The Sorcerer's Legacy (45 page)

“Hello, Maudeline,” Tarth greeted her dreamily.

“We leave in the morning, Tarth.”

“Ok, Maudeline. Can you help me then?” the elven wizard asked, his eyes terribly out of focus.

“What do you need, Tarth?”

“My hand seems to have come off and ran under my bed. Could you help me catch it? It is very fast,” Tarth replied with a giggle and waved his hand in front of his face.

“I am sure it will come back on its own,” Maude assured him and sighed deeply as she went in search of the dwarf.

Visions of various disasters filled her head when she imagined what kind of trouble in which she would find Borik. He was not in his room, which meant he was either at a tavern or in the kitchen. Maude descended the stairs and walked down the vast marble halls and into the dining room where she found Borik eating peacefully and enjoying a mug of beer from the king’s personal larder.

“Hey, Maude, what’s up?” Borik asked after washing down a bite of food with his beer.

“We have to leave in the morning on another artifact run,” Maude told him warily.

Borik’s eyes narrowed and furrowed his brow. “It don’t involve boats does it?”

“Nope, no boats, in fact it is quite far from any large body of water,” Maude assured him.

“No undead neither?”

“Not supposed to be. It should be empty except for some lizards or something that decided to take up residence.”

“It ain’t a cave crawl is it?”

This is where Maude started to get nervous and braced herself for Borik’s tirade.

“It’s an abandoned temple built into the side if a cliff but it’s supposed to be pretty big.”

“Well, I guess two outta three ain’t bad,” the dwarf replied calmly.

“Well, ok then. Is everything all right, Borik?”

“Yeah sure. Why, should there be a problem?” Borik asked.

“Um, no I guess not,” said Maude, a little confused.

“All right then, I’ll see you in the morning, Maude.”

Maude left in search of her own room to prepare for the journey that was already starting oddly. Borik’s unusual lack of complaining and tantrum throwing put her nerves on end. She was certain this boded ill for them all.

***

Azerick gripped the gunwale at the prow of
Dawn’s Glory
. Zeb had not exaggerated; the schooner was every bit as fast as she looked. The sorcerer let his thoughts drift away with the wind and sea spray blowing in his face.

Dawn’s Glory
docked in Southport after only four days at sea. Zeb’s crew began unloading the small amount of cargo they had brought to trade while Azerick and another crewman got Horse out of the hold. Zeb was waiting for him on the dock at the end of the gangway.

“You got that look in your eye that means trouble. You know the crew and I will back ya in whatever it is you got planned.”

Azerick shook his head. “Sorry, Zeb, this is one of those things I have to do myself.”

Zeb embraced the sorcerer in a fatherly hug. “You take care of yourself. You have a lot of people who depend on ya now and care about ya.”

“I know, Zeb, which is exactly why I have to resolve this.”

Azerick led Horse through the crowded streets before ducking into an alley to cut through to a wider boulevard that should have less traffic. His mind bent towards the confrontation that lay ahead, he failed to notice the other people that also occupied the alley until he was halfway down.

Three men were shaking down a young boy from the looks of it just around the corner where the alley widened midway down. Intent on their young victim and secure in their numbers, they failed to hear Horse’s clopping hooves coming towards them.

“Please, sirs, I ain’t got nothin ta pay no tax with,” the filthy, raggedly dressed boy whimpered. “All I been able ta nick all week has been a bit of food that wouldn’t fill a mouse’s belly.”

The largest of the three men grabbed the then or eleven year-old boy by the front of his tattered tunic and hoisted him onto his toes with one hand. Azerick could hear the worn fabric tearing as the thug pulled the boy to his face.

“Well then it looks like we’ll just have to take out the tax on your hide,” the bullyboy informed him with sadistic glee.

“Let him go, Hugo,” Azerick ordered in a low voice.

The three thugs and the young boy all turned to look at the sorcerer. Hugo released his grip on the lad’s tunic and grinned evilly.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Hugo asked menacingly. “If it ain’t that little street rat, Azerick. Come ta pay your taxes? You know the interest has gotten real high.”

“I seriously doubt you could calculate any amount of interest much less a large amount. I told you before, I am no longer a street rat or thief and even if I were, pathetic scum like you would be the last ones I would give a bent copper to. I would not spit on you if you were on fire,” Azerick replied, his voice thick with scorn. “Speaking of which, how is your hair, Carrot? Did it ever grow back in?”

Carrot tugged his knit cap down tighter onto his head. “No it didn’t, and if I ever catch that skinny bugger what done torched me, I’m gonna scalp him and use it as me own!”

Hugo stepped towards Azerick with violent intent clearly written across his face. “You better watch that tongue wagging, street rat. We ain’t boys no more.”

With a quiet call, Azerick’s staff appeared in his left hand. The arcanum ball extended into a sharp spear tip and pricked the soft skin just under Hugo’s chin.

“And I am far more than a mere student. Do you know how many men I have killed, Hugo?”

Hugo twitched his head from side to side. “No, no I don’t.”

“Neither do I. There are simply too many to count. Death follows me like a second shadow, Hugo, and right now my shadow is falling right on you.”

“Please,” Hugo pleaded, “I didn’t mean nothin’. You don’t owe no tax. Go on and pass through, Azerick, we’ll give you no trouble.”

“You are telling me things that I already know. You have no idea how tempted I am to make sure that you and your two moronic friends do not ever give me, or anyone else, trouble again,” Azerick snarled threateningly.

“Please, mercy please! I don’t wanna die!” Hugo wailed.

“Then I suggest you all find a new vocation and never hassle the street rats again,” the sorcerer warned as the expanding puddle of warm liquid darkened the front of Hugo’s trousers.

Hugo took a couple cautious steps backwards before turning around and sprinting away with his two cronies close on his heels.

“I thank ye, sir. They was gonna whomp on me good if’n you ain’t showed up,” the boy said to Azerick.

“It was my pleasure. I have had my own run in with those three more than once when I wasn’t much older than you.”

“They’s called ya Azerick, they did didn’t they?”

“Yes, that is my name,” Azerick replied.

The boy looked up at Azerick’s face intently. “Are you the same Azerick that is a wizard that takes in street rats and teaches em magic and sword fightin’ n’ stuff just like at The Academy?”

“I run a school for homeless children in North Haven, yes. And those that are able learn magic, and those who can’t generally learn weapons and trades as well as reading, writing, and numbers,” Azerick informed the boy as he walked with him out of the alley.

“Could I go to your school, Master Azerick, and my friends?”

“If you can get there we will take you, and so long as you work hard at your studies and follow the rules you can stay.”

The boy closed his mouth and looked thoughtful for several moments. “My friends and me would have to nick enough coin and food to get there. It be a mighty long walk.”

Azerick stopped, reached into his robes, pulled out a small pouch of coins, and handed it over to the boy. “That should buy you and your friends enough food for the journey. If you can find a ship captained by a man named Zeb or one owned by the Tower Trading Company, you can get free passage if you tell them why you are going. I strongly recommend against you boarding any ship owned by anyone else or you run the real risk of getting snatched up by slavers,” Azerick cautioned.

The boy felt the weight of the coins in his hand and smiled broadly. “Thankee, Master Azerick! I’ll go an tell my friends; they’s gonna flip for sure!”

“You do that. I look forward to seeing you and your friends at the school,” Azerick said and gave the rapidly retreating figure a small wave as he continued his walk towards The Academy.

Azerick led Horse through the academy gates and handed him off to one of the grooms with instructions to brush him down but saddle him back up as soon as they were finished. Allister had told him that Devlin had stayed on as an honorary faculty member after Azerick left. Azerick knew why he had stayed on, which is why he was going to confront him now.

It was an eerie feeling to be walking along the vast, quiet halls of his old school. He almost felt like a boy again, remembering how he had looked at the marble walls and floors in awe, intimidated by the powerful wizards that occupied the place.

His feet seemed to weigh ten pounds apiece as he climbed the stairs with slow deliberate steps. He cast his wards of protection that would deflect some of the attacks from weapons or magic as he neared his old master’s chambers near the top of the tower.

Azerick paused outside the heavy oak door, pondering whether to knock or barge in and take him by surprise. He decided on knocking, not just out of a sense of courtesy, but so that he would not appear to be frightened or intimidated by the senior sorcerer.

The door opened a few moments after Azerick knocked. Devlin pulled open the door with a look of irritation on his stern face but it quickly slipped away to register surprise as he recognized the young man.

“Azerick, is that you?” Devlin asked in astonishment.

“Hello,
Master
Devlin. We need to talk,” Azerick said coolly.

“Of course, come in, take a seat,” Devlin said as he stood aside for his former apprentice to enter. “I am amazed to see you here.”

“To see me here or to see me alive?” Azerick retorted.

“Well, I guess a bit of both. It is a tough world out there and you left under some—extreme circumstances.”

“Is that the only reason or, is it because of the assassin that was sent to kill me?” Azerick asked accusingly.

“Assassin? I do not know anything about assassins, Azerick. Why would you think I would?” Devlin asked, seemingly with genuine confusion.

“My father was murdered because someone involved him in artifact smuggling. I overheard you making a deal with a man to help him acquire magical artifacts, the same ones I must assume that my father had unwittingly been involved with, and now an assassin tries to kill me in my own keep. It is a rather logical conclusion to come to I think,” Azerick said venomously.

Devlin sat down hard and shook his head. “Oh, Azerick, you were not meant to overhear that discussion. Is that why you did not come to me with that situation with that spoiled little rat, Travis?

The elder sorcerer threw back his head and cursed bitterly. “You were an adept apprentice, Azerick, and I dearly hated to lose you. It came as quite a shock even to me how much your departure affected me. I can tell you have grown significantly in power and maturity and I want to tell you how proud I am of you.”