The Sorcerer's Vengeance: Book 4 of the Sorcerer's Path (7 page)

Rick nearly dropped his cutlass as he leapt to his feet. No one had been sleeping; only partially due to Rick’s banging and quickly crossed to where their captain’s voice had cut through the fog. Even as close as Zeb and the rest of the group were, it was difficult to determine the direction. The thick fog caused the sound to bounce around inside it, causing nearly as much trouble hearing as it did seeing.

“Zeb, thank the gods you made it back!” Matt shouted as Zeb and Derran appeared out of the mists.

“You can thank em if ya want. I’ll give my thanks to you lads for launching them brands into the air and over this blasted fog. You boys knock a hole in the wall. We got a man down and he don’t need to be tossed over the top like a sack of feed,” ordered Zeb.

Several men grabbed their shovels and hastened to obey the captain’s orders. “What happened, who’s hurt?”

“Ruben got tackled by the granddaddy of all ice bears. He got his pike set just in time but the weight of the beast spilt the base on his snowshoe and drove him and the spear butt a couple of feet into the snow. Even with two heavy quarrels in his side and a spear through his chest, that bear was determined to get at least one of us and Ruben was the one unfortunate enough to be picked. Toron took a nasty swipe that would’a likely as not torn my top half from my bottom half just before he leapt up and nearly took the beasty’s head off.”

“How’s Ruben doing?” Rick asked just before they all heard Ruben’s protests that he was fine to walk on his own. “We were all getting’ mighty worried that you all wouldn’t make it back tonight.”

Zeb clapped Matt on the shoulder. “We likely wouldn’t have if you boys hadn’t been firing off them flares and bangin’ on that stove. We weren’t much more than a couple of degrees off from my dead-reckoning, but even that took us a couple hundred yards to the south of the camp and would have walked right on by it. The fog got so thick for a while we couldn’t even follow our own tracks back. I was about to order the tent pitched when Derran saw the first flash over the fog. We thought it was a shooting star at first until the next one went by near the same spot.”

“I wasn’t sure if it would work with all this fog or not. I’m glad to see it did. I know you all would have been all right for a night out there on your own, but it’s still good to all be together. This place just don’t seem right to me—not natural,” Matt said with a small shudder.

“I know exactly what ya mean, lad. Now did ya keep some stew on the fire like I asked?” Zeb asked with a grin.

Zeb’s crew finished off the last of the pot of stew. They put Ruben in one of the tents and insisted he eat on his pallet then get some rest. He nearly punched Rick when the fellow oarsman tried to feed him, teasing him about needing to have the meat chunks chewed for him first.

They slept tightly packed, not bothering to unload the second tent from the sled that carried the big bear hide and meat. The opening in the palisade was filled back in with packed snow and a guard roster established for the rest of the night. It was not until after midnight and all but the two men on watch had gone to sleep that the attack came.

There was no warning, no call to battle, or shouted challenge. The huge Eislanders simply walked out of the mists right in front of a man named Carter, grabbed his head in his calloused hands, and twisted with such strength that his head was nearly torn off his shoulders. Then all hell broke loose.

CHAPTER
3

It took them nearly an hour to circle around to where they left the horses tethered. Despite everyone’s fatigue, Azerick convinced them that it would be prudent to get out of the area before setting up camp. They rode for two hours before deciding that they had gone far enough to avoid being seen by anyone searching for the ruins. The party set up camp in a small depression that would hide them from view unless someone walked right on top of them.

When it came time for Azerick to pull his watch shift, he made a comfortable seat in the sand and leaned against his saddle as he pulled the black gem from a pocket. He gripped the stone tightly in his palm, bent his concentration upon it, and tried to make contact with General Baneford.

It took a solid minute before Azerick felt the first touch of the general’s sending and another minute before the man was able to focus his thoughts enough for his words to come through intelligibly.

“Uh, hello?” The general’s clumsy sending came.

“You are General Baneford?” Azerick inquired.

“Yes, gods this is eerie, I’m Baneford.”

“I have recovered the helm. Where shall I meet you?”

“Have you eliminated the others?” Baneford asked.

“Not yet. I thought you might have use for them as captives. Besides, this is a rough land and I may still need them to help me reach you. You can capture them or kill them at your leisure then. I should have little problem neutralizing them once we meet.”

“Adventurers are generally in the business for personal gain. If I can sway their allegiance, I may have a use for them. If not, I certainly owe them for the death of so many of my men.”

General Baneford described to Azerick where he and his men were waiting and even managed to provide a rough mental picture of the area. He was not far, perhaps two days to the northwest in the abandoned ruins of some ancient outpost. These harsh lands were dotted with them. As wells dried up and the desert sands changed the geography, whole towns packed up and moved to more hospitable areas, leaving nothing behind but the desiccated remains of their stone and brick buildings.

Azerick woke the others as the sun was setting. After a quick meal of dry trail bread and cheese, he took the lead, setting a quick pace towards the northwest. He deflected inquiries about the helm by telling Maude and the others that it was best that the helm remain inside his magical bag because it would prevent any magical scrying, and an artifact as powerful as the helm would be like a brilliant beacon on a clear night for anyone attempting to divine its location.

“If we head straight west we should cross the trade road that runs south to Langdon’s Crossing. It will make for easier traveling,” Maude suggested.

Azerick shook his head. “We do not know where the men who are looking for the helm are and we run the risk of crossing their path if we ride the roads. There are also reports of at least two large bands of marauders looting towns inside the kingdom. Langdon’s Crossing was one of the first towns that were hit. It would be a bitter pill to swallow to have finally gotten one of the pieces you have worked so hard to find just to get robbed by a bunch of highwaymen on your way to present it to the king.”

Maude could not argue with the mage’s explanations but she could not fully banish the nagging feeling of unease that lingered in the shadowy recesses of her mind.

As the party rode through their second night of travel it seemed to Maude that Azerick was even more aloof than usual, answering any questions with the briefest of answers but otherwise remaining silent. Borik was happy when he found that they were not out of beer after all.

The dark silhouette of stone ruins projected out of a low, rocky hilltop on the distant horizon, breaking up the clear starry night sky. Just before they reached the first sand-scoured, tumbled down blocks of former buildings, Azerick reined in Horse and dismounted.

“This looks like a good place to rest up. It will be nice to have some shelter from the wind for a while,” Azerick told the group.

The others followed Azerick’s lead, swung off their own mounts, and proceeded to walk deeper into the ruins. They found a small roofless building with three walls still standing that made a good stable for the horses, using a length of rope to cordon off the open end.

 “With luck, there will be another structure somewhat intact that will provide us with some decent shelter,” Azerick told them as he walked further into the ruins.

A creaking sound to the right drew Maude’s attention. A few yards away an iron crow’s cage swung from a pole. Maude thought that it contained a pile of clothing and bones until she saw a long-fingered, delicate hand slip through the bars. Maude crept closer and gasped in shock as the cage gently rotated in the breeze and she saw the gaunt face of the prisoner inside.

“Tarth!” Maude shouted and ran at the cage. “Oh, Tarth, what happened to you? Are you all right?” Maude cried and grabbed the hand that was thrust through the bars.

“Oh, Maudeline, it is awful!” Tarth wailed. “I have not had a bath in days, my robes are torn and soiled, and my fingers have the most awful cuticles—cuticles, Maudeline! I think my arm may be broken too but I have been unable to focus on such an inconsequential thing.”

Several men chose that moment to separate themselves from the shadows of the ruins ahead and to each side of them. Maude, Borik, and Malek immediately drew their weapons and prepared to defend themselves.

Azerick spun and dropped a ward of silence on the cleric and followed it with a binding spell, paralyzing all three adventurers before they even had the chance to understand what was happening. Rage burned through Maude as she realized Azerick’s betrayal.

Gritting her teeth, she forced her muscles to move and broke free of the invisible chains that seemed to freeze her in place. With a savage snarl, she ran at Azerick, sword held high. A rune flared brightly on Azerick’s staff and Maude was thrown painfully onto her back. Before she regained her feet, stone pillars surrounded her in a makeshift cage.

 “You traitorous bastard!” Maude shouted as she pounded on the stone rods with her gauntleted fists.

Azerick reached into his bag and pulled out the gleaming black helm, its edges outlined in gold, as a large man wearing the armor that obviously went with the helm approached. Azerick casually tossed the helm to General Baneford as he walked forward, his face split in a wide grin.

“You have done most excellently, changeling,” the general pleasantly congratulated. “I’ll admit that I know very little of your kind, but I had thought that you could only mimic your victim’s appearance, not their abilities. I see from the way you handled these fools that I was mistaken.”

“Actually, General, you are quite correct in your understanding. A doppelganger would not be able to steal a spell caster’s ability to wield magic,” Azerick informed the general.

General Baneford furrowed his brow, taking a second to comprehend exactly what this creature meant.

This is the wizard not the changeling!

Before he could even shout an order to his men, runes flared brightly on the staff in the sorcerer’s hand. Stone spikes and towering walls of flames encircled the small area in which they stood, separating the general from his men.

“Now, General, you will tell me who has you collecting these artifacts and who hired the assassin that tried to kill me; a man known as the Rook,” Azerick told the man.

General Baneford shook his head and chuckled without a hint of mirth. “You stupid, young fool, you have no way to force me to answer any of your questions,” he said as he donned the helm.

General Baneford felt a powerful surge suffuse his body. He felt stronger, faster, and invincible. He began to second-guess his bargain with the black wizard. With this armor, he could keep the gifts that the wizard had given him as well as Dundalor’s armor and no man could ever take it away. No man, no army could stop him! With a concerted effort, he suppressed his sudden power-hungry greed. He made a deal and gave his word and he never went back on his word, unless the one he had given his word to betrayed him. And so far the wizard had dealt fairly with him.

“You just gave up the only chance you had of overpowering me,” General Baneford said, his voice sounding hollow from within the confines of the helm.

He drew the magnificent sword that the wizard had given him along with the other arms and armor and stalked towards the sorcerer.

“You are a powerful young man,” the general said to Azerick as he slowly stalked towards the spell caster. “Join me and I promise you a place in my command, otherwise I will have to cut you and these other fools down where you all stand.”

“No chance, General. Tell me who the wizard is or you will not live to enjoy that armor or any other,” Azerick shouted defiantly.

The fearsome-looking general laughed again as he continued stalking towards the young mage.

“Bad choice, General.”

The hard stone suddenly opened beneath General Baneford’s feet. His hands went up and out in an attempt to arrest his fall but the smooth sides of the shaft gave him no purchase. He struck the bottom perhaps ten feet down. General Baneford looked up and saw the grim face of the young sorcerer peering down at him.

“Now that I have your undivided attention, General, tell me who hired the assassin and who sent you after this armor.”

“You cannot maintain that fire forever and when it goes out my men will cut you down!”

Even now they could all hear the shouts of anger from the men on the other side of the flaming barrier.

Azerick shook his head. “You are at my mercy, General. I can kill you long before those flames disappear and be long gone. Now tell me what I want to know.”

“You cannot harm me, not while I wear this armor! I am invulnerable to your magic and your weapons!” General Baneford shouted his defiance.

“General Baneford, do you consider yourself a good student of history?” Azerick asked in a conversational tone.

“What nonsense are you spewing now?”

“I myself am quite fond of history. So much can be learned from our forefathers. In fact, it can almost be said that one well versed enough in history can foretell the future. Do you recall anyone throughout history by the name of King Bertrand or Emperor Bertrand?” Azerick quizzed the angry general.

“No, and why in world would I care?”

Azerick smiled down at the trapped general. “Lord Bertrand managed to steal Dundalor’s armor from King Archibald through a rather audacious plot to overthrow his rule and replace the Ollander bloodline with his own,” Azerick continued. “Now if he were truly invincible, as the armor purports the wearer to be, why was he never king?” Azerick asked and waited for General Baneford’s reply.