The Sorcerer's Vengeance: Book 4 of the Sorcerer's Path (26 page)

“Did you sigh?” it demanded. “You should be grateful for the blessing I have bestowed upon you. It is a very rare few who are granted the honor of polishing a sand dra—demon’s scales.”

“Yes, great one,” Fazheel replied subserviently.

Sandy let out a rumble of contentment.
This is how it is supposed to be, tasty treats and a dutiful creature to polish my scales and rub my sore muscles. Nasty little goats, I should eat another one on principle.

It was a hollow threat and she knew it. The goat did not taste as good as smoked ham and they kicked too hard. She only ate the thing out of spite for having been rather abused in the hunt, the greatest damage being to her enormous pride.

After she finished the jar of honey, she allowed Fazheel to continue his ministrations for another twenty minutes or so before she became bored and decided that she would be gracious and let the human go on with his duties.

“You may go now, goat boy. You have done well and I am pleased. I shall retire to my den and see you tomorrow.”

Sandy wondered if perhaps she was letting this newfound power go to her head but quickly dismissed the idea. It was all in good fun and besides, it was not
that
much more than her due.

Ancient memories flashed through her mind of enormous, ancient, and powerful dragons being worshipped almost as gods. She saw the ranks of humans, orcs, goblins, and even elves bringing gifts of gold, jewels, and magnificent feasts to please the mighty dragons that claimed dominion over all that lay within their vast territories.

But then newer memories came forward, memories of dragons mad with power and disdainful of the lesser races. Horrible massacres committed by dragon kind against those that they had subjugated and the retaliation of the lesser races, particular the cunning humans and the wise elves. She saw the eggs of dragons being stolen and used in dark magic that formed a living link between the tiny embryo that grew inside the dragon egg and the implanted essence of an elven mother.

Then an even darker memory took hold; something beyond evil and beyond the power of even the mighty dragons. A faceless master they hated almost as much as they feared.  

Yes, little dragon. We are vanquished but do not despair. Soon we shall return, and once again you shall take your rightful place at our feet.

Sandy shuddered in revulsion and fear. She knew that last thought was not an egg memory but something dreadful speaking to her. It took all of Sandy’s stubbornness to shake off the ancient memory. That was a long time ago she told herself. It is not as if she was enslaving the goat boy or was going to eat him. He probably tasted worse than the goat. She just wanted something sweet and something to do other than lie around in the sand and read all day. It was Azerick’s fault for not taking her with him or at least leaving her with some sugar cubes.

Speaking of food, she still had a chunk of goat haunch that needed finishing. Mama always told her never to let food go to waste, especially if it had been live prey. With a wistful sigh, she plunged deep below the sand, brought up the haunch and began eating, far more out of a sense of duty than any pleasure.

Stupid, nasty old goat,
she grumbled bitterly.

Fazheel watched his herd with raptor-like attention, never taking his eyes off them for even a moment. The only thing that occupied his mind other than the security of the herd was how he was going to get out of this predicament, but so far no solutions were forthcoming. He figured he could buy himself one more day by setting up his worthless cousin but after that he was clueless. The only good thing was that he found yesterday’s honey pot only half-buried in the sand thanks to a calm night. That was good luck indeed for the desert could bury a wagon in a day during the windy seasons.

The sun sank below the horizon and Fazheel still had no answer beyond tomorrow. He would have to follow Solarian’s scriptures and not worry about tomorrow. Let tomorrow worry about itself for there were plenty of things to worry about today. That was certainly true enough.

He rounded up the goats and herded them back to the pen near his home. His jaw dropped and his breath caught in his throat when he saw not only Feriche but also his uncle and father as well, all standing next to the pens. The pens suddenly turned into a set of gallows and his family the hangman, the constable, and the emir. His knees almost buckled but he saw no malice in either his father’s or his uncle’s eyes and only the usual contempt in his cousin’s.

“Another quiet day, Fazheel?” his father asked as he herded the goats into the pen.

“Same as yesterday, Father,” he replied and tried to hurry towards the house.

“Fazheel, come back here,” his father called after him.

“Yes, Father?”

The family patriarch furrowed his brow and pursed his lips as he looked over the goats more carefully but his count came up the same as the first. Fazheel often wondered how his father was able to count nearly a hundred goats in less time than it took him to run them into the pen. He suspected his father shared a similar psychic ability with his mother.

“There is one goat missing.”

The boy’s face burned and his lungs refused to draw breath. He feared he might pass out at any moment. Better yet, maybe he would simply die right here on the spot. Could the gods be so merciful to the poor shepherd boy? No, as soon as he thought about dying his lungs took in a big breath of air. No quick, merciful death for poor Fazheel.

“What do you know about this?” his father demanded.

His father never yelled. Fazheel wished to the gods he would yell but he was always so serious, even when beating him with the horrible lash that was supposed to be used for herding the goats into the chute that was used when it was time to sheer them but was always inside the house, leaning in a corner where it stood as a stark warning against defying the rules.

“Well? If you are going to stand there with your mouth hanging open put it some use other than a place for flies to land.”

“I—I don’t know?”

Oh gods, he made it sound like a question! What an idiot he was. I don’t know? What kind of moronic answer was that? Did he think maybe the goat grew wings and just flew off? Even that would have been a better answer than I don’t know! Curse you vile demon for ending poor Fazheel’s life in a most painful manner! Why could you have not come and tormented Feriche? He was the bad one, always shirking his duties, lying, cheating, and stealing. Fazheel was the good one! Did not people always say
there goes Fazheel; he is such a good boy. So polite and honest and he works so hard tending the goats. That scoundrel Feriche could learn from his cousin’s example.

“You do not know? How many goats did you take out with you this morning?”

Of course! He was short a goat this morning already and stupid Feriche did not count them coming in or going out. He was saved! Fazheel told the truth, his heart slowing just enough that he was certain it would not explode in his chest.

“The same as I brought back today, Father.”

His father turned to Feriche. “How many goats were brought in last night?” His father did not bother to ask Feriche how many went out. He knew his son did not lie, not since the first time when he was five.

Feriche swallowed hard. “I do not know, Uncle. I forgot to count.”

Even Feriche was smart enough not to lie to his father. “You did not forget, you were lazy, just like you were too lazy to count them this morning.”

Feriche was getting the eye by both his uncle and his father and he blanched under their glare.

“Fazheel, how many goats did you bring in last night?”

Oh damn, damn, damn! There goes his heart again! Come on you stupid lump of flesh, explode already! How much could the thing take? Apparently it was a lot. Fazheel gave his heart a good thirty seconds to blow up and at the several hundred beats per minute it was going that should have been plenty of time, but apparently he was cursed with an inhumanly powerful organ.

Ok, all he had to do was tell his father that he had all the goats last night. It was only a small lie and that stupid Feriche deserved a beating far more than he did. His heart slowed, he opened his mouth—and told the truth. Damn! Even his brain was bent on causing him a cruel and painful death.

“Where did the goat go?” his father asked in a slow cadence.

Fazheel could only shake his head, dislodging a spray of sweat that continued to run down from his scalp in a veritable torrent of liquid. There was a good chance he would dehydrate and die before making it to the house. The thought filled him with hope.

“Go in the house, both of you.”

Fazheel and Feriche walked a death march back to the house while his uncle stood guard over the goats. He could feel his father walking a short distance behind him, his presence like an invisible force shoving him forward with the power of a team of horses. Although he was terribly thirsty and felt dizzy, dehydration failed to take him and he cursed the fickle gods once more for their lack of mercy.

His mother came out immediately, her psychic sense telling her the exact moment her family stepped across the threshold, either that or she could hear his heart beating clear in the kitchen, which was certainly plausible. He could hardly hear himself over its incessant pounding.

“What is it, what has happened?” his mother asked, knowing something was wrong.

“We are missing a goat and your son does not seem willing to explain it.”

“Fazheel, what is the matter with you? Tell your father what happened to the goat,” his mother ordered as she took his lunch sack that he had completely forgotten was still clutched in his hand.

Oh great merciful gods if you ever favored Fazheel or any poor shepherds you will not let her open that sack! Of course his mother read his mind with her psychic powers and immediately opened the sack and let the two honey pots, completely licked clean, fall onto the table.

“Fazheel!” his mother exclaimed in shock. “What are you doing with these? Have you been stealing my honey and eating it out at the oasis? How greedy can you be?”

That was the tipping point Fazheel needed. His heart finally ruptured and his brain split in twain as his knees buckled and the floor raced up to meet him. He did not even feel himself strike the packed earthen floor. Already dead, his spirit floated peacefully into the arms of whatever god had finally taken pity on him.

Surprisingly, it must have been Serron, god of the sea, because he suddenly felt as if he were drowning. His lungs heaved and expelled the water that threatened to drown him. He opened his eyes and saw his mother standing over him with a bucket, the last of its contents dripping onto the floor. He realized he had not died but had merely passed out. Fazheel tried valiantly to press his nose into the spilled water and take it back into his lungs so that he could serve the god of the sea for eternity, but the parched dirt floor absorbed every drop before he had the chance. All he ended up with was a wet head and a muddy face.

“Get up, boy,” his father commanded without a hint of pity.

Fazheel shakily got to his feet and nearly feinted again when he saw the evil switch in his father’s hands. The goat switch was the most sadistic of all implements of torture ever devised by man or demon. It was five feet long and supple, made of willow tightly wrapped in leather. Fazheel felt a welt rise on his backside just seeing it.

“Now tell me what is going on with you, boy. What happened to the goat and your mother’s honey? Is it a girl? Did you gift them to a girl you wish to favor you?”

He could say that! His father may understand such a gesture; his mother certainly would. The problem was that he had no girlfriend. Besides, his lies could never get past his mother’s infallible mental powers. All he could do was shake his head.

His father sighed and stepped closer looking almost remorseful for what he had to do. “I suppose there is only one way I am only going to get answers from you.”

At that moment his father was the most frightening thing he could imagine. The desert demon was as scary as a housecat compared to the man wielding the leather-wrapped tool of torture.

Fazheel’s mouth opened and a torrent of words flooded out without any conscious control. “It was the desert demon! It burst from the sand like a trap spider and ate one of the goats then told me to bring it honey and rub sand on its scales or it would eat me too and it knew where I lived so I had better do as it said!”

“There is nothing you could have told me that would have made me angrier than that ridiculous lie. I rather you had sold the goat and engorged yourself on the honey than take me for a fool,” his father said, his anger mixed with remorse that his son would lie to him like that.

“Wait, husband,” his mother said, stopping his father’s advance with the switch. “I do not think he is lying, at least he does not think he is.”

Oh gods bless his mother’s psychic powers for once!

Fazheel’s father looked at his mother then to his cousin. “Feriche, go out and tell your father to come here. You will count every goat at every toll of the bell.”

“Yes, sir,” his cousin said and turned to do as he was told.

Feriche heard the whistling of the goat switch slicing through the air behind him. Pure survival instinct made him leap forward, clearing seven feet without even bending his knees. Unfortunately his father was a tall man with a long reach and Feriche’s impressive bound came up nearly a foot short of seeing him to safety. The crack of the switch against his cousin’s backside sounded like a bolt of lightning striking inside the dining room.

Feriche’s second leap, encouraged by the vicious stinging switch across his rump, took him half again as far as the first, putting him halfway into the living room and out the door a split second later. How he managed to clear the top of the doorway without bashing his head Fazheel could not knew.

“And you will count those goats every time they are brought in and taken out, boy.”

Fazheel’s uncle entered the house a minute later, grinning when he saw the goat switch in his brother’s hand and realized why his son was moving so much quicker than usual and was counting the goats as he left for the house.