The Sorcerer's Ascension (The Sorcerer's Path)

by Brock Deskins

  “Aye aye, Captain! And may I be the first to say ‘HUZZAH!’” Zeb shouted, pumping his fist in the air.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Storm Chaser arrived at the Bay of Southport early in the afternoon five days after the attack. After nearly three weeks at sea, the men were impatient to go ashore. However, they were required to wait at anchor several hundred yards from the dock and would remain there until customs officials finally deigned to perform their customary inspections of the cargo. The customs official and a handful of city watch would scour the ship for illegal items, smuggling, and appraising the value of the declared cargo for the customary taxes and fees. Once that was done, the Harbormaster would then grant them permission to dock when there was room and according to his schedule. They finally ended up waiting for four long hours for customs to finally make it to their ship.

  Two officials and their guard compliment of ten soldiers from the city watch boarded his ship and went immediately to the hold to inspect the Storm Runner’s cargo. The taxmen tallied up the value of the cargo, wrote down the amount, and figured the tax to be applied in a ledger.

  “Do you have anything else to declare, Captain?” the official with the ledger book asked.

  “I have a crate in my quarters that is a special shipment, but it is granted customs immunity by His Majesty,” Captain Giles offered as he pulled out the special writ.

  The second official read it over before handing it back to the captain. “Very well. Everything seems to be in order, Captain. If you will give us just a few more moments of your time, I’ll give you the tax receipt and the harbormaster can then clear you for docking so you can unload your cargo.”

  The two officials and their guards made a final cursory inspection of the rest of the ship to ensure there was no hidden cargo stashed away before handing Captain Giles the tax receipt.

  “Since you are registered in the City of Southport, you have seven days to make your payment at the tax registrar’s office. You are a local merchant, so I assume you know where it is.”

  “Yes, I know all too well where it is located,” the Captain replied with an exaggerated wince.

  The officials left with their guards and Storm Runner was given leave to dock at long last by the harbormaster within the hour. The crew spent the rest of the day unloading Storm Runner’s cargo onto wagons, and from there to the warehouses where it would be stored until it was either sold to local merchants for resale or sent off with caravan traders to be hauled across the kingdom.

  Captain Giles’ own company would commission several of those caravans. Profits from those ventures were the mainstay of his trading company. It was evening by the time everything was unloaded and transported to Captain Gile’s secure warehouse.

  He gave his crew leave once everything was safely unloaded and stored. However, Darius himself could not yet depart the ship despite his eagerness. He waited impatiently on the deck of his ship for whoever was supposed to pick up the mysterious crate in his cabin. He wished fervently that they would hurry up and relieve him of his burden so that he could surprise his family with his early return. It was nearly midnight when six cloaked and hooded men approached the boat.

  “Hail, Captain! I understand you have a delivery for us,” one of the men called up.

  “That would depend on your ability to prove who you are, sir,” Captain Giles replied.

  “Lower a basket and I will send up our credentials, Captain.”

  Captain Giles lowered a bucket by a tether down the side of his ship to the men waiting below. The man who had spoken dropped a folded sheet of paper into the bucket, which Darius reeled back up. He compared the seal to the missive already in his possession. They were identical. He broke the seal on the new writ and read the contents. The writ identified the bearer and also authorized him to take possession of the crate and its contents immediately. As with the first writ, it was signed and stamped with the King’s Seal.

  Captain Giles extended a gangplank from his ship to the dock. Two of the cloaked men secured it in place before all six crossed over.

  “Welcome aboard Storm Runner, gentlemen. I’ll take you to your cargo so that you may take possession of it,” Darius greeted warmly. “I don’t mind telling you, I’m glad to be rid of it. I don’t care much for this secrecy stuff, but a man’s got to do what he's asked for the betterment of the kingdom I guess. I nearly lost it to pirates, but we were fortunate to get away.”

  One of the cloaked men brought a pry bar out from the folds of his cloak and rammed it into the seam where the top of the crate was nailed into place. With a screeching of nails being drawn out of the wood, he wrenched the top off. Captain Giles stood near the door with three of the cloaked men behind him while the other three were busily pulling aside the straw in order to examine the contents of the box.

  “This is it. Arrest him!” the man who appeared to be leading the group ordered.

  “What is going on? What’s the problem?” Captain Giles asked as his arms were seized and forced behind his back.

  One of the men standing near the crate turned with a clinking of chainmail. “Captain Giles, by order of the King, you are placed under arrest for attempting to smuggle illegal artifacts into the kingdom. By my authority as a member of the King’s Blackguard, you will be held in a detention cell while a special magistrate is summoned from the King’s Court.”

  “There must be some kind of mistake! I have a document signed with the King’s Seal requesting the transport of that box,” Captain Giles exclaimed.

  “Release one of his hands,” the King’s Guardsman told the man holding him. “Produce the document, slowly, and give it to me.”

  Darius carefully reached inside his vest, drew out the missive, and handed it to the guard. As soon as the man touched it, the paper burst into flames, incinerating itself in an instant. The guard immediately released the burning paper and withdrew his hand. Only a large, smoking flake of ash floated to the deck to show any evidence that it ever existed.

  “Vile magic!” the guard cried out.

  Darius barely registered the blow that caught him in the back of the head, plunging his world into darkness.

  *****

  “Your Grace, the ship’s captain hired to transport the item your men located in the wilds of Lazuul has been arrested by a contingent of the King’s Blackguard. The ship and your property have been impounded,” Master Alton nervously informed his liege.

  “What of the forged document authorizing transport?” Duke Ulric asked, masking his outrage with iron discipline.

  Duke Ulric Stanbury was the ruler of Southport, a once wealthy city and still one of the more prosperous in the kingdom despite the economic turmoil that several years of war with their southern neighbors had caused. He was of average height, but solidly built for a nobleman. His hair was solid black without a hint of grey on his head or in his short, neatly trimmed beard.

  “It was consumed by fire the instant one of the arresting guards touched it, as it was enchanted to do,” the old, stooped Chamberlain answered.

  Duke Ulric nodded thoughtfully. “That is good. That would be a rather damning piece of evidence, and it would not do to have the King’s Men gain possession of it. Tell me of this Captain.”

  “His name is Darius Giles. He is a reasonably wealthy merchant who has recently come into his fortune. He has many loyal friends within the shipping business, but most of the nobles and the affluent are little more than customers, so he lacks any sort of real power or support. He is said to be loyal to the King, however, and is known as an honest businessman,” the Chamberlain dutifully reported.

  “What is the disposition of the Captain at this time?” the Duke inquired as he paced about the room, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “He is currently being held in the City Magistrate’s Jail, awaiting the arrival of one of the King’s Magistrates,” the old Chamberlain responded.

  “He must not be allowed to speak with the Magistrate. It is unlikely that h
e knows anything about us, who gave him the artifacts, or who was to receive them. However, if he could deflect guilt away from himself, it could help point the King’s Blackguard toward our agents in Lazuul, or worse, here. That would not do at all. Contact the Black Tower and have them send the Rook to take care of the Captain.”

  “Your Grace, the Rook is very expensive; particularly on such short notice. Could we not just send in one of our own men to kill him?”

  “No, we must deflect attention as far away from us as possible. Let the King think that he was working as a courier for a wizard trying to bolster his own power and was killed because he failed to protect his master’s prize from discovery." the Duke responded shrewdly. He paused his pacing and clenched his fists. "The loss of that artifact could set us back years! Now that the King is aware that an effort is being made to recover and bring those particular artifacts into the kingdom, it is going to make it that much harder to acquire the others and complete my plans. Have General Baneford recover my artifact at once. Jarvin must not get his hands on a single piece.”

  “Of course, you are wise, Your Grace. I shall contact the Black Tower and the General immediately.”

  ***

  Darius awoke in a dark but reasonably clean and dry cell. The only light came through the narrow, barred window set in a heavy, ironbound door from a torch flickering just outside. The floor of his cell was covered in straw that was beginning to mildew. A chamber pot sat in the corner. From the smell, he could tell that it was emptied occasionally, but it was never washed out. His head was throbbing with pain, and any movement caused his vision to swim and made him slightly nauseated. He lay back down on the stone bed that was built into the wall and let sleep retake him.

  Darius woke some time later when he heard a noise at the door, but he had no idea of how much time had passed. A clay bowl full of something resembling stew was slid through a small hole at the bottom of his door. He rushed to the portal, nearly toppling the bowl in his haste, while he called out to whoever had brought his meal.

  “Where am I? Why am I here? Please tell me!” he shouted but to avail.

  He picked up the bowl and sat back on the bed. They had given him no utensils to eat with, so he simply tipped the bowl up to his mouth, drank the broth, and then ate the reasonably good, if bland, stew. A few hours later, he heard someone outside his door again. As before, he ran to the door, demanding to know where he was and why he had been detained. This time he received an answer.

  “You are in the Magistrate’s Jail. You are here for smuggling an artifact of power into the city,” the voice whispered through the door.

  “Who are you?” Darius asked insistently.

  “I am Chief Inspector Lazlo, the Chief Inspector of Southport.”

  “How long am I to be held?”

  “Until your trial,” the Inspector answered.

  “How long will that be?” Darius asked uncomprehendingly.

  “That I cannot tell you. A Magistrate from the King’s Court has been sent for to interview you. When he arrives, you will be questioned. I can tell you no more and neither can anyone else. The King’s Blackguard has ordered that no one may speak to you until the King’s Magistrate arrives, so please do not bother any of my people again. They cannot speak to you and neither can I,” the Magistrate said with finality.

  As he listened to the Magistrate’s footsteps recede down the passageway, Darius was once more left alone in his cell. He lay back down on his bunk, closed his eyes, and covered his face with his hands.

  I should be home now with my wife and son, but instead I'm sitting in a prison cell for some terrible mistake. He could only pray that it would all be cleared up when the King’s Magistrate arrived.

  *****

  The Duke’s Chamberlain, Master Alton, shuffled out of his patron’s chamber and back to his own room. Once inside, he bolted his door, crossed the room, and sat at his desk. He produced a black gem half the size of a hen’s egg from the top drawer and focused his will upon it. After a moment, the gem vibrated slightly in his hand and produced a tinny voice.

  “What is your need, Master Alton?” the voice from the gem asked.

  “Magus, my master requires the services of the Rook immediately,” the Chamberlain insisted.

  “Something must have gone seriously wrong for someone to be willing to pay for his immediate services,” the voice responded with amusement.

  “There has been a complication with the transport of the Lazuul item. My master needs the Rook to contain the damage already done,” urged the old Chamberlain.

  “Very well, we will contact him and inform him of your urgent need.”

  Master Alton always felt disconcerted when talking to the mysterious wizard through the gem, but that discomfiture paled in comparison to how he would feel when he had to face the Rook once again. Alton returned the gem to the desk drawer and returned to his lord’s study.

  “It is arranged, Your Grace,” the Chamberlain informed the Duke as he entered the room.

  “Excellent! At least that is done! This setback is going to cost me a great deal, and not just in gold. Other factions will certainly use this setback to their advantage and try to steal my prize out from under me."

  “None have a strong claim to the throne, Your Grace. You will certainly be successful, and the kingdom will be better for it, grateful even, I am sure."

  Three nights after contacting the wizard through the gem, Chamberlain Alton awoke to the touch of cold steel on his face. His eyes snapped open and locked onto a pair of ice-blue orbs that seemed to glow with an unnatural light beneath a dark cowl.

  The hooded stranger stared down at the prone figure of the Chamberlain with only those merciless eyes visible in the pale light of a dimly lit oil lamp. The cold steel of a wickedly curved blade caressed the Chamberlain’s slack jowl.

  “M-master Rook?” Alton stammered fearfully.

  “Were you expecting another master assassin? I do give multiple target discounts, and may have been able to save you some gold if you needlessly hired another assassin,” the Rook said with twisted humor.

  “No, no! Of course not, Master Rook! I was expecting only you. As well as anyone can expect someone of your legendary skills, that is.”

  “Have you finally decided to hire me to assassinate your Beloved King? I long to savor such a delectable target once again.”

  “No, the King must not be assassinated! It would not suit my lord’s plans for the King to die in that way,” the Chamberlain exclaimed and sat up as the Rook stepped away from him.

  “Neither of you were so squeamish when you had me kill his father.”

  The Chamberlain sighed. “At the time, we were unaware that the King had an heir. Duke Ulric was the most logical choice for the succession as far as we knew. King Jarvin has managed to endear himself to the commoners far more than his father did. If you killed him now, you would have to kill his children as well. Then the people would almost certainly turn against whoever tried to claim the throne if they were implicated in the King and his family’s death.”

  “Politics are such a sordid affair, not like the clean execution of a proper assassination. What is your urgent need of me then?”

  “There is a prisoner held in the magistrate’s jail that must be silenced immediately,” Master Alton explained as he gained his feet and straightened his nightclothes.

  “That sounds like a rather simple task, and I do so find simple tasks insulting and beneath me, Chamberlain,” the Rook warned.

  “Evidence must point to a killer with the ability to wield magic, Master Rook. It must be done with the utmost speed and competence. There is far too much at stake for my master to risk any more mistakes, no matter how slight, which is why we must have you. My master knows you are supremely reliable, and he would not dare to ask you for such a task below your skills if it was not extremely important,” Alton soothed, trying to appease the deadly assassin.

  "You are trying to flatter me, Chamberlain. F
ortunately for you, I am able to appreciate flattery when it is true. How many prisoners and guards are with or near the target?”

  “He is held in isolation with no visitors. Only the guards who bring the prisoner his meals and empty his waste bucket go near him. Even so, they are neither allowed to go inside the prisoner’s cell nor are they allowed to speak to him.”

  “Good. Your prisoner will be dead by morning,” the assassin assured the Chamberlain. “You have my payment.”

  “Yes, of course. Allow me to get it for you.”

  Alton hastily crossed the room and swung open a small door in the wall, which was hidden behind a painting and false stonework. He retrieved a key from his desk which he inserted into the large lock of a steel strongbox situated within the cubbyhole. Once he had the strongbox unlocked, he pulled out a small sack of gold.

  “It does seem a bit light, my Lord Chamberlain. I hope you did not expect me to work so cheaply,” the assassin said mockingly, the hint of humor only heightening the threat that lay beneath.

  “Of course not, Master Rook. The other half of your payment is here when you have completed your task,” Alton assured his deadly guest as sweat started to bead on his brow.

  “My dear Chamberlain, your prisoner is already dead. He just doesn’t know it yet.” The assassin’s cool reply was punctuated with his outstretched hand.

  The Chamberlain handed over a second bag of gold, not wishing to argue with one of the most lethal men in the realm. Alton replaced the box, closed the false stone door, and hung the painting back up. When he turned back, the assassin was already gone without a single trace remaining in the room to show that he was ever there. Alton knew it was barely past midnight, but he got dressed anyway knowing that he would get no more sleep this night.