The Sorcerer's Vengeance: Book 4 of the Sorcerer's Path (22 page)

The first galley looked as though it was going to ram them, given the rate it was still approaching, until the helmsman jerked the tiller and slid the ship up sideways, bumping hard against the
Shark’s
hull. A pair of grapnels sailed over the rail followed by two burly Eislanders a few seconds later.

“Permission to come aboard, Captain!” one of the boarding Eislanders called out from the rail they perched upon.

Technically they were already aboard and breaking a long-standing naval courtesy, but Zeb simply could not find it in himself to hold a grudge against the two men who apparently thought their entrance a rather grand jest to play on the southerners.

“Welcome aboard, gentlemen. I’m Zeb, captain of the
Iron Shark
.”

Both men hopped off the rail and approached Zeb with their large hands outstretched. “Gentlemen? Either Modi didn’t tell ya who we were or he lied to ya. Knowing him, he lied.”

“Lied! I’ve never told a lie in my life, you goat-bearded sewer rat!” Modi shouted indignantly.

“There he goes again, Captain. He once told me he didn’t sleep with Big Bella, but I have firsthand knowledge that is a bald-faced lie; and if you knew Bella, you’d know it was a really big lie at that.”

“I did not sleep with her! Fact is I sobered up before I passed out and ran like hell. She was the only one that did any sleeping, so technically it was no lie but the truth with the shameful bits omitted.”

“Ye should’a been a magistrate with that interpretation of the truth ya got there, Modi,” the Eislander, who introduced himself as Olen, said.

 “Oh aye, she fell asleep all right. Right in the midst of that shameful deed to hear tell of it!” Johann laughed heartily.

“Now that’s a lie! I had her howling like a mad woman!”

“She weren’t howling she was barking! Did I tell ya she was damned ugly ta boot?” Johann asked Zeb.

Olen cut off Modi’s sputtered defense of his dignity and prowess as a man. “What are ya doing down here and on this odd lookin’ tub? No offense, Captain.”

“None taken.”

Modi explained his and his men’s mission and what they had found. The two men listened to the battle jarl’s recitation of the battle with the ragmen and the hobgoblin. The mention of magic brought a sour look to the Eislanders’ faces even more so than the kidnappings and the ragmen. He never mentioned Hati however, perhaps not wanting the word of her changes known so soon.

“Well let’s get you back to a tavern so we can get you fixed up. I’m sure Bella will be thrilled ta see ya again,” Johann said and received a punch in the shoulder that probably would have broken Zeb’s arm.

“I wanna thank you again for all you’ve done, Zeb, and for seeing to Hati for me. Her da is gonna be upset but he’s a strong man and he’ll understand we did what was best. Maybe she’ll even be able to get fixed up and come home, though I’ll wager that once she’s away she’s not gonna want to come back. Maybe to visit her da, but that’d be about all,” Modi said as he shook Zeb’s hand.

“You saved me and my boys first so at the best we’re even. You take care of yourself and remember my offer,” Zeb returned.

“We thank ya for gettin’ this lout back to us even if he is a lying degenerate. If we happen ta catch and raid ya just remember, it ain’t personal, just business,” Olen grinned.

Zeb laughed as he clasped wrists with Olen and Johann again.

Modi grabbed his wrist once more and leaned in to whisper to him. “Don’t laugh too hard, Zeb, they ain’t joking.”

The rest of the men bid farewell and began climbing over the side of the ship to the waiting galleys below. Modi easily found Toron to bid him a personal farewell as well before he departed.

“I’m proud to have fought next to you, Toron. You know, it’s considered a high honor to decorate our helms and such with the horns of a minotaur we defeated in battle. It’s a damn shame someone beat me to yours,” Modi said. “I wouldn’t be able to tolerate a lopsided helmet.”

“I imagine such an honor must be truly prestigious considering the extreme rarity that one such as you actually defeated a minotaur. I imagine most of those horns were dug up and claimed from the toothless skulls of long dead grandfathers,” Toron shot back.

Man and minotaur laughed deeply at each other’s good-natured ribbing and clasped wrists before Modi made his own way down the rope and stood on the open deck of the galley. Zeb waited until the galleys nearly reached the shore before ordering sails hoisted and the ship put underway for home.

CHAPTER
11

Shakrill stared at the body that Sasha and Krendall dropped onto the floor near the stairs. She walked languidly down the black marble stairs and stopped three steps from the bottom, preferring to look imperiously down upon the others.

“Where is Anthony?” Shakrill asked, wanting one of them to put words to what she already suspected.

It was Krendall that answered, being the one least concerned with offending the wizard. “Outside drawing flies,” he replied simply and without emotion.

Shakrill was surprised only by the fact that this unimposing boy managed to kill not only an adept that had been expected to go far in the tower, but now a full wizard while being supported by another full wizard and an archmage. The wizard’s death concerned her very little. Anthony was never considered an exceptionally talented spell caster. Shakrill and the others figured he would likely never make archmage and now there was certainly no doubt of it.

She saw that Sasha sported a rather serious wound that bled profusely even through the cloth she bound around it. Two dead and another full wizard injured.

“He certainly is not much to look at is he?” Shakrill commented as she studied Azerick’s unconscious form.

“One would think not, though you know as well as I that when it comes to wizards, or sorcerers I would imagine as is his case, looks can be deceiving,” Krendall reminded the wizard.

“A sorcerer is he? How very interesting. Is that the staff Jarred said he wielded?” Shakrill asked, looking at the staff.

“Indeed and an impressive weapon it is. The runes appear to be dwarven, which is an even greater surprise than seeing one so young wielding such an artifact.”

“Dwarven? This young man just gets more interesting by the moment,” Shakrill said, licking her brightly painted red lips. “Do you think he stole it from his master? If so, I would love to hear how he or she got that magic hating race to craft it.”

Krendall shook his head. “From the initial astral readings I have gotten from it so far, this young sorcerer has been its owner nearly since its construction only a few years ago. He is certainly linked to it.”

Shakrill descended the remaining steps, took Azerick’s staff from her associate, and studied the arcanum and blood red weapon, rolling it in her hands.

“Most impressive. You say it qualifies as an artifact in its power?”

“Nearly, though its exact abilities and limitations would take years of study to identify and define. My short look into it gave me the impression of enormous depth.”

“So the staff was the sorcerer’s primary source of power?” Shakrill asked, slightly disappointed.

“I would be hesitant to make that claim. The staff certainly makes him a force to be reckoned with against most any wizard, but it would be foolish to underestimate the young man’s own abilities. He showed a very good grasp of magic, his wards were exceptional, and the spell he slew Anthony with would give any archmage cause for concern.

“Now then, if show and tell is over, I have my own business to attend to, as I am sure you have a host of wonderful things with which to entertain our young guest,” Krendall said lightly and walked away.

Gods, that man is irritating! I would wish him an agonizing death in the desert but that would rob me of the pleasure of using him as my footstool once I summon Klaraxis.

“Joshua!” Shakrill shouted.

“Yes, mistress!” Joshua replied, hastening down the steps from where he had been anticipating his mistress’s summons.

“Find another apprentice to help you take this man to the summoning chambers and chain him to the floor. And get a novice to clean up Magus Sasha’s blood.”

“Yes, mistress.”

Joshua ran to the novice and apprentice chambers located on the first three floors and did as his mistress commanded. He sent one of the novices down with a scrub brush and a bucket of water and asked his friend Umair to help take the man lying on the floor downstairs to the summoning chambers.

Joshua grabbed Azerick under his armpits while Umair took his feet and tried to carry him down the steps. They quickly found that this method was making them work far too hard since his middle tended to sag down and the height difference when they got to the stairs made it even harder. They decided that it would be easier to throw his arms over each of their shoulders and carry him between them like trying to get a drunken friend home.

“Did you hear what happened?” Umair asked, trying to suppress a smile and failing miserably.

“No, I was busy scrubbing Mistress Shakrill’s floor,” Joshua replied.

“Jarred came into the room sobbing that a wizard had killed Paul at that seedy little bar with the stable just down the street!”

“No!”

“He said he blew Paul’s heart out through his back with so much force it hit the barkeeper in face!” Umair said excitedly.

Paul and Jarred had been the bane of all the apprentices and lower ranking casters at the tower who were not part of their little clique, which consisted of the strongest and most arrogant mages in the tower. Anyone who showed even a hint of decency was automatically excluded. Joshua was fortunate that he was skilled enough that most of Paul’s group left him alone.

“So what did Jarred do?” Joshua asked his friend.

Umair snorted. “What he always does when Paul isn’t there to cover his ass, he ran like little girl and cried to the wizards.”

“And you think this is the guy?”

“Wait, it gets even better. Mistress Shakrill sends Archmage Krendall, Magus Sasha, and Magus Anthony out to get him. They catch him crossing the square, hotfooting towards an alley, and unload on him. He take’s Archmage Krendall’s lightning bolt as if he blew him a kiss, casts a duplicity spell while running full tilt across the square, and gets little more than a sunburn from Magus Sasha’s fireball. Then he jumps up and hits Magus Anthony with a ray that nearly folds him in half backwards, snapping his spine loud enough for those of us watching from the windows to hear! Then he nearly impales Magus Sasha on these stone spikes that shot out from the ground.”

“So how did they finally bring him down?” Joshua asked, amazed that he was carrying the unconscious form of a sorcerer that had killed an adept and a wizard and nearly fought off another archmage and wizard.

“Archmage Krendall smacked the crap out of him with that big stone hands spell of his,” Umair replied.

“That is a really good spell. I hope to get him to teach it to me one day,” Joshua said with envy.

They finally reached the bottom of the stairs far below the tower and dragged Azerick into the large summoning chamber. A set of shackles were bolted to the floor in the center of a rune of summoning and containment. The rune ensured that anything summoned into the circle stayed in the circle. The dried blood on the walls was left there as a constant reminder of what happened when wizards summoned a creature beyond their power to control.

They secured the manacles around the sorcerer’s wrists and paused a moment, looking down at him.

“You say Archmage Krendall said he was a sorcerer?” Umair asked.

“Yeah, that’s what he said.”

“He looks too young to have that kind of power. He doesn’t look much older than you,” Umair said to Joshua.

“Archmage Krendall said it would be a bad idea to underestimate him,” Joshua replied.

“Krendall is good deal wiser than many of the fools upstairs,” an old, cracked voice cackled from behind them. “You’d be wise to heed his advice.”

The two apprentices started and spun around to face the old woman standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on her staff.

“Hello, Agatha,” Joshua greeted. “You should not call the tower magi fools; it will get you into trouble.”

The old woman made a rude noise and an even ruder gesture at the ceiling. “I’ve been a mage from before this tower was raised. Hells, I helped raise the thing, before all the scum started moving in and building those dreadful shanties all around us.”

Both apprentices had heard the old librarian’s angry ramblings before. She was tolerated by the wizards because she could take you to any of the thousands of books in the library located at the end of the hall from the summoning chamber just by telling her what you needed. She had also been here as long as any mage could recall, all the way back to some of the masters’ masters.

“Come along with me, boys, I have a little gift for you,” Agatha ordered, crooking a long bony finger at them.

The two apprentices followed the shuffling old woman down the dark corridor to the library. The brightly lit library stood in stark contrast to the gloomy halls and summoning room. Rich mahogany bookshelves and reading tables filled the chamber.

Agatha shuffled behind a large desk covered in books and scrolls that she was nearly always to be found behind no matter the time of day or night. It was rumored that the old woman never slept and that was one reason why she was completely batty.

She pulled out two worn leather satchels like the type couriers were often seen using to deliver dispatches and mail.

“These are for you but listen well, more than just your own lives may depend on it,” the old crone warned them in her rasping voice. “Do not open them until darkness falls and lights your way, for only when darkness falls will you be able to see the path you must follow.”

The two apprentices looked at each other in confusion then at the old librarian.

“What is that supposed to mean, Aggie?” Joshua asked.

“Hm? Oh, hello boys. Are you looking for a book?” she asked as if seeing them for the first time.