Within moments, he caught sight of his target, ducked his head and ran full tilt into the old man. White wispy beard, boy, and stained robes rolled into an uncontrolled tumble onto the cobbled street.
“You!” both wizard and boy cried out at the same time, the old, coarse voice shouted in surprise as recognition of his assailant sparked in his mind, the younger voice only feigning the shout of surprise.
Azerick looked behind him with a look of fright, scrambled back to his feet and ran off into the crowd. Hugo, Carrot, and Rolly continued their pursuit through block after block of streets and alleys before Azerick eventually lost them by ducking into a printing shop and running out of the back door before has pursuers were able to turn the corner and spy his escape route.
Azerick ran several more blocks before slowing down to a nonchalant walk and admiring the purse of coins he snatched from that old fool of a wizard. He had just turned the corner out of an alley and onto the street, eyes on the coin pouch in hand, when he bumped into someone walking on the.
“Pardon me, sir,” Azerick said as he moved to his right to let the person pass.
“Pardon I will not give you, boy,” came the coarse grumble from the man.
Azerick looked up at who impeded his passage and saw stained robes, wispy unkempt beard, old craggy lined face, and sparkling eyes filled with both amusement and malice. He could only gape as the old wizard plucked back his stolen property and secreted it back into his robes.
“I told you before, boy; it’s decidedly unhealthy to steal from a wizard.”
The old man then started mumbling words in a language Azerick did not understand and waving his hands in front of him in an odd but obviously intentional pattern.
Before Azerick realized what was happening, he felt a great force against the entire left side of his body that lifted him off his feet and flung him through the air. The young thief sailed across the plaza and dumped unceremoniously into a large fountain where several women were washing clothes and bathing small children. He landed with a great splash as women grabbed their wash and children, retreating from the sudden spectacle. Water filled his mouth as he yelled a curse before coming up and regaining his feet.
“You sorry old goat-bred bastard, this is not the last of this, I swear!” he shouted indignantly from the middle of the fountain, his clothes dripping and his soaked hair plastered to his head.
“Boy, you must be either the stupidest, most hard-headed, or just plain foolish thief that ever cut a purse. Whichever one it is, it is most assuredly impeding your ability learn and make wise decisions,” the old wizard announced as his hands started their rhythmic gesticulations once again.
The water around Azerick started to excite into a roiling froth. Before he could move, another great pressure enfolded him in its embrace. This time he was able to see the cause. A great fist of water crushed him in its embrace then lifted him high into the air and slammed him back down into the pool. Some people in the crowd cried out in fear while many others actually applauded the show as the young man was lifted up once again, coughing to expel the water from his lungs. Back and forth, the great watery fist tossed him about like a terrier shaking a rat. The animated watery fists lifted him up then dunked him hard to the left then raised back up and slammed him to the right. Over and over the cycle repeated itself.
After what seemed an eternity, Azerick finally found himself dumped at the wizard’s feet, sodden and expelling water from his lungs with great fits of coughing.
“Now, boy, what do you have to say for yourself? Have I managed to get through that great thick head of yours?” the old man inquired.
“This is not over yet, wizard,” Azerick gasped and coughed the water from his lungs, “I would kill you one day but that would be a mercy. No, there will be no easy death for you. I will humiliate you. I’ll make a mockery of you before all who would call you friend, I swear it!”
“By the Gods, boy, what will it take for me to drive this lesson into that muddled mash of porridge you call a brain?”
“Death, old man, you’ll have to kill me before I will ever submit!” defied Azerick.
“It’s fortunate for you I have a higher regard for one’s life, even for one as angry and hard-headed as you are, that I don’t grant you exactly that, even though you have given me plenty reasons to justify it. Most of my order would not be so gracious. Count yourself fortunate, but know that even I have a limit as to the amount of foolishness that I’ll brook!”
With that last warning, the old man disappeared into the applauding crowd. Azerick was still trying to get his wind back when three shadows suddenly darkened the area around him.
“Will you fancy that, Carrot? Here he is all nice and clean while here we smell of horse crap,” Hugo said in a deceptively amused voice. “Let’s help up our friend and walk him home.”
“Here you go, friend, up on your feet, let’s get you home,” Carrot said to Azerick as he and Hugo lifted Azerick to his feet.
Still out of breath and exhausted from the magical trouncing he had just received, he was barely able to form a protest and even less able to resist them as they carried him off away from prying eyes. They carried him into the alley and dumped him onto the cobbles. They rifled through his pockets and cloak and came away with the small coin purse he kept tucked in his shirt.
“This will do for a start, but it’s far short of the taxes you owe,” Hugo said as he counted the coins in his hand before dropping them back into the pouch. “This is to remind you to have the rest by tomorrow,” he said as all three began planting kicks to his back, sides, and arms.
Azerick thought they were finished until Hugo said, “And this is for hitting me in the face with horse crap!” and began kicking him all over once again.
This time the kicks lasted twice as long. He was almost certain they were going to make good on their frequent threats to kill him this time, but just as he was about to black out, Hugo issued him one more threat then all three left him lying in the alley’s gutter bruised, bleeding, and aching over every inch of his body.
He lay there for over an hour promising to inflict a great amount of pain on each of them for every kick they gave him. Through sheer force of will, he was able to drive himself to his feet and hobble home. It took him nearly two hours to cross the city and make it back to the safety of his lair where he immediately lay down on his pallet. He thought he had the necessary reagents to brew up something for the pain and speed his healing, but that would have to wait until tomorrow he decided.
He had neglected to turn his large hourglass so had no idea how long he had slept. He woke many times during the night as each movement and turn sent fresh amounts of pain coursing through his body. He shuddered and winced as he sat up and was surprised to find that he was actually in more pain this morning than he had been last night.
The pain was still as acute as it was before but now a significant amount of stiffness had set in to ride along with it. So much pain filled his young body as he stood up that he nearly lost consciousness. Great floating moats of light filled his vision while a wave of dizziness threatened to spill him onto the floor.
Azerick fought back the pain and vertigo and crept over to his alchemic set. He sifted through the glass jars of ingredients and found what he needed. He had made pain relieving and healing aids frequently and knew their manufacture by rote. He ground blood moss, cristholis seed, and willow bark with the mortar and pestle, lit his oil-fueled burner, and set his retort to boiling water. He poured in the mashed ingredients and set one of the small hourglasses to time the brewing cycle. He made his way to his little stove, kindled a fire and set water to boil for some tea. He was soon sipping his tea waiting for his blessed potions to finish.
Once it was completed, he poured it into his drained teacup and drank the bitter concoction down. It was still so hot that it scorched his mouth and throat but he scarcely noticed it over the rest of his pain.
In a few minutes, he felt well enough to make something to eat. He dug through his greatly depleted larder and came up with enough to make a hearty stew that would last him a few days. He set a large kettle of water to boil then added chunks of vegetables, salted beef, barley, oats, and just about whatever else he could find. The healing draught would cause him to burn his food at a greatly accelerated rate and he would need the stew to keep the potion effective and maintain his strength. He did not even wait for the stew to finish cooking before he ate a bowl of it then crawled back into bed. Every time he woke up for the next several days he would wolf down a large bowl of stew then fall back asleep.
After nearly a week of bed rest and healing draughts, Azerick was ready to go back out. He had to go back out whether he was ready or not. He was out of stew and every bit of food he had in his larder had gone into its making.
The young thief was still stiff and ached where several ribs had been cracked or broken, but he was able to move relatively freely. He just had to ensure he took extra pains to avoid Hugo and the two testicles. That is what Azerick like to refer to them as, right and left testicle with Hugo being the dangle in the middle.
Later the next week, the city was abuzz with word of a great festival thrown in honor of The Academy’s five hundredth anniversary. There was to be large feasts, acrobats, and brilliant magical displays for the noble and lesser folk alike. Men dug massive roasting pits on the great parade field that normally hosted knightly tournaments and other displays for citywide attendance.
The Duke pledged to serve five hundred roast sides of beef, pork, and mutton. There was also going to be a private feast held at the Academy with the Duke, nobles from across the kingdom, and the entire staff of the Academy as well as all the students. The students would be served in a dining hall separate from the nobles, but the Duke swore to visit during the dinner to address them all and give them accolades for their diligence and contributions to the kingdom. This is when Azerick decided he would strike.
Azerick decided to sneak onto the grounds of the Academy the night before the ceremony, figuring there may be tighter security if he waited to infiltrate the grounds on the day the nobles and Duke would be arriving.
He slept the night in the loft of the stables, hiding from the stable hands behind bales of hay or under piles of loose straw. He stayed in the loft until the next evening, watching the horses and fancy coaches as the city’s elite arrive. Drivers parked the expensive coaches in the square in front of the stables after they had delivered their precious cargo to the front steps of the Academy and the horses safely tucked away in the large stables.
The stables were huge and could accommodate at least a hundred horses by Azerick’s quick count. The horses currently occupying the stable belonged to staff members, students of the Academy, and the drilling horses for the Martial Academy. Few guests stabled horses for tonight’s feast as any noble of worth had arrived by coach. It was unbecoming to ride horseback to an event as elaborate as the one being held this evening.
As Azerick began to descend the loft, he came across one of the many rats that typically infested such places and lured it to him with a bit of food. He caught it up and dropped it in a hard leather satchel he had slung over one shoulder.
This should prove useful,
he thought.
Azerick exited the stable and was questioned only once by one of the stablehands. He simply showed his furry captive to the stable hand and said The Academy hired him to exterminate as many rats as he could lest one run across the shoe of one of the many prestigious guests and besmirch the cleanliness of the Academy.
He scanned the rows of parked carriages until he found one to his liking. A boy, probably a page, dressed in his master’s livery stood next to one eating an apple. The boy was about Azerick’s age and size but lacked the hardness given by his harsh life on the streets.
“Ho there,” Azerick called to the boy.
“Who are you and what do you want?” the boy demanded.
“I just came to look at the fine carriages and thought maybe you would let me take a look inside one.”
The boy looked at Azerick and sniffed, “I think not, you are likely to leave a stain and an ill scent upon the upholstery.”