The Sorcerer's Vengeance: Book 4 of the Sorcerer's Path (18 page)

Allister tried to placate Rusty. “That is why Azerick started this school, so that these children did not have to keep going through what he did.”

“That is exactly my point! I love Azerick like a brother, but he scares the hell out of me,” Rusty finished quietly.

“Franklin, you know that boy would never hurt you or anyone here.”

“I know that, but what about everyone else? His first line of defense is an overwhelming and often lethal response. A group of city guards came to do their duty as they saw it and he came within a hair’s breadth from scattering them all over the courtyard.”

“But he didn’t,” the archmage defended. “He warned them and they backed down.”

“What if they hadn’t? We have heard and seen what he is willing to do when he feels he or those he cares about are threatened. Now we have over two hundred young boys and girls that were raised in a very similar environment; nearly seventy of which we are teaching magic. We are raising more than three score of Azericks who will one day go out on their own. How are they going to deal with challenges and threats?”

Allister was beginning to understand why Rusty was so adamant in this. “Have you seen something specific?”

Rusty let out a long breath. “I saw some kids playing and one knocked over a bucket of mortar one of the masons was using. He shouted at them to be careful and to go play somewhere else. Allister, the instant he raised his voice and shook that trowel at them, I watched three hands dart into pockets for reagents and felt them reach for the Source. The mason turned away and went back to work, but I know that if those kids felt he was a threat, they would have incinerated him on the spot to defend themselves. We are putting all of our time and effort into teaching them how to use magic when it is even more important to teach them when not to. We have to change their survival instincts or we are responsible for the disaster that is to come.”

The archmage’s face blanched at Rusty’s words. “I have been a fool. I am so used to my students coming from wealthy, stable homes that it did not occur to me to change my approach. Very well, I am not sure how we assure these kids that they are safe now, but I will pass on to the other teachers that we need to focus more on their behavior and reactions. I do believe Azerick is right also. There is a real threat to this school and these kids have accepted it as their territory, and like you said, they will defend it. We must continue to do what we can to give them the best chance to do so.”

“All right, Magus. Thank you.”

Just then, a bell began ringing out on the grounds. A young man by the name of Brother Thomas arrived at the gates of the school shortly after Azerick departed. He spoke to Allister, Rusty, and Simon about coming and providing services for the large number of children and faculty. He told them that he had recently graduated from the seminary in Brightridge and was looking for a congregation of his own when he heard about the Orphan’s Academy, as people were calling it. He said that he received a vision from Solarian the next day to make the pilgrimage to North Haven and bring His beneficent light to the children.

Brother Thomas’s request was met with such enthusiasm from both the children and faculty that Simon appropriated the funds and workers to build him a small church and made him a fulltime faculty member. He already taught a class of twenty-five students in basic reading, writing, and numbers and had eight children volunteering to become initiates of Solarian. Even more amazing was that over the past two weeks, three of them have shown signs of being a Chosen of Solarian, a blessing that shines down upon barely ten percent of all who enter the church’s service. To have three out of eight initiates receive such a blessing was unheard of.

The bell signified the first services to be held in the recently completed church. Until now, services had been held in the main hall of the keep. The church was a log and timber structure like the more recent billets. It was the largest building with the exception of the keep itself. It had a high vaulted ceiling with an incredible stained glass window set high above the floor that let in the morning sun just like all of Solarian’s temples and churches.

The church was nearly filled to capacity as students, faculty, and workers filed in and took a seat on the long, padded benches. Brother Thomas glowed every bit as much as the sun that streamed through the stained glass and reflected off his wavy, chestnut locks. His youthful face reflected the deep feeling of joy he felt as he stood upon the pulpit watching his flock fill his church and his holy mission from Solarian.

CHAPTER
10

It took two days for the party to reach the northern edge of the Endless Forest, what the Eislanders called Muspellheim. “Gods, I am glad to leave Niflheim behind. The fog is unnatural and a man needs more than just whiteness to surround him.”

“Niflheim?” Zeb asked.

“Aye, a legendary foggy, freezing wasteland of the north, though I’ll tell stories that I swear it is real, having just came from the infernal place. A land of giants and fearsome creatures the likes of which no man has ever witnessed,” Modi said with laugh.

“I for one will be glad to be out of this miserable, joint-aching cold and never so much as speak of it again,” Zeb complained.

Modi chuckled at the older man’s grousing. “You should be thankful for the dry cold. If it were warmer we would be more likely to get snowfall and that would not be good for our trackers.”

“Aye, I just want to get to where we’re goin’, get my men back, and cut down whatever vile creature made those abominations. No man or woman should have that done to them whether they be alive or dead. It just ain’t right.”

As the battle party crossed the tundra and plowed into the deeper, softer snows of the forest, Zeb noticed that the Eislanders did not wear snowshoes yet did not sink much deeper into the snow than his men did. He studied the northmen’s leather, fur lined boots and noticed that they were considerably broad at the base. Zeb surmised that they must use a thin wood or stiff leather insert to widen the sole to displace their weight much in the same way as his men’s clumsy snowshoes. The design was not quite as efficient at keeping the men from sinking into the snow but it allowed them far superior movement when it came to battle.

Modi’s scouts began reporting seeing tracks running across the ones they followed, indicating that they were probably getting close or were at least inside their territory. They spotted a few ragmen roaming about, apparently on some kind of patrol, but they were far from alert or vigilant. Modi and Zeb’s war party easily avoided them.

The number of cross tracks increased the further they went, to the point of obscuring the trail they followed. It became increasingly difficult to separate the different tracks, but the scouts were confident they were nearing their objective.

Along with the increase in tracks came the increase of the creatures that made them. They quickly recognized the two primary categories of ragmen: the ones that were basically walking dead—zombies, and ragers—the ones that were full of rage, hate, and the desire to kill any living thing in their path. It was the latter that they had to be most wary of. The ragers studied their surroundings, scanning their territory for any signs of life. The zombies mostly just stood about or shuffled behind a rager. Zeb figured the zombies would not notice them unless they actually stepped on them.

The Eislander scouts avoided the paths now that they were in a heavily patrolled area and stuck to low-lying areas and dense clusters of trees to avoid being seen. They were currently hidden in a deep bowl on the leeward side of a clump of evergreen trees.

Zeb, Modi, Toron, and two of Modi’s scouts lay prone just at the lip of the bowl watching the movements of at least a dozen ragmen—and ragwomen, Zeb figured was a more fitting name for the ones that had once been women, gathering in front of a cave entrance in the side of a ragged dome of rock thrusting out of the ground like the single remaining tooth in an old man’s mouth. The men saw that Akkadians also made up a large number of the ragmen.

Given the relatively small prominence of rock, the cave floor must angle down rather steeply. Seeing the number of ragmen and women that came and went, the inside of the cavern must be fairly substantial. For the past two hours, at least three score of the creatures entered and left the cavern. Add that to the number they had already seen on patrol and assuming the other three directions were similarly guarded, that added up to a whole lot of trouble. Far more than their small band could hope to deal with.

“As much as I hate to say it,” Modi was saying to Zeb, “us going into that cave would be like a few honey bees invading a hornet’s nest.”

“It looks like they may be forming up. Maybe they’re fixin’ to go somewhere,” Zeb said hopefully.

A dour look crossed the big northman’s bearded face. “The only reason they would go somewhere is to make some poor souls’ lives a living hell.”

“We can’t do nothin’ about that, Modi, but we can be sure there ain’t much they can do to em when they bring back their captives.”

“Aye, I get your meaning, Zeb. We’ll kill whatever black devil is doing this. At least then whoever falls into these beasts’ hands will get no worse than a swift death.”

Zeb was correct in his assertions as a large bulk of the ragmen began moving out towards the southeast, leaving a much smaller force to guard the entrance of the cave and walk their patrols. Modi sent word back to his men to be prepared to move quickly. Zeb’s men imitated the Eislanders as they got up and began limbering up their arms and legs, restoring warmth and movement lost by sitting immobile for the past three hours.

A simple flick of the finger brought the Eislander warriors to the top of the bowl with Zeb’s hunters in tow. The old captain was impressed by the skilled movements and actions of the formidable warriors. He could appreciate the difference between a strong fighting man like his sailors and oarsmen and true soldiers, but these big combat veterans were in a class far beyond them.

The warriors’ discipline made them keep their heads below the rim of the depression no matter how much their instincts and curiosity urged them to take a look at what lay beyond their hiding spot. It was yet another display of the Eislanders’ discipline and professionalism, the warriors trusting in the guidance of their leader. They would take in and judge the particulars of the battlefield in the few seconds it took them to charge down the slight slope and cleave their heavy axes into their enemies.

“Modi,” Zeb whispered to the Battle jarl, “I know our crossbows aren’t much good against these monstrosities, but a few head shots, particularly against them that look to have something akin to a functional brain, might give us an edge.”

Modi nodded at the suggestion. He was in full battle mode and did not waste words when none was needed. He would rather his warriors led the charge anyway, not wanting the sailors to get in his men’s way. He respected their courage and resolve but they were not warriors, not Eislanders.

Zeb looked back at his men, pointed at the crossbows they carried, and tapped his head with his finger. Most of the men understood, the ones that did not had his intent quickly whispered in their ear. He made eye contact with Modi, who gave him another nod, raised his arm then swiftly slashed downward.

  Half a dozen heavy crossbows twanged almost in unison, launching their thick-shafted, broad-headed quarrels across the short score of yards separating them from their targets. Every missile struck flesh, living and otherwise, but only two managed to score a direct hit against two of the ragers’ heads. Zeb yelped excitedly when the two that were headshot dropped to the ground. One was a quadruped, the other a powerful looking beast with four muscular arms.

The Eislanders were up and charging before the crack of the crossbows ceased echoing off the trees. The air filled with the fearless and powerful warriors’ battle cries as they kicked up snow in their headlong charge down the slight slope. Hand axes went flying through the air, slicing muscle, tendon, and bone. The northmen swung their huge battleaxes off their broad backs even as their hurled weapons struck home.

The battle was fierce but short, almost over by the time the slower southern men reached the fight. Toron, whose large feet and powerful legs allowed him to forgo the use of snowshoes, was only slightly behind the big northerners.

Zeb saw grins spread across the faces of several of the Eislanders as the huge minotaur laid into the ragmen with his axe, his powerful blows severing limbs and taking heads. Seeing his battle fury, the warriors increased their own efforts, making it something of a competition and a source of pride, intent on not to be outdone by the minotaur.

Zeb’s men dropped the crossbows to the ground, their shots expended and too slow to reload, drew their cutlasses and charged after Toron and the Eislanders. The oarsmen circled behind the ragmen that their northern allies engaged and used their swords to cut into hamstrings and spines; anything that would slow or cripple their unnatural opponents.

The element of surprise gave the human attackers the edge they needed to sway the battle steeply in their favor. They cut the ragmen down in minutes with only minimal casualties to the attackers. Two of Modi’s men suffered some deep cuts but they tied them off with bandages and assured their jarl they were still battle ready. Zeb lost an oarsman when a rager’s stone-headed mallet caught him square in the face with an unexpected backhanded blow.

The battle jarl and his men swarmed into the cave without hesitation or coordination. They were in their battle frenzy now and would slow for nothing until they or their enemies were dead. The lead warriors almost immediately ran straight into more ragmen, often alone or in small groups. The zombies, lacking specific instructions from their master, were slow to react and defend themselves and were quickly cut down.

The ragers gave them far more trouble. They heard the sounds of battle and possibly smelled the scent of non-mutilated men in the caverns and reacted quickly. The Eislanders began taking more casualties as resistance swiftly began increasing. Who gained the advantage of the narrow passages was anyone’s guess. Eislanders jockeyed for position, competing with Toron for the honor of being at the head of the battle group, sometimes going so far as to throw an elbow along with a grin and a wink as they charged past.