The Sorcerer's Ascension (60 page)

Rage, like the fierce rage he had felt that day in class when he had nearly killed Travis, inundated his body.

“Get him!” Travis commanded and the three young men charged the intruder.

Azerick raised his hand and in the blink of an eye, sent three magic bolts flying from his fingertips, one lancing into each of the attackers.

Azerick took advantage of their shock and pain of being hit by the bolts to cast a couple defensive spells on himself. The familiar shimmer of magical armor surrounded him while the second spell produced a near invisible globe of defensive energy around him to block or reduce the damage from lesser spells.

He heard Travis command Loranna not to move and the weight of the threat as well as her own terror kept her pinned in place. All she could manage to do was to sit up and scoot backwards until her back pressed against a hedge, her wide eyes looking on in terror.

Travis joined the fight just as his friends regained their feet.

“You have no chance, peasant. Leave now, say nothing of what you saw, or I will kill you. I may even be generous enough to allow you to stay in this school,” Travis offered.

“If you were really certain of your chances of beating me, you would not bother to try and make deals. It is not in your character to deal when you can just take. What’s the matter, Travis, did you not study your little recipe book today? I guess you figured you were man enough to rape a girl with just your scumbag friends to help you that you didn’t need magic,” Azerick deduced. “Here’s a deal for you. Go tell the Headmaster what you did and tried to do, leave this school, and never return.”

“Are you joking? Do you know who my father is? I can do anything I want, take anything I want, and no one can do anything about it,” Travis said with certainty.

“You are wrong. I can, and I will do something about it if no one else will.”

“Then you can die here,” he snarled and began casting.

Azerick saw Travis and all three of his friends reach into a pocket, pull out what he could only assume was a reagent of some kind, and began casting. He prepared a retaliatory strike of his own. Travis completed his spell first, and Azerick braced himself for the impacts of the magical bolts.

His shield stripped the magical projectiles of much of their power, but what got through was still excruciatingly painful. He maintained his focus and completed his spell an instant before the other three student mages. He sent another spread of bolts to strike each one again. Being unshielded, they took the full force of each bolt. Coupled with the pain of the first salvo that Azerick struck them with, their concentration was broken, and each one lost control of their pending spells and the gathered energy dissipated harmlessly into the air.

This new source of agony was too much for them and they toppled to the ground, writhing in pain. Travis was already partway through another casting when Azerick started to prepare his next spell. He knew Travis would launch his next assault before he could finish. Azerick spared part of his focus to try to ascertain what spell his foe would assault him with next.

As he figured, it was another magical bolt spell. Azerick braced himself for Travis’s second salvo, knowing that he could not dodge the attack. He was struck by two more bolts, feeling fortunate once again that he had the foresight to cast his shield no matter how minimal the protection. Once again he was able to bear the pain and now advanced on his nemesis, hand outstretched before him. Travis knew that he could not prepare another spell in time even if he had one ready, which he did not, so he drew his wand, ready to release its fury.

“Give it up, Travis, stop now. You will not even be able to utter the command word to trigger that wand that you think makes you so powerful. Your friends took two bolts each and look at them. I have three ready to release on you with a thought, and you are unprotected. You might live, but you might not. I nearly killed you before; don’t make me do it again,” urged the young sorcerer.

“The only reason you beat me was because I wasn’t prepared. If I had known I would have to fight you tonight I would have beaten you!” Travis seethed, his face flushing a deep crimson.

“You mean all four of you
may
have. That is the only way you have ever beaten me. It takes four of you so-called nobles to take on one
peasant
.”

“I can beat you! Meet me tomorrow night when I am ready if you are not a coward. You can even have her,” he sneered, looking at the weeping Loranna.

“You want to duel? Fine, then it is over. If I win, you leave me alone forever. You win, I’ll leave the school,” Azerick offered.

“Fine, meet me behind the wooded hill at the far side of the Martial Academy’s maneuver training ground,” Travis challenged.

Travis pulled and kicked his friends to their feet and stalked off defeated. Azerick went over to Loranna and helped her stand. She fell into his arms, clutched the front of his doublet, and buried her face into the crushed velvet sobbing.

“It’s alright, they’re gone. They can’t hurt you now,” he said, comforting her as best he could.

“I don’t understand, he was so polite and such a gentleman. He was a noble. Why would he do that?” she sobbed.

“A person is not born with true nobility. I have seen more nobility in a man that hasn’t had the copper to buy bread than I have seen in some of the wealthiest and highest born people of this city.”

“Thank you for saving me. He called you a peasant and that your mother was a, was a…, but you are the gallant one. He is just a pig dressed in silk and velvet,” she said, her fear turning into anger.

“Come, I will walk you back to the Academy.”

Azerick walked her back to the main hall and left Loranna with friends while he left to contemplate what to do next. Thankfully, he did not run into Travis or his group while walking the halls. He decided he would talk to Master Devlin about what had happened. He climbed the familiar stairs to his Master’s rooms in the tower, rehearsing in his mind what he would say.

He had reached the top of the stairs and prepared to knock on the door when he heard voices coming from the other side. He paused, not intentionally eavesdropping but trying to decide whether he should interrupt or not. What he heard from the snatches of conversation that he picked up made him hesitate and listen.

“And of course your assistance in helping my patron locate and possibly retrieve these artifacts would be greatly appreciated,” an unfamiliar voice said beyond the door.

“It is my understanding that trafficking in artifacts of power is highly illegal in your kingdom, is it not?” he heard his master ask.

“The King is bastard born and unfit to sit the throne. Your own kingdom has a rich history and a proud lineage in its leader, we ask for nothing less.”

“What you say is true. I assume compensation for such a risk is equally great?”

“My patron is very generous in rewarding those who are successful, but very intolerant of those who are not.”

Azerick could not believe what he was hearing. His own master was betraying the King, betraying him, and to the same people he was certain murdered his father. He fled down the stairs as fast as he could go, his mind reeling from the implications of what he just heard.

Azerick stopped at the foot of the stairs as anger pushed away the surprise and hurt of betrayal.
I will go back up the stairs and kill them both or die trying!
he thought as he turned around to mount the stairs once more.

He paused and forced himself to focus just as his traitorous master had taught him when casting spells. Losing his focus now would get him killed as sure as a lightning bolt to the head, and that is what he would get, or worse, if he tried to challenge his master. He knew he would never be able to overcome or even surprise the powerful sorcerer.

Maybe I should flee the Academy. No, I will learn everything I can from Master Devlin. I will watch him, and maybe I can get some answers from him.
But could he still study under his master knowing he was linked to the people he wanted dead?
I’ll figure it out in the morning.
Besides, he had a duel tomorrow and he would not let Travis say he was a coward.

He went back to his room. Rusty was had not returned yet. Azerick figured he was probably canoodling with Colleen somewhere. He lay down on his bed going over everything in his mind before falling asleep.

He woke up at the sound of the morning bell calling everyone to break their fast. Rusty laid on top of his bed, snoring away, the smell of Colleen’s perfume still clinging to him. Azerick was hungry, but instead of eating with the rest of the students, he snuck through the kitchens and pilfered some a couple rounds of bread, cheese, and smoked meat. He was sure Rusty would appreciate something to eat when he woke up and found that he had missed morning meal call. It was still more than either of them could eat but he felt the need to be prepared.

Rusty was still asleep when he returned to his room with the bundle of food. He decided to wait to eat until Rusty awoke so they could eat together, maybe for the last time. He busied himself with brewing up some potions. It would take most of the day to make what he wanted, but fortunately, there were no classes today so he had time. It would also help keep his mind occupied. He knew that Travis would not fight alone, that his friends would jump in as soon as Travis looked to be losing.

Azerick was not confident that he could beat all four of them without using his strongest spells and that ran the real risk of killing someone. He had no apprehension of killing a man if he deserved it like those men in the thieves’ guild that killed Jon and his family, but these were just school bullies. Travis probably deserved to die for what he had attempted with Loranna, but it was not his place to be the judge and executioner for every crime committed in the city.

Rusty was finally beginning to stir and mumbled out Colleen’s name once with a smile on his face while still half asleep before regaining full consciousness.

“Hey, lover boy, are you hungry?” Azerick asked, teasing his friend.

“I’m starved, dancing works up an appetite.”

“Almost as much as the after dancing activities do, I would wager.”

“How did you know about that?” Rusty asked guiltily as his cheeks flushed a bright red.

“You just told me,” Azerick answered laughingly.

“What are you cooking up?” Rusty asked, looking at the liquids brewing in the alchemic set and helping himself to some of the food Azerick had lain out.

“Just something I may need later. So how was your night with Colleen?”

“It was fine, great I mean, you know…” Rusty replied stumbling over his words as his face attained an even brighter shade of red than normal.

“Rusty, I just want you to know that you have been a good friend, the best friend I ever had. If I have to leave sometime and not come back I want you to have the alchemic set.”

“What are you talking about? Where are you going? I can help if you are in trouble!”

“There is just something that I have to do and it may take me away for a while, that’s all. I don’t want you to get involved.”

“But you are my friend and friends help each other,” Rusty insisted vehemently.

“Not with this, this is personal. You need to stay here and finish your training, marry Colleen, and raise a family.”

“How did you know we were talking about getting married?”

“You just told me—again. Man, Rusty, you are terrible at keeping secrets,” scolded Azerick, trying to lighten the mood.

“You won’t tell me what is going on, will you?”

“No, I can’t. This is something I need to deal with on my own.”

“Just be careful, okay. Whenever you finish what you need to do, I’ll be here for you if you need anything,” Rusty promised.

The two friends clasped wrists and finished eating. Azerick went back to work on his potions while Rusty busied himself studying his spell book. Later in the day, Rusty took his leave to go meet with Colleen. Azerick finished his potions and poured the contents into shiny, steel vials, six in all, which he stoppered with a cork and sealed with wax. These he slipped into special pockets that he had sewn inside his cloak. Each pocket held one vial securely as well as other pockets sewn into the fabric held other items such as a scroll tube or wand.