The Sorcerer's Vengeance: Book 4 of the Sorcerer's Path (25 page)

Sandy sensed the change in the goats as she burrowed nearer. Their casual bleats were reduced to a few nervous noises as if the creatures could sense that a predator was near but were unable to see, smell, or hear it. Instinct made them draw closer together, putting their young in the center while the rams stayed to the outside, waiting to butt heads with any interloper.

Six feet beneath the sand and directly below one of the goats near the outer ring where Sandy could feel they were formed up, the little sand dragon launched herself upward with all her strength, breaching through the surface of the sand like a great-toothed devil shark breaching the surface of the ocean and taking one of the smaller sea mammals down into its cold depths to be devoured by the unstoppable predator.

At least that was what was supposed to have happened. The breaching attack was flawlessly executed but started going wrong immediately after contact with the enemy. Enemy, no longer prey, as the foul-smelling mammal kicked its hind legs like a mad drummer, striking Sandy in her sensitive snout and face. The counterattack was so sudden and effective that it caused her to lose her vice-like grip on the animal.

She spun about, hissing in pain, anger, and humility at the fleeing, wounded goat. A big ram took advantage of her distraction and butted her hard in the side. Sandy spun and snapped at the cantankerous beast and was hit from the other side by one of the younger males. Sandy quickly realized that the goats were a bit larger than she had first thought and put up a much stronger fight than she anticipated.

Hissing in frustration and anger, the little dragon lashed out with her powerful tail and snapped at the foul beasts with lightning quick strikes, but the agile goats were adept at avoiding her attacks and lunged in for a bone-bruising head butt whenever she was distracted. Learning from her mistakes, she feinted towards one of the younger males then whipped her tail around at the senior ram when he tried another rush, sending the goat sprawling in the sand.

Her victory was short lived as two more young males collided with her armored side, knocking her over with a yelp of pain. Having had enough of this frontal battle, Sandy dove under the sand just as the young shepherd, who had been dozing in the shade of a large palm tree, came running at the sounds of the commotion. He reached his herd at the same time Sandy burst out from under the sand, grabbed the goat she had initially wounded, and pulled it under the surface.

The young shepherd, no more than twelve years old, looked on in fear and astonishment at the sight of the goat seeming to have disappeared in a burst of sand. Gripping his long crook, he stared helplessly at where the goat had just been standing, trying to make sense of the blood droplets he saw in the sand.

The ground suddenly burst skyward in another spray of sand, showering him with grit. He tried to leap away but fell onto his back as the reptilian demon glared down at him with fierce green eyes and a maw full of wickedly sharp teeth still showing traces of blood and fur.

“What are you? Please don’t hurt me!” the boy wailed.

Sandy replied in perfect Sumaran. “I am the great and powerful,” Sandy hissed her dragon name. “You will bring me treasure as a token of my greatness.”

“What do you want? I am poor and have nothing,” the shepherd said, quavering in fear.

“You will bring me sugar cubes, all you have or I will eat your goats and then you,” Sandy told the terrified boy with an evil grin. “Go, bring me my tribute or I will find you in your home near the edge of the town and devour you while you sleep!”

Sandy snorted in laughter as she watched the boy flee back towards the city, his sandals flapping against his feet and throwing up small sprays of sand. She had made a guess as to where he lived, figuring the poorest people lived near edges of a city, and being a goat herder, probably had to take his goats in from time to time and the closer to their grazing land the better. Driving a bunch of stubborn goats through the city could prove arduous so one would live as far from the center as possible.

The little dragon cast a glare of extreme hatred at the huddled mass of goats several yards away who watched her with wary, hostile eyes. She sank down into the sand with little effort of movement, never taking her eyes from the disgusting little beasts.

It took less than an hour for the shepherd to return, running back towards the herd with a small clay jar in his hands, his light muslin robes flapping behind him. Sandy watched the boy from where she lay in wait about halfway between him and the dune where Azerick had left her. The boy was breathing hard, partly from the exertion of running across the sands and partly out of fear. As Sandy came waddling up to him his breath caught in his throat and she thought he might actually make himself pass out despite the force of his previous respirations.

“You have brought my tribute?” she asked haughtily.

The shepherd dropped to his knees and nearly pressed his face into the sand as he held out the clay pot shaking in his hands. “Great sand demon, I could find no sugar but I brought you the honey we use to sweeten our tea. Please do not eat me, we are poor, and it is the best I could do.”

Sandy nearly scoffed. These people always cried impoverishment. Given the size of his herd, she doubted his family was anywhere near starving and lived in far greater comfort than many of their neighbors. The wool made from the goats’ hair, cheese made from their milk, and meat sold after slaughter all brought in a decent income and the fact that they had honey for their tea, a luxury item to be sure, only solidified her assumption.

Sandy glared down at the boy. “I will spare you this one time, but should you ever fail to follow my demands in the future, I may not be so generous. You may depart—after you rub my scales down with sand,” she hastily modified.

The shepherd’s normally tan skin blanched nearly white at the thought of touching the demon but he dared not refuse. He set the pot of honey down before the dragon he thought was a demon, and carefully rubbed handfuls of sand all around Sandy’s sides and back while she clasped the pot in her paws and dipped her long, violet tongue into the honey pot.

“Harder, goat boy, work the muscles while you are at it,” Sandy snapped.

She purred like a cat, fully contented by the relaxing buffing, massaging, and the exquisite taste of the honey. The dragon found the honey even more scrumptious than the sugar cubes. She would have to ask Azerick if he had any. If not, he would need to get some.

Sandy stared remorsefully at the empty pot of honey before casually tossing it away. She stood up, stretched, and yawned, shaking the loose sand from her scales.

“You have pleased me, goat boy. Your hands are most strong and dexterous and the honey was delightful. I shall reward you by allowing you to repeat your ministrations tomorrow,” Sandy informed the boy. “Do not forget to bring more honey. You may go now.”

The shepherd stood on quivering knees, his arms exhausted from rubbing the creature’s scales, but he was slightly less terrified than he had been. He breathed a sigh of relief that the demon was placated and was not going to dismember him on the spot. The thought of returning on the morrow filled him with dread however.

Fazheel walked briskly away instead of running, his heart heavy with fear. He feared displeasing the demon but he also feared leaving the goats unattended and what would happen to him when his mother went to make tea and found the honey gone. How was he going to explain? Would his mother and father understand or would they think him a madman, or worse yet, a liar?

This was by far the worst day in young Fazheel’s life, a short life that had very little prospect of becoming a long life. If the demon did not kill him his parents likely would.

It was nearing dusk and Fazheel needed to herd the goats into the pen near the city wall. He was glad it was his cousin’s night to guard the animals and not his father. Feriche was lazy and sloppy and would not bother counting the goats as he brought them in. The goat that the demon ate would not be noticed for a few days. But after Feriche’s stand it was his uncle’s week to guard the goats at night and he was nearly as dutiful and stanch as his father was. Someone would have to answer for the missing goat and that someone was most likely going to be Fazheel.

What had he done to draw the attention of the gods that they would send this evil creature to torment him? Was it because he was napping when he was supposed to be watching the goats? It was only a short nap! That must be it. The gods were teaching him a lesson on duty and remaining vigilant. He swore he would never take his eyes from the herd ever again if he lived long enough to fulfill the vow.

Just as he thought, Feriche did not bother to count the goats as Fazheel herded them into the pen, simply assuming that if anything had happened his cousin would tell him. He certainly wasn’t going to do that, but eventually he was going to have to either find a way to explain the missing goat or replace it.

What if the demon ate more of his goats? That actually might be a solution. He could not be held responsible if the demon went a binge. That way his father would notice without him having told him and incurring the demon’s wrath. He would be awake this time so he could not be blamed for sleeping when the attack occurred. Of course that would be very expensive for the family but it was a small price to pay for keeping his hide intact.

Fazheel walked into the mud brick house his family shared with his uncle’s family and smelled goat stew and fresh bread wafting from the small kitchen. His mother, an obvious psychic since she always knew the precise moment he or his father stepped into the house despite not having made even the slightest noise, called to him from the kitchen.

“Fazheel, check the cellar pantry for a jar of honey. The one that was in the kitchen has disappeared,” his mother ordered.

He knew the honey was not in the cellar just as he knew where the pot from the kitchen had gone, but he went down to check anyway, now dedicated to the lie.

“No, Mother, there is none down here,” he called into the kitchen as he walked back up the short steps to the ground floor.

“Well that is odd,” his mother mused. “I could have sworn we had some left after this morning’s tea. Have you seen the pot it was in?”

Sweat beaded on his tawny brow. He was not one for lying, especially to his mother. Her psychic sense always detected when he was not telling the truth; that or he was simply a lousy liar which was certainly true. His father broke that habit long before it ever got a chance to form.

“Not lately, Mother.”

“Hm, well run to Maleek’s and get another before your father comes home,” his mother said as she dropped a few coins in his hand. “And be quick in case he comes home early today.”

Fazheel ran from the house and over to the small shop, one of the few that often carried the sticky, sweet luxury. Well, this solves the problem of where to get another batch for the demon tomorrow. But how would a second missing pot of honey be explained? He would have to be sure to remember to bring the empty pot home this time.

 If he could find the first pot, he could put it under Feriche’s bed and blame him for eating it all while everyone was out during the day! It would be so easy, especially since Feriche usually just laid around all day when he had the night duty. Besides, he had done plenty to earn himself a beating that no one else knew about. It would simply be delayed justice finally getting around to him.

But would that not also add to his bad karma? What would the gods do to him for not only lying to his mother and father but also framing his cousin? Pfft, they had already sent a demon to torment and abuse him, how worse could it get? Besides, he would not have to go through all of this if it were not for them so it is their fault. Fazheel’s justifications did little to mollify his sense of guilt seeing as how he doubted that the gods could be held accountable for anything.

Fazheel quickly ate his supper then spent the rest of the night avoiding his family, claiming he was tired from watching the goats all day in the sweltering heat and went to bed early.

The next morning, he waited until everyone finished their tea and went their own way before secreting the jar of honey into his lunch sack and heading out to the pens.

Feriche was waiting impatiently by the gate as he walked up. “You’re late, scat.”

Feriche always called him scat, after the goat droppings. Fazheel wondered if he was able to lure his cousin out to the oasis then dump the honey on him if the demon would eat him. He doubted it. Even a demon probably had better taste than that. Besides, he was cursed enough as it was. It was doubtful the fates would turn a blind eye to wickedness of that magnitude.

Before Fazheel could make up an excuse, Feriche stormed off without waiting for his cousin to make a count of the goats as he was supposed to. He counted, out of habit, and came up one short just as he had when he brought them in last night. He could just blame the missing goat on Feriche since he did not get a count last night or this morning. No, the demon expected him and knew where he lived. He would need to find another way out of this.

The goats needed little prodding to herd them towards the large grassy oasis. As he drew nearer however, the memory of yesterday’s events caused a few complaints and hesitation. Hunger won out over fear and the contrary beasts quickly started chomping on the tough grasses. Fazheel caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned just in time to see glittering gold scales dive below the sands between him and the large dune a ways off.

Even knowing the demon was coming, he cried out in fear when it burst out of the sand a few feet from him. The shepherd quickly dropped to his knees in supplication and offered the small pot of honey. The creature nearly pounced on the jar with barely contained desire. It flicked the lid off with one large claw and ran its long, forked tongue into the amber delight. After a few licks, the demon looked up at him and purposefully cleared its throat loudly.

Fazheel knelt next to the creature with a sigh and began dutifully rubbing its hard scales with handfuls of sand.