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

by Brock Deskins

  Stealing them had the highest profit margins but it was harder to steal clothes than a quick bite to eat off a food stand. However, Azerick would buy them on the rare occasions that he could afford them, considering it a good investment. He also kept his hands clean and his hair groomed. People did not look at you as closely if you did not look like you just crawled out from under a dung heap.

  He paused in front of the produce stand acting as though he was looking over the fresh fruits and vegetables as the old man meandered up to the same stand. The old man smelled of pipe smoke and strange spices and mumbled to himself constantly as he browsed the little street-side shops.

  This is too good to be true, Azerick thought to himself.

  If Azerick had not been so hungry, his inner voice probably would have reminded him about things that appeared too good to be true; that they usually were and people who leapt at those kinds of opportunities fell into a pit with dirty wooden stakes at the bottom of it.

  Unfortunately, times had been tough lately. Azerick had not made a decent score in quite a while and the local thieves’ guild was breathing down his neck to pay his taxes. In fact, they were getting down right aggressive in their collection attempts and Azerick was sure to pay in bruises, or worse, if he was careless enough to let them catch him.

  As soon as the old man was a few feet from the produce stand, Azerick picked up a round yellow-green piece of fruit and looked to be examining it more closely. Suddenly, it “slipped” from his grasp and rolled toward the old man in robes. With an exclamation of surprise, Azerick made a swift lunge after the wayward citrus and toward the old man. With his head down, one eye on the rolling fruit and the other on the man’s belt pouch, he bumped hard into the robed figure.

  As one hand scooped up the escaping fruit, the other hand deftly liberated the man’s pouch with a quick cut of the fastening strings using a small razor sharp blade affixed to the inside of his index finger. The coins in the pouch did not make so much as a single clink as Azerick transferred his catch from the old man’s belt to a pocket inside his own worn but clean short cloak.

  “I beg pardon, good sir!” exclaimed Azerick as he held up the fruit as the reason for his clumsy jostling of the old man. Azerick felt a moment of giddy pleasure at the flawless execution and success of his endeavor.

  However, as he turned to return the fruit to the proprietor he felt the sharp pain of a clenching grip upon his upheld wrist that now held aloft the improvised pickpocket distraction. Azerick felt a moment of surprise and panic when a paralyzing jolt shot through his wrist and all the way down to his toes. At the same time, the gnarled old fingers of the old man let loose their grip and Azerick flew backwards nearly the length of his own body, and laid in a most undignified sprawl onto the cobbled square.

  The old man bent down, reached into the inside pocket of Azerick’s cloak, and retrieved his purloined purse while Azerick could only lie in the street twitching, sticky juice from a now well-pulped citrus fruit running down his rigid and extended arm caused by the involuntary spastic death grip he now had in his hand.

  The old man looked down at the prostrated form of the young thief, his eyes sparking with mirth under his bushy grey eyebrows.

  “Boy, if you plan to have a long life in your chosen profession then I strongly recommend you heed this one piece of advice: never rob a wizard.”

  With a dry chuckle and that sage advice the old man, or wizard Azerick now knew, went on his way whistling a jaunty tune. Now the little voice that was usually so adept at keeping him one-step ahead of trouble rang quite audibly in his head about jobs that seemed too easy.

  “Now you remind me,” Azerick muttered to himself.

  Azerick was just beginning to regain voluntary control of his arms and legs again, glad to be able to make his own escape before someone got it into their head to call the Watch, when the momentarily forgotten proprietor of the stand suddenly loomed over him.

  “Now who do you think is going to pay for that ruined piece of fruit you got in your fist?” demanded the owner.

  Azerick breathed out slowly and closed his eyes.

  “Oh great” Azerick moaned. “Help me to my feet, good sir, and I am certain we can resolve this like gentlemen without the Watch, I pray.”

  The vendor was a large man, accustomed to the rigors of fieldwork by the look of the obvious strength in his arms. He was dark-haired, barrel-chested, and a cotton apron hung from his thick neck and belted around his waist. He easily pulled the wiry, would-be-thief to his feet. It was only by a great force of will that Azerick was able to keep his feet under him and stood unsteadily before the glowering farmer on wobbly knees.

  “Well, sir, it seems that I owe you for this piece of produce of yours. However, I seem to be in a bit of arrears at the present time. However, if you will tell me at what hour you close down your stand I shall return to assist you in loading it so you might be on your way for your trip back to your farm. I hope that that will be sufficient to work off my debt to you,” Azerick offered hopefully.

  “If I let you out of my sight now you’ll just run off and I’ll be out a sale and still be loading my cart myself. I’ll probably never see you again, unless you try to rob another wizard in this square!” said the big man, letting out a loud guffaw.

  “Sir, I assure you, despite the occupation that I have chosen, or chose me for that matter, I am a man of my word and will return here promptly to make amends for the damage to your goods,” Azerick said.

  “Well,” the farmer pondered, “if I call for the Watch you’ll just run off or they’ll arrest you. Either way, I’m not getting my money, so I guess I’ll trust you to your word. You be back here an hour before the sun sets and you can help me load up for the day. And if you don’t show, well, I still got a good story to tell over a mug of ale tonight!” The vendor let out another good belt of laughter and clopped Azerick on the back hard enough to set him in motion out of the square and away from the laughing eyes of the other patrons and vendors.

  All Azerick could think about as he walked back toward his home, hidden beneath the buildings and streets of the old industrial district, was the feeling of everyone’s eyes on him and hearing their laughter at his humiliating failure.

  Oh, I will be very careful of robbing a wizard again, very careful indeed. This is not over by a long shot. I will have my revenge wizard. I always get my revenge.

  The old wizard likely thought his show of power and embarrassing the young thief would put enough fear into the typical petty cutpurse and street urchin. Ordinarily he would likely have been correct in his assumptions. However, Azerick was no ordinary street thief. At least he did not think of himself as such.

  The key problem with trying to intimidate Azerick was that nothing seemed to intimidate or scare him. Many have tried and nearly all have failed. Azerick was, to all appearances, completely incapable of experiencing real fear. It is not that he is immune to it or oblivious of its effects. The problem is that his mind instantly transformed any fear that a particular situation may cause, into anger.

  Instead of suffering the quaking effects and indecision that fear would normally bring on, he instantly became angry with whatever or whoever dared to try to frighten him. That anger triggered an incredibly powerful sense of determination and stubbornness that would push him to cross the Great Barren Desert to exact revenge for any harm or severe wounding of his pride.

  These thoughts of revenge so occupied his mind that he let his street awareness waiver; yet another thing that he would never have allowed happening under normal circumstances. Had he not been so preoccupied, he most certainly would have noticed the three guild thugs before they took notice of him and easily avoided them.

  “Well, well, what have we here?” snarled the obvious leader of the group.

  “Hugo,” sighed Azerick “not now, I’m having really a bad day.”

  “Well, that’s too bad because it’s about to get a whole lot worse,” Hugo replied as he launched a
strike at Azerick’s head.

  Azerick easily ducked the clumsy but powerful swing and struck Hugo twice in the stomach with a quick blow from each fist. The big youth let out a whoosh of expulsed air as he backed up a step. A red haired youth named Carrot overcame his moment of surprise and let loose with an attack of his own. Azerick blocked the punch with his right and delivered two quick jabs and a right cross that rocked his assailant on his heels and leaving a broken nose and a stunned look in his eyes.

  Azerick made to charge between the two punks and make his escape when the third boy, Rolly, made a running slide toward him and executed a leg trip. Azerick went crashing face down toward the cobbles. Only a quick, last-second twisting of his hips kept him from landing on his face and preventing serious injury.

  Hugo and Carrot both recovered from their assault in those precious few seconds and started laying in with a series of kicks into Azerick’s legs and side. Azerick protected his vitals as best he could with his arms and twisting motions, but enough blows got through that he was taking a significant beating.

  After a few moments, Hugo decided that he made his point and he and his cronies ceased their assault. “Faralynn says that if you don’t pay your taxes real soon that I get to take care of you myself.” The gleam of cruel anticipation in Hugo’s eyes left little room for doubt as to the pleasure he would gain causing Azerick a great deal of pain.

  Faralynn was the local chapterhouse leader that collected taxes and tithes from all thieves working in the area in which Azerick unfortunately found himself. He had originally worked within Andrill’s district, but Faralynn’s rise to power over the past year redrew the lines, which put the young street rat within the powerful and unforgiving hands of one of the most dangerous and only female guild leaders in the city.

  Hugo and his friends laughed at his implied threat and gave him one more good hard kick to the ribs as they left Azerick curled in the fetal position on the cobbled street.

  “You and your moronic friends just got a permanent entry on my list, Hugo,” Azerick muttered as he picked himself up off the filthy cobblestones.

  As soon as he regained his feet and his breath, Azerick once again continued his trek home designing two plans of payback for his wounded body and pride but this time keeping more alert of his surroundings.

  No, best to focus on one plan at a time, he thought. Azerick devoted his full revenge-filled thoughts to the wizard. Hugo could wait a bit longer he reasoned. Azerick had never had magic used against him before. It made him feel powerless in its grip and that made him feel, well not scared, but certainly disconcerted. And angry.

  Hugo and his friends have been a pain and an annoyance for the past several years. Azerick guessed that made him about sixteen or seventeen years old now. He had stopped keeping track some time ago. That started Azerick thinking about his life before the streets and the one or ones who made the top of his revenge list, the ones who started it all. He probably could have asked Andrill for help in getting information about his father’s murder, but he still owed the man a debt was not about to increase it. It was hard enough just surviving right now.

  Azerick picked his way through a dilapidated warehouse with half its roof caved in. He looked around carefully before entering a large crate that covered the trapdoor beneath it. He reached down and lifted several planks to reveal the entrance. This allowed him to grip the opposing floorboard. When he pulled up on this one, a whole section of the floor pivoted up to reveal a passage with ladder rungs built into a stone shaft.

  Azerick began his descent, barring the trap door from inside. He carefully avoided the rungs designed to cause a slip, make a bell ring, or worse, launch a spike into the belly of the one unfortunate enough to trip it.

  Azerick settled himself into his abode, his stomach singing to him in a rumbling baritone, and once again started to think of his past. Back nearly five years to a time of safety, comfort, and happiness. Those thoughts, as he waded back upstream in the river of time, took him once again to those days of happiness but also to the most horrifying and dreadful moments of his young life. He thought back to the cause of his whole purpose of being, the purpose of revenge against those that responsible for his life and the loss of his family, fine home, and education. His education had been the most important thing in his life aside from his parents.

  By the time Azerick came out of his reverie, it was nearly time to go back to the market square of shame, as he now referred to it, and make good on his debt. He was a man of his word after all. Integrity was one of the few things no one could ever take away. It could only be willfully surrendered.

  “Well as I live and breathe, who ever would have guessed a street rat would keep his word and do some honest labor?” the produce merchant commented as he watched Azerick approach his cart. "I really didn’t expect you to show up, boy. Might be some hope for your character yet.”

  “Be rest assured, good merchant, that my character is just fine as I see it.”

  Azerick spent the next half hour moving and stacking the crates of fruits and vegetables so the farmer could safely cart them back to his farm. It was not terribly difficult work and he was finished in fairly short order.

  “You owed me a debt, boy, but I’ll thank you for your service anyway. Here, take these as a token of my good character,” he said as he handed Azerick a small bag with a few apples, pears and a gourd.

  “Payment is not necessary. I owed you for what I damaged and my labor made us square.”

  “Nonsense, boy, I know you’re hungry, and now you don’t have to worry about stealing a meal tonight. That makes me feel well enough that we’re still even if you accept it. A man, a boy even, needs to know what it feels like to receive compensation for honest work. Perhaps if more thieves and street urchins knew that feeling then maybe they would be more prone to doing honest work instead of trying to take the easy road and just steal it.”

  “Yes, sir, thank you,” he replied and walked away, not wanting to argue with the man who obviously knew nothing about living on the streets if he thought it was an easy life.

  Azerick did not think anything about his life had ever been easy since his father’s death. He did appreciate the food. He was not particularly interested in trying to filch a loaf of bread or a small wheel of cheese today. His earlier exploits still stuck in his craw and he just did not feel up it.

  Tomorrow however, is another day, he thought as he made his way across the city yet again and crept back into his bolthole.

  Azerick spent the next week plying his usual trade, nicking bites to eat, lifting purses, avoiding Hugo and his crew like the plague, and burglarizing the occasional home when he was really desperate for money. He stuck mainly to the middle and upper middle class homes of merchants. He never pulled off another caper as lucrative as the one that made him enough coin to buy his precious alchemic set and accomplish his justice against the guild house that murdered his friends. Such had been an act of desperation and his situation, as bad as it was right now, did not warrant the possibility of spending several years in prison.

  His gift to his friend Bran had absorbed the remaining gold he had made from that run over the and now he was having a hard time making his payments. He was at least two weeks past due and needed to make a decent score soon before the guild got tired of leaving the collection job to those three idiots and sent out some real thugs to finish the job. He could always pawn his alchemic set back to Azeel but immediately discarded that as an option. He would have to burgle another house and soon. Nothing as risky or elaborate as before, but something he could hit quickly and with minimal risk. Maybe he would start casing some likely places tonight.

  “Or maybe they would just have to wait a bit longer,” Azerick muttered to himself as he spied a familiar old man in robes striding up the street.

  He looked around for some way to make a big enough distraction that would break the old wizard’s attention enough for Azerick to get in and out quickly. Once again, the fates su
pplied the perfect means. Hugo and his motley little band were across the square, likely scoping out a mark or two as well. Azerick’s quick mind went to work and formulated a plan in seconds.

  He threaded his way through the crowded streets toward his three nemeses, scooping up a fresh lump of horse dung along the way. When he came within range, he shouted at the three thugs to gain their attention.

  “Hey, Hugo, I got all the taxes you’re worth right here.”

  As soon as Hugo looked up at him, Azerick flung the fresh dung at Hugo’s broad face with the accuracy of a champion archer. The filthy ball of manure hit Hugo right in the mouth with enough force to peel back his puffy lips and shatter the dung ball into dozens of tiny projectiles that caught Carrot, Rolly, and a few unlucky bystanders in its expanding spray.

  “Kill him!” Hugo screamed, spitting out bits of horse dung.

  Azerick took off like an arrow launched from a bow with the three hoodlums in pursuit. He ran through the crowds as fast as he could without knocking into any of them and slowing his escape. His path of flight intentionally took him on an unerring course toward the old wizard who had so humiliated him previously.

  Within moments, he caught sight of his target, ducked his head and ran full tilt into the old man. White wispy beard, boy, and stained robes rolled into an uncontrolled tumble onto the cobbled street.

  “You!” the old, coarse voice shouted in surprise as recognition of his assailant sparked in his mind.

  Azerick looked behind him with a look of fright, scrambled back to his feet and ran off into the crowd. Hugo, Carrot, and Rolly continued their pursuit through block after block of streets and alleys before Azerick eventually lost them by ducking into a printing shop and running out of the back door before has pursuers were able to turn the corner and spy his escape route.