The Sorcerer's Legacy (55 page)

Azerick knew he did not have a twin brother. The creature must be a doppelganger, a shape shifter. He had probably even met the creature at some point during his travels, shook hands or came into some other physical contact that allowed the creature to mimic him with such precise detail.

Azerick knelt down next to the doppelganger and felt through his pockets. He found a small pouch of coins and tossed it onto the bed. He had several more knives and a shortsword of good quality but was otherwise unremarkable. He discovered a small, hard lump in the lining of the creature’s cloak and found the hidden pocket. Inside was a large, facetted, black gem about an inch in diameter, identical to the one he had found on the assassin’s body back at the keep.

It radiated with a feint aura of magic. Azerick gripped the gem tightly and focused his mind into it. He had a good idea what the stones were used for, but even so, was startled as a tinny voice emanated from the gem with a slight buzz of vibration.

“What is it?”

“The sorcerer is dead,” Azerick spoke into the gem “What do you wish me to do now?”

“Excellent work, you are to be commended. You have succeeded where the Rook has failed. General Baneford has failed to fully eliminate the king’s pet adventurers. You shall rectify that problem, but not until they have proven themselves useful to us. You will infiltrate their band, retrieve Dundalor’s helm, and take it to General Baneford. You may eliminate Maude and her brood once you acquire the helm. I will leave the timing to your discretion.”

“Does the woman or her companions know the location of the helm?”

“I am uncertain of that, but the late headmaster sent me the location of the helm before he was killed. That should provide you with an additional excuse to join them.”

Azerick received an image in his mind of a very detailed map showing the precise location of the artifact.

“I will give this speaking gem to Baneford shortly, along with the rest of his promised trade. You may
contact him directly for his location once you find the helm. I will know when he has taken possession of it and will retrieve Dundalor’s armor from him at my leisure.”

Azerick smiled triumphantly with his newfound knowledge. He now had a direct link to this newest assassin, the artifact, the name of General Baneford, and an unknown wizard. If this wizard was giving Baneford something in exchange for the armor, the general must know who the wizard is. Azerick was almost giddy at the prospect. He felt so close to the truth now, so close to getting his long awaited revenge, he could taste it. And it tasted good.

He thought his desire for revenge had been dulled with the starting of his school. He thought he had moved on, had grown beyond the need for such violent retribution. He had thought wrong. Azerick’s longing for justice may have cooled, but it needed only a small amount of air to make it flare up once again with a fiery intensity.

Azerick picked the purse up from his bed and peeked inside, finding a rather substantial sum. He was sure it did not contain the full payment for his assassination, at least he hoped not or he was very disappointed. Granted the amount the pouch contained would keep a simple man living comfortably for a few years, but he liked to think he was worth far more than this. If not, he would just have to try harder.

Azerick walked downstairs and approached the proprietress of the boarding house.

“I will require a different room, madam,” Azerick said as he approached the large desk that she was sitting behind.

The woman looked up over her spectacles. “Is there a problem with the room, Master Giles?”

“Yes, I am afraid mine has become—despoiled and no longer fit for occupancy,” Azerick replied and tossed the assassin’s pouch of gold onto the desk.

“What is this?” she asked as she opened the draw cord and gaped at the contents.

“Call it a cleaning deposit. I suggest you hire a couple men with a strong fortitude to take care of the matter. I will return later this evening.”

Azerick left the woman wondering what he meant and was nearly halfway back to the S
andy Bottom
when he heard the scream.

I told her to get someone else.

Azerick stepped inside the tavern to be greeted by a wall of silence that lasted until he crossed the room and took a seat at Maude’s table.

“I have reconsidered your offer, Maude, if you would still like me to accompany you and your friends on this quest of yours,” Azerick said politely.

“Of course we would. We recently suffered the tragic loss of our wizard and could greatly use your assistance,” Maude almost gushed.

“Yeah, tragic is a word I suppose,” Borik grumbled into his beer. “It’s almost as tragic as drinking this waste-warm beer.”

Maude tried to kick him under the table but aimed at where the ankle would be on a normal sized person. Since Borik’s feet did not even touch the floor, she missed completely.

“Was there a problem with your wizard,” Azerick asked, “or is it simply a dwarf’s general dislike of all spell casters?”

“Borik’s just surly because of the lousy warm beer in this place. Between that and his rat nest of a beard, his head tends to overheat and it makes him stupid,” Maude informed her new member.

“Here, Borik, try this.”

Azerick conjured up his tiny frozen ball of ice and dropped it into the dwarf’s beer. Borik felt the cup grow cold in his meaty hand and glared at the sorcerer suspiciously.

“Don’t worry, it is safe
,
” Azerick told the dwarf in his own rough language.

Borik took a small sip of his beer and his eyes went round. He drained the mug in one hard pull, slammed the empty mug onto the table, and wiped the foam from his beard with his sleeve with a satisfying smack of his lips.

“Good gods on donkey-back that’s good! Maude, can we keep him? I’ll feed him and everything, I promise!” Borik shouted gleefully and yelled for Louis to bring over three more mugs then asked if anyone else needed a refill.

Maude could not help but grin at the surly dwarf. “I thought you hated magic, Borik?”

“I never seen any that was worth anything before! Now this is pure genius! Go on, magic boy, and make with the ice,” he ordered Azerick as Louis came bearing a tray full of filled mugs and a full pitcher. “So where’d ya learn to speak dwarf like that, wizard?” Borik asked.

Azerick did not bother to correct him. “I met some dwarves a couple years back and stayed with them for a while. I picked up a few words while I worked with their rune carver, Duncan.”

“Well shave my beard and call me an elf, Duncan was rune carver of my old clan! How’d ya like the old hole in the ground?” Borik asked, friendlier than Maude had ever seen him.

Azerick chilled everyone’s mugs. “I thought it was amazing, but after a few months I needed to be going. The surface was calling me back I suppose.”

“Yeah, it’ll do that, let me tell you.”

“So tell me what it is you are all after,” Azerick said, directing the conversation to his goal.

“I told you that we were working on behalf of the king. He needs us to find and return as many pieces of Dundalor’s Armor as we can. Are you familiar with the artifact?” Azerick nodded affirmatively and Maude continued. “We know his enemies have at least some of the pieces. We are trying to prevent them from obtaining the completed set.”

“Because once complete it becomes several orders of magnitude more powerful,” Azerick replied knowingly.

“Yeah, you could almost say godlike,” Maude agreed.

“Do you have any information on where any of the pieces are now?”

Maude’s face dropped at the sorcerer’s question. “No, we almost had the boots a few days ago but we were ambushed by someone. That was when we lost Tarth.”

“It would seem our meeting was a small part of fate in the grand scheme of our destiny. It so happens that I know where to find the helm. We may yet be able to break up the set,” Azerick grandly proclaimed.

“You do? That’s great—so long as it’s not on the other side of world, or worse yet, on the moon,” Maude said, quickly quelling her excitement.

Azerick smiled. “As an even greater sign of preordained good fortune, the helm is only a few days ride from here.”

“I knew this was far too good to be true,” Borik mumbled as he drained the third cup of cold beer.

Maude looked at the dwarf with some confusion. “What do you mean? This is great news. No boats and we might even be finished with this by the end of the month!”

“Not the stupid armor, that all sounds great. I’m talking about this.” Borik grumbled twirling his cup in his hand. “I’m all out of cold beer!”

Azerick let out a laugh, almost not recognizing the sound as coming from him, and filled Borik’s cup from the pitcher and dropped in another ice ball.

“One thing I have been meaning to ask you,” Maude said, leaning forward interestedly. “How did that sheepherder beat Butch?”

Azerick allowed himself a small triumphant smile. “I spiked his wine with a potion that gave him more confidence, improved his reflexes, made him a little stronger, a little faster, and basically let him fight a little better than his natural talent would normally allow.”

“So you did cheat!” Maude exclaimed but the smile on her face showed that she did not find the thought offensive to her morals.

“Did I? Does a warrior cheat when he sharpens his sword? Does and archer cheat when he waxes his bowstring? I do not feel as though I cheated, I merely waxed my bowstring.”

Right about then was when the watch captain returned with his squad of watchmen and tromped up to Maude’s table.

“Captain, I hope you are not here to arrest me again,” Azerick said wearily, not even bothering to face the man.

The captain shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know, I really don’t know! You know, I have been with the watch since I was sixteen years old. I made captain at twenty-three. In all that time, I have never had to deal with the amount of carnage as you have brought to this town in one night. Sure, we’ve had a few fights that ended up with some serious wounds, a few dead. In one hour, you not only kill a local citizen, with magic, you have apparently managed to kill yourself with what looks like an flaming arbalest bolt and left your own dead body in your room. What am I supposed to do! Can you tell me?”

“Captain, there are plots within plots raging throughout the kingdom and the time is going to come when we will all have to choose a side. Greater powers than you and I are determined to clash. The ensuing calamity is going to devour small towns like this. If I were you, I would go home, kiss my wife and tell her I love her, pack up everything I own, and move to North Haven to get out of this awful heat. That is what I would do, Captain,” Azerick calmly replied.

The captain ground his teeth, turned on his heel, and stomped out of the tavern.

“You killed yourself in your room?” Maude asked, confused. “So are you a ghost or something?”

“Who cares, hey spooky, pour me another cold one,” Borik slurred.

“I was attacked by what I am certain was a doppelganger in my room as soon as I left here earlier. It got kind of messy.”

“Does this sort of thing happen to you a lot?”

“You know, far more often than one would expect,” Azerick said and sipped his own beer.

****
EPILOG
****

Flickering shadows of several dark robed men cast by large candles and torches danced upon the dull grey walls of the musty, ancient chamber where they sat around the rough-hewn stone table plotting the overthrow and death of King Jarvin, the lawful ruler of Valaria.