists, and murderers. I am a professional, my men are professionals, and you will all conduct yourselves as professionals. My justice is swift and severe and I play no favorites. Many of you may have worked as mercenaries. We are not mercenaries and we are not for hire. You will be paid according to your rank and time in service as well as a percentage of any spoils we may acquire.

  “You may begin to wonder, as many of my men already have, what it is we are doing. What is our goal? I will divulge that information when the time comes, but that time is not yet upon us. For now, we build up our forces and equipment. My officers and drill instructors will now show you where you will bunk, where you will eat, where you will relieve yourselves, and then take you through some drills. They will educate you on our rules and regulations. I strongly suggest you give them your utmost attention. Your lives will depend on it. Fallout!”

  General Baneford left his new recruits, an even fifty in all, and headed back for his tent, eagerly anticipating a good glass of wine. The two guards standing by the tent entrance snapped to attention as he approached and rendered sharp salutes. The General returned the salutes with one of his own, threw back the tent flap, and walked into the shadowy interior.

  He crossed the tent to a small cabinet that sat upon a field table and opened the ornately carved wooden doors. The cabinet held twelve bottles of wine ranging from good to extraordinary. It was the one piece of loot he specifically secured for himself when they sacked Langdon’s Crossing. There were also twelve crystal goblets secured to the inside of the doors. He plucked one from its holder and selected a rich red wine from the rack.

  He turned around and let both fall to the ground as his hands scrambled for his sword.

  “Relax, General, you are amongst friends. Had I wished you harm you would most assuredly be dead already,” a black-robed figure informed him.

  The General gritted his teeth as he looked down at the man lounging comfortably in his chair. A foolish or weak-minded man in the General’s position would either quake in fear or rant at the man that seemingly just appeared in his tent. Baneford was neither one nor would he would act like it.

  He slammed the half-drawn blade back into its sheath, bent over, and retrieved the dropped glass and bottle of wine. Fortunately, the ground beneath the floor mat was mostly sand and neither the dropped glass nor the wine bottle had broken. The General withdrew another goblet from the wine rack for his uninvited guest.

  The man was of average height and build, middle-aged, and tanned as if he had spent a great deal of his life outdoors. At second look, Baneford found the man’s age difficult to pin down. He could have looked good at sixty or be a burned out thirty year old. The hood of his light robes covered his hair but his eyebrows were chestnut with perhaps a few strands of grey and he smelled like a crypt—dry, stale, and dusty.

  “If you’ll get your scrawny arse outta my chair we can sit and have a drink while you tell me what the hell you’re doing sneaking into my tent.”

  He would not show fear and he would not throw a tantrum, but by gods, he would let this man know that he was a guest and that he would not be intimidated or disrespected.

  If the man
was insulted, he certainly did not show it.

  “I can see why you had a falling out with your duke,” the man chuckled as he took a new seat in one of the other chairs.

  General Baneford took his chair and blew the dust out of his own goblet before filling both with wine. “Why do say that?”

  The man accepted the goblet he was offered and took a sip before answering, inclining his hand in approval at the bouquet. “You are too principled, too professional. You demand a certain amount of respect, and unlike most men with a small amount of power, deserve it.”

  Baneford grunted noncommittally as he enjoyed his wine. “You know I no longer work for the duke, so what is it you think I can do for you?”

  “It is far more a matter of what I can do for you, depending upon what your intent is when you complete Dundalor’s armor,” the man replied smoothly.

  Baneford did not prod; he would not appear needy in front of this man. He refilled his goblet and waited for the man to continue. The dark garbed wizard smiled in acknowledgement of the General’s skill in playing this kind of game. Most military men were buffoons and braggarts, strutting around in their steel shells. It made him feel far more comfortable in dealing with this man.

  “What are your plans once you complete the armor?”

  “If I complete the armor. At this point I have little interest,” Baneford returned.

  “If? Most men would spend their entire lives; sacrifice everything they have to complete the set. Are you saying you are different?” the wizard asked, genuinely surprised at the warrior’s reply.

  Baneford shrugged. “I am not most men. I have spent, I do not use the word wasted only with great control, almost seven years of my life and the entire lives of several of my men searching for the damn pieces. The suit is powerful as it is even without the helm and boots. It will do.”

  “But with the entire set you could gain the throne with the church’s support, and I may be in a position to assist you in that,” the man replied tantalizingly.

  The General leaned forward in his chair and looked the enigmatic man in the eye. “I imagine dangling a carrot like that in front of most any man would have him drooling and following you wherever you led him. Unfortunately for you I hate carrots. I’m more of a meat and potatoes kind of guy.”

  “Actually it is quite fortunate for both of us. My colleagues and I would not have supported your claim. I was simply interested in your reaction. Had you answered otherwise, I may have slain you right here and now and taken the armor off your corpse.”

  “Hm, and to think my ex-wife thought my lack of ambition would be my downfall,” Baneford replied dryly.

  “So what is it you want, General? Complete the suit for us and we will grant you anything within our power, and our power is vast.”

  “It really doesn’t matter,” General Baneford replied. “Like I said, I spent too many years and too many lives chasing this damn thing. I won’t do it anymore.”

  “Ah, but you will not have to. I can almost hand deliver the two remaining pieces. I know precisely where they are. All you have to do is pick them up.”

  “You know my mother warned me about things that seemed too easy—and she was a prostitute.”

  The black-robed man smiled his thin, almost lipless smile. “I will show you on a map where the item is located. I am also going to get word to a band of adventurers that the king seems to have adopted as some kind of pets. You will prepare an ambush for them, kill them, and then I will tell you where the remaining piece is located.”

  General Baneford poured another glass of wine for himself and emptied the bottle into the wizard’s goblet. He was certain this man was a wizard. He reeked of magic and foul sorceries.

  “And once I have the suit completed, then what? I hand it over to you?”

  “Precisely. In exchange, I will reward you handsomely. What do you wish; gold, jewels, another set of magical armor?” he asked.

  “I suppose you are turning the set over to Duke Ulric?” the General stated with a frown.

  “I think not. Ulric had his chance and he blew it. He is running about enacting his own plans to seize the throne. If he succeeds, we may still support him, but we are finished with aiding him. We will keep the suit in reserve should he prove to be unstable or unable to ensure our own goals are met.”

  “What of my goals? This armor is my key to accomplishing them, or at least a fundamental part.”

  “Do you know what I see, General? I see a devoted and capable officer who rode off with several thousand pieces of gold and at least a hundred troops, all of which had belonged to what is arguably the most powerful and feared duke in the kingdom. I see a general that led a most impressive raid against a wealthy trading town, has recruited new men, and is now training them,” the wizard stated, looking in the direction of the new soldiers that had just started drill exercises. “That leads me to believe that you are not totally without ambitions. Am I right, General?”

  “You have been well informed I see. I would say your observations are close to the mark,” the General allowed.

  “It would appear to me that you are building up an army of your own. Now, I do not see you as a mercenary nor an ordinary bandit or raider. You have a larger goal in mind, one with a purpose and a future. I propose exchanging a powerful magical suit of armor for you and slightly less powerful but still respectable suits for your officers. I may even be able to throw in some nice weapons as well. How would that do for your goals?”

  General Baneford scratched at his day’s growth of stubble and looked at the wizard thoughtfully. “I suppose I might be willing to part with it. You show me what you have, including weapons, and if I find it acceptable, you can have Dundalor’s armor. To be honest with you, as invulnerable as it is, I can’t live in it and I don’t need every wannabe king or overlord at my back every time I turn around.”

  “You are a wise man, General. A rarity in most sword slingers I have known. The Duke was a fool to dismiss you. I shall get you your arms and armor.”

  The wizard had the General lay out his finest maps and showed him the location of the ancient temple where he would find the boots that comprised part of the armor.

  “It is in an ancient temple built into the side of a mountain and dedicated to all four major gods. I do not know whom or what may inhabit the temple now. I can only tell you that the priests that once roamed the vast halls are long dead and have turned to dust.”

  General Baneford nodded thoughtfully. “I will work out the details once I am on site.”

  “Excellent, General, I should have your arms and armor by the time you complete this mission,” the wizard informed the General.

  The black-clad wizard stood and spoke a series of arcane words. A shimmering rip seemed to open in the side of the tent but the land beyond it was not within the confines of the camp. The portal snapped shut the instant that the wizard stepped through, leaving the plain canvas tent wall just as it had been.

  General Baneford breathed a sigh of relief once the wizard was gone. Despite his calm exterior, the wizard had made him very uncomfortable with his sudden appearance and departure. Even if he were not a man of his word, he would not think of double-crossing the wizard. It was obvious that the man was part of a larger organization, and as much as he disliked spell casters, he could not help but respect their power. He opened the wine rack, grabbed himself another bottle, and sat back down for another drink.

  ***

  Azerick sat down at the dining table with everyone that provided some kind of training, which made for a full table with a few even standing. He had been able to hire a few more scholars to teach basic education thus freeing up Rusty and Allister to focus strictly on the magical training for those students that possessed the aptitude.

  “Rusty, Allister, Simon, you are all in charge while I am gone. I want no expense spared in getting the wall finished. Hire as many workers as you can. I also want a full complement of arms and armor purchased from any source
you can find. Rusty, Magus Allister, I want you to focus your teachings on applied magic. I want every student to be able to cast spells at least at the journeyman level in the next couple of months. We can focus on magical theory and history later.

  “I also want you two to start penning scrolls that the students can use in case of emergencies. The spells need to focus on defending the keep and repelling attackers. I want to start running guard mounts. There should be at least six during the day and twelve at night. The magus students can cast light spells around the outer wall, buildings, and street intersections.”

  “Alex, Jansen, Ewen, and Zeke I want you to start drilling more on specific arms proficiency, particularly crossbows but don’t neglect the longbow too much. As you know, crossbow proficiency is good at repelling invaders and is much quicker to learn, but we need the range of the longbows as well. Educate the martial students on performing guard duties and repelling a siege. Include the magus students in siege training as well. Formulate battle tactics that will optimize the inclusion of magic users with the soldiers.”

  No one spoke as Azerick rattled out his instructions, each holding his or her questions until he was finished speaking. When he finally paused, Rusty was the first one to speak.

  “Azerick, do you really think we are going to come under attack? These are not soldiers. They are children. Don’t you think you are overreacting just a bit?”

  Azerick gave his friend a hard look. “Rusty, an assassin came into the keep, our home, and tried to kill me. What if he had been after you or your wife and babes? Every home I have had I lost because someone took it from me and killed those I cared about in the process. I will not lose my home again without a fight. This is also the only real home these children have and if you ask them, I guarantee that most of them will fight to keep it as well. I do not know the full intent of the assassin. I do not know who sent him. I know that my father was killed because of some artifact smuggling and the conspiracy followed me to The Academy. If they are linked, then I am going to find out and end it once and for all.