The Sorcerer's Ascension (27 page)

Azerick did not even meet the men’s gazes, instead he grabbed his now scorched cloak, ran down the alley, snatched up his bag, and retreated into the night with the shouts of the firemen telling him to come back following on his heels.

The people in the streets saw a hero risk his own safety and tackle a burning man to help smother the flames, but no one saw the knife Azerick had gripped in his other hand or how that blade had come away bloody when he ran off.

Azerick ran until he thought his lungs would burst before he even started to slow down. With heavy breaths, he walked along the docks, stuffed his cloak along with several stones into his bag, and tossed the entire bundle into the harbor after securing the opening shut.

He turned and started to walk back home, slinking through the shadowed streets and alleys that were such a natural part of his environment. The young assassin had finally gotten control of his breathing and his racing heart when an arm with a vice like grip wrapped around his throat and pulled him into one of the building near the docks. A hand clamped over his mouth with equal force.

“Not a peep, boy, if you want to live longer than the next three seconds,” came the raspy voice belonging to the man who now had him at his mercy.

The hand dropped away from his mouth as the man slipped a heavy canvas bag over his head and secured it around his neck by a cord.

“Not a peep, boy, or I’ll pull that cord so tight it will pinch off any words you got before they escape your lips, you got that?”

Azerick did not bother to answer with words; he just nodded his assent, following the man’s words in a strict literal sense. When the man was satisfied that his captive was going to obey his commands, he took his arm from around Azerick’s throat and shoved him out of a door and into the street.

They navigated their way through dozens of twists and turns for nearly an hour before he felt the surface under his feet change from stone to wood. He could smell smoke and lamp oil and knew he was in a house or a building now. Someone shoved Azerick into a chair and removed the hood from his head. He blinked rapidly, his eyes trying to adjust from the total blackness within the hood to the brightly lit chamber in which he now found himself.

A well-dressed man seated in a plush, high-backed swivel chair behind a large desk, steepled his fingers before him, the fingertips resting just below a thin, dark mustache. He gazed at the young boy in front him like a man studying a mysterious and exotic animal. Dozens of questions danced within his eyes, whether to allow the boy in front of him to live or not being the preeminent one in his mind.

“Let me see if I have a proper tally of your night's activities. You have poisoned men of the thieves’ guild, set fire to their guild house, stabbed a man in the middle of the street in front of dozens of witnesses who likely saw only a brave boy trying to save a burning man, and killed everyone, including the local guild boss of said house, by burning them alive. Is this correct?"

Azerick simply nodded in affirmation.

"So you see I know what you have done. What truly vexes me is why you did it, and just who in the blazes are you?” the man behind the desk asked.

“Who are you? What do you want with me?” Azerick demanded now that he could speak.

The dandy behind the desk wagged a finger and a lean man who had been behind Azerick stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face.

“That is a reasonable question but impertinent. I asked a question, two in fact. I will continue to ask questions, and you will answer them until I have no more questions. If I decide to let you live, I may then grant you an answer to a question or two of your own. Right now your odds are about fifty-fifty of being alive long enough to ask your question, only because I am extremely curious about you and your activities tonight,” he said in an almost pleasant tone. “Actually, I think I have just answered your question to why you are here so I will go ahead and grant you a boon and conduct introductions like a gentleman should do when he has guests. I am Andrill, guild boss of the Night Ravens. That man behind you who set your cheek to stinging, is Braxis. And you are?”

“Azerick, sir.”

“Azerick sir, how wonderful. It is rare to find a boy with manners these days, especially one who just murdered two score of men, I must say,” Andrill said joyfully, clapping his hands together.

“Now, Azerick sir, why on earth do you risk the wrath of the entire city’s guild of thieves by murdering over a score of their men, a boss, and burning down one of their chapterhouses?”

“They killed my family in the squatters’ quarter. They wedged the door shut and burned to death the men and women who took me in, as well as the children I read to and who were my friends," Azerick answered, his voice filled with hate that his vengeance had still not cleansed from him.

“And how are you so certain it was the guild, and that chapter in particular, that committed such a terrible deed?" the guild boss asked as if they were discussing nothing more important than the weather.

"I saw Merik threaten Jon and I saw him at the fire. I saw him one night and followed him to that house. I drugged some wine and gave it to the men guarding the doors, wedged the doors shut with the same iron spikes I pulled from the ashes of my home and friends, and then set the building on fire.”

“Oh the irony! You used their own spikes against them. I so adore the symbolism, it’s almost artistic in its application,” Andrill squealed in delight clapping his hands.

Azerick was certain that this man was most likely insane and that his chances of getting out of here alive were slim to none, but he resolved himself not to show this man any fear.

“And when that beast, Merik, ran out into the street you stuck him like a pig, incredible, just incredible. But as a guildsman myself, what am I to do? I’m afraid I can’t let the murder of over a score of my brothers go
unavenged
can I, Azerick sir?

“No, I suppose you can’t, I certainly would not.” Azerick answered.

“No, you most certainly would not would you?” Andrill burst out in another wave of laughter as he came around the desk advancing on Azerick with a wickedly sharp looking blade in his hand.

“It really is such a shame, I find you most remarkable.”

Andrill bent low, peering intently into the doomed boy's eyes.

“Would you look at this, Braxis? He murders nearly thirty men, sentenced to death, the executioner stands right in front of him, and yet not a single bead of sweat breaks upon his brow. His face is neither flush nor pale; he does not tremble, nor beg for his life. Simply remarkable,” Andrill said in wonder and sat back down at his desk.

“What I wouldn’t give for a dozen men like you, hells, I’d take a dozen boys like you. What am I to do with you though?"

“You could let me go,” Azerick suggested.

“Let you go? To tell the truth, I should reward you for your services. Finally, I am able to break that deathly calm façade!" Andrill exclaimed as Azerick's face twisted in confusion. "I see I have vexed
you
now. Wonderful, I thought I was losing my touch for a while. You see, boy, Daedric was looking to expand into my territory. In-house fighting is fairly common when one house smells weakness in another. Daedric’s Demons have been bolstering their strength for months and it was only a matter of time before there was all out war between Daedric and myself with little chance of yours truly coming out on top. So, Azerick sir, how would like to join my merry band of thieves? You could go very, far I promise you.”

“With all due respect, I would not like that in the least.”

“Braxis, did he just say
no
?"

“I believe he did, Andrill,” Braxis answered.

“To
me
?” Andrill asked in disbelief.

“I’m quite certain it was to you that word was directed, yes.”

 
“Remarkable, simply remarkable. What if I simply gave you no choice in the matter? What if I were I to say that your life belongs to me and it is me whom you shall serve or you will die?

“I would say that I hope you enjoy a warm fire in the evenings, a very warm fire,” Azerick replied, his voice thick with intent.

“Indeed, you would set me a hearthless blaze to ward off the evening chill I wager!” Andrill pondered for a moment before continuing. “Alright, this is the deal; the reward I give you for destroying my rivals is your life. It may not seem like much, but you defied me and my generous offers so I feel that it is a fair balance struck. In return, when you hear in the streets, and I assure you that you will, of how I single handedly destroyed Daedric’s Demons, you will not raise witness against me. If I hear one word of how a mere boy started that fire and destroyed a guild house, I will have you flayed and hung in the square. You will also pay the tax due every non-guild associated thief in the city to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir, on one condition,” Azerick challenged.

Andrill threw his hands in the air and exclaimed, “Even now the stripling sets conditions! Remarkable, amazing, unbelievable! What is it, what are your demands? This is truly going to be interesting.” The guild boss sat back down, cupped his face in his hands, elbows resting on the desktop, and stared at the impetuous boy.

“I have lost three homes in as many years, each to murder, and I do not wish to lose another. I ask that you command all of your men and any others you have influence with that they never attempt to track me to my home or enlist others to do so in their stead. I will defend my home to the death, both theirs and mine. Should I survive the invasion I will seek vengeance on as grand a scale as I can dream up and carry out. You have seen the least of what my imagination can devise and carry out,” warned the young thief.

“Very well, that is a reasonable demand and I will issue orders as such.” Andrill turned to his henchman. “Braxis, issue the order that any man on guard duty caught drinking anything other than water drawn from the house will be whipped and hung and I want no less than five buckets of sand in every room of the house. Have the men carry out my orders immediately. Please escort our young friend from the premises.”

Once again, Azerick found his head encased in the heavy canvas sack and enveloped in darkness.

“And, boy, I will issue the same warning to you as you have given me. Do not dare to show your face within three blocks of my guildhall. To do so will negate our treaty and your life will be forfeit. One of my men will approach you when your taxes are due and I suggest you have the coin on you,” Andrill warned him as Braxis hauled him to his feet and shoved towards the door.

The guild lieutenant shoved Azerick through the halls and into the cool night air and hurried him down several alleys and streets for what must have been a half an hour before the bag was pulled off his head and was shoved roughly forward. Azerick stumbled, his arms cart wheeling for several steps before he regained his balance. He turned to face his escorts but saw nothing but a faint light at the end of the alley and dark shadows all around him. It took him over an hour to make his way home due to the back tracking and circuitous route he took to ensure that Andrill held to his promise that no one follows him.

CHAPTE
R 11

Azerick had been working the streets for about eight months after he had destroyed the guildhall. He was in one of the seedier taverns near the port district, drinking watered wine and listening for rumors that might point him towards a profitable venture when he overheard a rough-looking, foul-smelling, drunken sailor bragging about how he had gutted a whore who was once a rich merchant’s wife. Azerick drew a few curious looks when he choked on his wine, immediately understanding the event to which the man was referring.

He regaled his tablemates of how he took her on her bastard son’s bed and when she refused, he had bled her out with a couple dozen cuts and stabs. He laughed as he waved his curved blade around in the air in some sort of macabre reenactment of the grizzly event.

Azerick thought quickly and flagged down a serving woman. He whispered something to her, glanced towards the men at the table, and slipped her five silver coins. Azerick left the tavern as the wench delivered the large man’s drink and an invitation to meet her in the alley that Azerick had paid her to offer.