The Sorcerer's Vengeance: Book 4 of the Sorcerer's Path (30 page)

The two tar’raun’atu righted the lifeless body of their liege then stared at him expectantly.

“You may go now,” he told them with forced patience then turned to Skulk. “You will guard my body with your life, Skunk,” he repeated.

“Oh joy of joys! Skulk is most happy to sit on the cold corpse of the Lord of lies, the Duke of degeneracy, the Emir of immorality, the—.”

“Shut up, Skunk, and if you so much as touch my body I will tear one of your wings off and laugh as I watch you fly in circles!”

Klaraxis turned to leave but spun back around as soon as he stepped through the door and narrowly missed catching Skulk shoving one of his fingers up his body’s nostril and sticking his tongue out at him as he walked away. The prince of demons glared at the innocently hovering demog and returned to his throne.

  Klaraxis sat back on his throne of bones, waved a hand over an upturned skull in the arm of the throne, and saw Shakrill’s expectant face in its reflection.

“It is complete and I am ready.”

“Excellent, my demonic prince, we are prepared to bring you to your new home,” Shakrill replied excitedly.

“He is ready,” Shakrill informed the other wizards and led the chanting of the complex spell that would bring the soul back from the abyss and return it to the vessel.

Klaraxis felt a moment of disorientation before his new body seemed to leap from the throne and fly upwards at an incredible rate. He looked down and saw his mighty fortress dwindle to a black speck amidst a rosy field before disappearing entirely. Before he was able to comprehend the sensation fully, he found himself staring up at a black ceiling just above the heads of the five humans looking down at him.

“Welcome, Klaraxis, we have all been eagerly awaiting your arrival so that you may lead us to our rightful place of domination, my beloved demon lord,” Shakrill crooned.

Klaraxis looked at his wrists and down at his ankles, giving the chains a test tug. Had he been in his demon body he could have snapped the feeble restraints with ease, but stuck in this form some of his powers, most notably his physical prowess, were greatly diminished. But not his innate magical power, as these foolish wizards were about to learn.

Klaraxis called upon his demonic source of power only to find it beyond his grasp. His mouth opened in mute surprise at the sudden understanding that he was helpless and realized that these were no ordinary chains. Somehow, they managed to block his ability to reach back to the abyss, the source of his infernal magic. He tried to access the sorcerer’s Source and found that it too was beyond his grasp.

“What have you done, Shakrill? How am I too aid you in your ascension when you have bound me and my power?” the demon asked, trying to control the rage he desperately wanted to unleash on these fools.

“Calm yourself, my prince. It is but a temporary measure until we come to a full understanding of one another,” the wizard said then bent down next to his ear and whispered, “or should I say
Dur’ar’ang’sen
.”

Every muscle in the demon’s new body went into spasm at the sound of his soulname.

“How do you know that, you traitorous bitch?” Klaraxis grunted through the pain.

“How is not important. It is only important that you know that I am the only one who knows it, for now,” Shakrill told the demon with a wry smile.

Well, she was the only one until she just told me,
Azerick’s voice suddenly sounded through his own mind.

What, how? I destroyed you! I replaced your soul! How are you still here?
Klaraxis demanded.

I made a vow that no one would ever control my mind and body ever again, demon, now take a seat while I get us out of here.

Like hell I will! I am in control of this body, it is mine, and I will never give it up!

You were never in control, you disgusting boisterous braggart, now shut up while I think!
Azerick commanded the demon.

Klaraxis shrieked in impudent rage as Azerick forced his essence to the far reaches of his mind. Azerick quickly found that his connection to the Source was indeed severed so long as these shackles remained. He decided he would simply have to wait until an opportunity presented itself, which it did as Joshua came bursting through the door, reading from a scroll he held in his shaking hands.

“Joshua, what do you think you are doing? I did not summon you!” Shakrill screamed at her apprentice.

Just then, the magical bonds that held him to the floor and blocked his access to the Source slipped off as the metal shackles fell to the floor with a clank.

“What have you done, you stupid little fool?” Shakrill asked hoarsely, fury lacing every syllable.

With a great smile of triumph, Azerick leapt impossibly fast to his feet from his fully recline position and brought Klaraxis out of the darkness to which he had banished him.

All right, demon, do you want to make these people pay? Then let’s do it and do not try to fight me.

The smile on the sorcerer’s face took on an even more menacing cast as Azerick’s hazel green eyes suddenly glared with a red, evil glint.

Azerick called his staff to hand and felt its reassuring power slap into his palm. He raised the weapon high and struck its gleaming shaft onto the floor. A burst of power exploded out from around him with such force that the wizards were sent sprawling and extinguished the braziers in a cloud of sparks. Even Joshua, who was further from the heart of the blast, was sent flying back through the open door and landed heavily against the wall.

Azerick shouted a word of command and called forth every ward he knew, instantly shielding his body with a series of spells strung together to be brought up at once. Several illusory duplicates sprang up around him and his body was invigorated with a sudden burst of energy that increased his reflexes even beyond the unnatural speeds that Klaraxis’s possession instilled in him. Such a casting would normally be exhausting, but the demonic possession seemed to give Azerick an immense well of power from which to draw upon.

The sorcerer stretched out a hand and sent his electrical beam into the chest of the master of the black tower, instantly searing a massive hole through him before he even got halfway through the spell he was trying to cast. An intensely hot jet of flame splashed harmlessly against Azerick’s demonic-reinforced wards. The demon Klaraxis stretched out a hand and a black ray lanced through the wizard’s body, turning it into a desiccated husk.

Another wizard tried to cast a binding but his efforts were futile against the dual spirits that now resided within one body. Azerick imitated the previous wizard’s attack and sent a hellish stream of liquid fire into the archmage’s torso, incinerating his body and melting the black stone behind him.

 Another archmage tried to grab the sorcerer with hands that were wreathed in a black flame. Klaraxis dodged the grapple, grabbed the foolish wizard by the wrist, and slammed him repeatedly against the stone wall until he slumped down, leaving behind a bloody streak.

Azerick stood over the cowering form of Shakrill, holding up her arm that had appeared to have grown a second elbow. “Klaraxis, please,” the wizard pleaded. “I never meant to betray you, I swear! Together we can conquer the world; no one can stand against us! I only learned and used your soulname so that you would not betray me,” she whimpered, wondering why the use of the demon’s soulname failed to control him.

“And for that I am truly grateful, Shakrill. It makes controlling the demon much easier,” Azerick replied with a grim smile.

“You, you could not possibly still be alive,” Shakrill said numbly.

“Oh but I am. Sorry, Shakrill, but you do not fit within my plans nor does any of your other black tower ilk,” Azerick informed the wizard and thrust his arcanum spear through her heart.

Azerick strode through the door and looked down at Joshua, still huddled against the wall, staring in amazement at the destruction the creature before him had wrought.

“Please, I set you free. Please don’t kill me,” Joshua begged.

Azerick’s spear quivered under the force of his grip as the demon battered at his host’s mental defenses, longing to crush the cowering human. With another mental surge and the use of the demon’s soulname, he forced the demon further back into his psychic cage.

“Are there any others that share your decent nature in this nest of vermin?” Azerick asked.

The apprentice nodded vigorously. “My friend Umair, a few other apprentices and younger students, maybe an adept or two have not been terribly corrupted.”

“You are not as incapable as your mistress liked to tell you. I see within you great potential and even now you possess a respectable amount of skill. Would you like to continue your studies, free of threats and insults, perhaps even teach those younger and less accomplished than yourself?”

“You would take me as your apprentice? Are you Azerick or are you the demon?” Joshua asked tentatively.

Azerick grinned down at the frightened young man, which did nothing to make him more comfortable. “A little of both at the moment, and no, I would not have you as an apprentice. I would have you as a colleague at my school.”

Joshua’s nerves settled slightly at the offer. “I could learn and even teach?”

“Get yourself and any who are decent, trustworthy, and willing to follow you to North Haven. Anyone there should be able to direct you to the Orphan’s Academy. Take whatever you wish from this tower. Those that remain will have bigger worries than you. Now go get those that will follow you but be swift about it. You do not have much time.”

Joshua nodded, jumped to his feet, and sprinted up the stairs to gather the satchel Aggie had given him and to get Umair and the others he thought deserved to be spared from whatever fate the sorcerer had in mind for the tower.

Azerick looked up and down the hall with his red-tinted eyes, about to follow Joshua up the stairs when he noticed the brighter light streaming through an open doorway further down the hall in the other direction. Azerick turned to his right, stepped into the library, and saw a stooped old woman puttering about behind a large desk.

Agatha looked up and squinted at the newcomer. “Well hello there, young man, come to check out a book? I don’t seem to recall seeing you here before and I never forget a face, a name on occasion, but never a face!” she cackled.

“No, revered grandmother, I am afraid I do not have the time to enjoy the treasures you have here. Though I wish I had a few years to peruse your grand library. I am afraid I must ask you to leave the tower and with some haste,” Azerick bowed and told the old librarian.

“My, my, honored grandmother am I? Such a polite young man; unlike those stupid wizards who mock old Aggie and call her a useless old has-been. Well I suppose it’s finally time for me to move on though I don’t know about the swiftly part,” she cackled as she shuffled out from behind her desk.

“Please move as fast as you are able, Grand Magus.”

“Oh don’t worry about me. You go on and do what you have to do while I collect up a few things. I’ll be gone before you’re finished, don’t you worry about old Agatha,” she ordered, shooing Azerick away with a bony old hand.

Azerick nodded once and left her to her own devices. Agatha looked about her precious library with longing. “I guess I had better figure out what books to take with me,” she spoke to herself as she looked at the rows upon rows of book. “Oh hells, I can’t decide. I guess I had best take them all. It’s not like you didn’t see this coming, you daffy old broad.”

Aggie raised her old, unadorned staff and spoke words of magic that she had not used in decades, but still they came clearly to her mind. Runes, cleverly carved into the wooden bookshelves that appeared as nothing more than part of the larger, more elaborate artwork, flared. The bookshelves became two dimensional; looking like an extremely well-crafted painting, then folded themselves into sections and disappeared, leaving behind bare walls that had not seen light in decades.

“Well that’s done,” she said looking about the library in satisfaction. “Now if my memory serves me correctly, I should have another sandwich around here somewhere.”

Azerick stepped back into the summoning room where the wizards still lay as dead as they had been a few minutes ago. Sometimes you could never be too sure when it came to wizards—or sorcerers. He found and retrieved his bracers and rings from Shakrill’s dead body, glad that he was not going to have to search the entire tower for them. He looked over the other bodies and stripped the rings, necklaces, pendants, and wands the wizards carried on them as well. It looked like they had come prepared for a battle, just not the kind he had given them.

He made an audible sigh when he slipped his ring on and felt his connection with the Source grow stronger. It was like having a missing limb reattached. He left the dead where they lay and turned towards the stairs. A young wizard suddenly leapt out from around the corner of a stairwell and raised a wand at the sorcerer.

Most people were familiar with the phrase “if looks could kill” but in Azerick’s case it was true. With little more than a glare, Azerick allowed Klaraxis to summon his demonic power. Azerick’s eyes flared crimson and the wizard’s robes simply burst into flames. The hapless wizard flailed and screamed as his flesh burned away under the intense heat of the demon fire for several seconds before the flames reached his lungs and he collapsed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

The smell of burnt clothing, flesh, and hair filled the corridor with an acrid scent that made him queasy at how much he enjoyed it. Azerick stooped over and casually retrieved the wand the wizard dropped. Seeing that it was a little charred but undamaged, he slipped it into the pocket of his cloak and continued up the stairs. As he reached the top of the stairs, a fusillade of lightning bolts, power strikes, and bursts of fire flared across the room.

The nervous wizards had mistakenly let loose the moment the top of his head cleared the stairs. Azerick calmly ducked and let the spells strike the wall above his head as he fed more power into his wards. Without bothering to climb the stairs any higher, he swept his staff in an arc, collapsing a large portion of the ceiling onto the wizards who were foolish enough not to flee when they had the chance.