The Sorcerer's Destiny (The Sorcerer's Path) (18 page)

Mordigar flew to her side and rumbled, “Excellent, now think on how you can blend the elements to capture as many of them at once as you can.”

The young dragon thought less about magic and more about the forces of nature and how they acted alone and in concert. It would be a fairly simple task to swoop down and strafe the goats with her fiery breath, but she knew that was not what Mordigar was trying to teach her. Earth and water runes lit up her form for a brief moment. Heedless of the impending danger, the goats continued their headlong dash toward the base of the mountain. Seconds before reaching the bottom where they could scatter, the ground beneath their narrow hooves gave way, and the hapless animals tumbled into the large sinkhole Sandy created just beneath the surface. A few of the rearmost goats leapt to the side and scrambled past the pit.

“Let them go,” the elder dragon said when Sandy made to go after them. “We have enough and do not want to decimate the herd in its entirety. Some must be left to repopulate.”

Sandy nodded her understand and followed her new mentor as he dived toward the terrified goats trying to leap and scramble out of the hole. A short burst of Mordigar’s intense flame breath ended their frantic attempts of escape. The two dragons set down near the edge of the hole. Sigils flashed and the ground beneath the goats rose up to create a smoking platter of roasted meat.

“Very nicely done. One should not eat off the ground like an animal when it can be avoided. You are as clever as you are lovely.”

Sandy was glad dragons could not blush. “My scales are hideous, but at least I am better suited to catch lunch.”

“Do not let your outward appearance define you. You are far more than your scales or your birth name. Your mother chose your name out of love and what she felt best suited you. Now, as you reach maturity, you must decide on a new name, one that befits your character and actions. Do you think I came out of my egg and made the mountains tremble beneath my awesome power?”

“I suppose not. What was your birth name?”

“It was so long ago I have forgotten. What else have you learned other than how to catch a meal?”

Sandy doubted the old dragon had forgotten a thing, but she let him change the subject without further prodding. She had thought there was far more to this hunt than simply capturing food. Mordigar was the type to make every action one of learning.

“I could manipulate my enemy on the battlefield in much the same way,” Sandy answered.

“Excellent. Killing your foe is not the most challenging aspect of warfare. Getting them into a position in which you can kill them with the least risk and greatest effect is the true key to battle. A courageous warrior will face an oncoming horde and sell his life dearly. A smart warrior will kill his foes before they even know they have been engaged. He is then free to seek more enemies in which to slay.”

“I understand.”

“I have no doubt that you do. Eat up. We will both need our strength.”

Despite her earlier assertions of not being hungry, the use of her rune magic quickly ate up her reserves, and she eagerly tore into their meal. She gave Mordigar several sidelong glances as she dined, wondering if his comment about them both needing their strength meant more than just her training. Sandy wished she had the power to make this time with him continue so they would never face each other as enemies. She knew she could not, and Sandy finally understood all of the sacrifices Azerick had made for the sake of the mortal races.

CHAPTER 9

The men heard the wagon slowly rumbling down the rutted road before they could make it out through the nearly lightless evening. The carriage left narrow wheel tracks where the last of the snows sought refuge within the shadows draped across the roadway. The sections not covered in the frigid white stuff were a muddy slop that spattered the pair of mules’ legs and bellies as they dutifully pulled their burden down the treacherous path, a sucking, slurping sound punctuating each lifting of their feet as dirty water instantly filled the depressions they made with each step.

Three highwaymen emerged from the trees as the wagon drew near and stepped just inside the ring of flickering light cast by the lanterns hanging off each side of the driver’s buckboard. Two of the men pointed cocked and loaded crossbows at the wagon driver’s heart, leaving no question as to their intent. The driver reined in his mules with a sharp tug of their leads and calls of “whoa”.

“It’s a foolish man who travels these roads alone,” the brigand without a crossbow called up to the driver.

“I won’t argue that, but it’s a big assumption on your part to think I’m alone.”

“I think you’re bluffing. We been waiting in this spot for hours and ain’t seen another soul.”

“Are you willing to bet your life on that?”

The speaker turned to his two accomplices. “Watch the woods.” He then turned back to the man on the wagon. “You seem like a clever fellow if a might foolish. What’s your name?”

“Most folks just call me Fetch.”

“Well, you just go and fetch me whatever gold you pulled out of these streams and mountains.”

His cohorts chuckled at their leader’s pun. “Hey, boss, these mules ain’t got no brands.”

“That makes our job a lot easier. I guess we’ll be taking them too.”

“Look at him. He ain’t hardly got no legs. Is he a dwarf?”

“Naw, ain’t no dwarves gonna be driving mules on these roads. He’s a half-man, ain’t ya?”

Fetch glowered down at the robbers. “What I am is under the employ of someone you don’t want to cross. Are you certain you wish to sell your lives so cheaply?”

“I don’t know who your boss is, but he ain’t here is he?”

“On the contrary, I have been here the entire time.” A shadow detached itself from the base of a stout tree and approached them.

Both crossbows instantly swiveled to point at the speaker’s heart. The man was tall, lean, and impeccably dressed in dark clothing. The fact he was able to blend so easily into the shadows and get the jump on the brigands may have been the source of the men’s sudden fear. It could also have been the fact that not a single speck of mud dared touch his shoes or clothing as he stepped nonchalantly toward them, seemingly oblivious to the lethal weapons aimed at him. Whatever the reason, the highwaymen felt a sudden shift in the balance of power, and it made them very nervous.

The leader of the band tried to put on a brave front and spoke. “Who are you?”

“I am Landrin Bailey; Lord Governor of End’s Run. You men are guilty of crimes against its citizens.”

The brigand leader searched the trees for any signs of movement or sounds that might betray the presence of soldiers. “You look to have come unprepared, Lord Governor.”

“It is you who are unprepared for me. I sense the evil intent within your hearts and know you meant to murder my man after robbing him of all his possessions.”

“Well, we can’t have folks running off and telling the local constabulary.”

“For your crimes of robbery with intentions of murder, the punishment is death.”

“Only ones dying here tonight are you two. Kill them.”

The first man turned his crossbow back to Fetch to carry out his orders. The half-man squeezed the lever of the crossbow he picked up from beneath his seat while the thugs were distracted by Landrin’s arrival and buried a quarrel in the man’s heart, killing him instantly.

The second robber loosed his bolt and stared in mute shock when the lord snatched it from the air like a fly. The brigand dropped his crossbow and made to draw his sword. Landrin drew his slender rapier, sprinted across the fifty feet of open ground, and kicked the man in the chest before the blade cleared its sheath.

Landrin darted to the leader of the gang and slapped his sword from his hand hard enough to send it flying deep into the forest before his partner’s body struck the ground with a wet thud and soft mewling of pain. He pressed the tip of his sword against the man’s throat.

“You have two choices. You can spend the next five years in my dungeon serving a purpose, or I can execute you here and now.”

The thief’s voice trembled. “W-what sort of purpose?”

Landrin smiled and revealed a long pair of fangs. “My purpose.”

“No, I won’t!” he cried and tried to back away.

“So be it.”

The vampire silenced his cries with a swift thrust through his heart and walked over to the man huddled on the ground holding his bruised and broken ribs. Landrin did not even have to speak before the man gave his answer.

“Please, don’t kill me! I want to live, please!” he begged as held his quavering hand up beseechingly.

The ride to End’s Run was long, bumpy, and unpleasant, particularly for the highwayman trussed up and laying in the bed of the wagon. It was the darkest, loneliest hours of the morning by the time they reached the earth-filled double walls of the kingdom’s northernmost town. The men guarding the gates opened them wide without challenge. No one knew what the Governor and his man did on these occasional late night forays, but none were curious enough to ask. Landrin was as respected as he was feared, and none pried into his affairs.

Not that anyone likely would regardless of his status. End’s Run was a wild frontier, although much less wild now that King Jarvin appointed Landrin governor, and people tended to leave others to their affairs as long as they were left to theirs. Even now, the sounds of raucous laughter and merriment drifted across the settlement from a few of the taverns and inns that never closed their doors except to keep out the cold.

Fetch guided the mules to the small northern gate leading to the cobbled lane winding its way to Landrin’s mansion. The road was steep, snaking up the hillside to the mysterious home created overnight using magic from a scroll given to him by Solarian, god of light. Between that and the Governor’s enigmatic nature, he rarely had visitors, something for which he was very thankful, and this night more than others.

“Take our guest to his cell,” Landrin instructed his valet. “I will be in the chapel.”

“It still bothers you, don’t it?”

“The necessities of my existence will always trouble me.”

“Don’t see why.” Fetch nudged the wheel of the wagon with his boot. “This fellow gets to cool his heels in a reasonably pleasant little cell for a time then go on his merry way. Anywhere else in the kingdom and he’d be swinging by a rope next to his friends.”

“Sometimes the measure of one’s death is more important than the measure of one’s life, something of which I am keenly aware.”

Fetch knew there was no point in arguing when Landrin was in this sort of mood. He had tried on several occasions to convince his friend and boss that taking blood from men or women who would otherwise have been executed was no different than milking a cow, but Landrin remained morose for days after taking in a new prisoner, and nothing would cheer him up. Only his devotion to Solarian brought him any measure of peace.

Landrin entered the chapel room of his home and knelt before the huge, golden disc suspended from the ceiling set to capture and reflect the rays of sunlight that would stream through the stained glass window behind him come morning. Devotions were normally performed at sunrise and sunset, but Landrin’s heart was heavy, and only Solarian’s cleansing light could ease his suffering.

“Solarian, lord of morning, god of light, forgive me for my actions this night and continue to bless me with your radiance. Though I cannot walk within your light, I thank you for your love and guidance and will forever be your servant. Anything I have and everything I am is yours to command.”

Golden light filled the room, and Landrin could feel the awesome power only a god could radiate wash over him. He felt the breath he had not drawn in the past couple of decades catch in his throat. Landrin slowly turned on his knees and saw the silhouette of his god in the center of a dazzling aura.

“Solarian, you grace me with your presence once again,” Landrin intoned obsequiously.

“Not even close,” a sultry, feminine voice replied.

Sharrellan dropped the brilliant glow surrounding her and laughed softly. “Forgive me, Landrin. My humor can sometimes be a bit cruel.”

“Why do you come and defile this holy place with your presence?”

“I have a service I require you to perform.”

“I do not serve you. I serve only Solarian, so be gone from my home.”

The goddess touched an alabaster hand to her exposed cleavage in mock offense. “Such rudeness. Most of my subjects would be overjoyed by a visit from their beloved goddess.”

“I am not your subject! I belong heart and soul to Solarian.”

“It is a shame your beloved Solarian does not hold you in such high regard. Do you think the god of life and light has anything other than pity for you? You are an undead monstrosity, and he finds you repulsive beyond few other things in this world. I, on the other hand, think you are fabulous. Your soul belongs to me whether you like it or not.”

“I have given myself to Solarian, and you cannot take that away!” Landrin shouted.

“You are correct; I cannot take a soul from another god. Fortunately, he was perfectly happy to give it to me.”

Landrin’s eyes dropped to the floor and whispered, “He would not do such a thing.”

“Could and did. Who do you think helped you become what you are?”

“You are the cause of my existence?”

“With Solarian’s blessing. Now stop being so pouty. This is important.”

Landrin’s world shattered. He felt betrayed as everything he had done to prove himself worthy of his god’s love crumbled to dust. He had tortured himself, denied the needs of his existence only to still find rejection.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to do the job for which you were created.”

Sharrellan produced a scroll from nowhere and held it out to Landrin. The vampire reluctantly took it and read its contents. He leapt to his feet, fury mingling with disgust as he hurled the parchment back at the goddess of death.

“I will never be a part of you vile schemes! Good people died to thwart this perversion of magic, and I will not mock their deaths by trying to complete it!”