The Sorcerer's Destiny (The Sorcerer's Path) (19 page)

Sharrellan sighed and rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Landrin, I thought you were clever. Like you, that entire debacle was created for a purpose.”

“You gods use us like toys. What purpose is worth the lives of thousands?”

“The lives of millions. Evil is coming, and it seeks the annihilation of nearly all the mortal races. Certain people needed to be guided along a path so they could rise above the rabble and provide the leadership the people need to have a hope of defeating these foes.”

“Did you fail? Are the gods not as infallible as you like us mortals to believe?”

“You no longer get to count yourself among the mortals,” the goddess countered. “We are capable of making mistakes, most of which involve the inability to foresee every potentiality revolving around free will. But this was not one of those times. Our efforts to prepare for the coming invasion have been almost flawless.”

“Then you raised the wrong one. You should have kept one of your willing devotees on hand for this, because I will have no part in such desecration,” Landrin insisted.

“You are the perfect choice. Anyone who desires to use such power is ill-suited to wield it. Your ability, undead nature, and apprehension makes you the only one we trust with the responsibility.”

Landrin shuddered. His skin felt alive as it crawled in revulsion. “You said you were successful in your preparations. Why do this then?”

“Because it is not enough. We have studied our position, placed all the pieces upon the board, and in none of our gambits are we successful.”

Landrin studied Sharrellan’s terrifyingly beautiful face and saw the fear beneath her haughty façade. “You are afraid.”

The goddess let her true emotions surface for a brief instant. “We are all afraid. We fear for our subjects and for our own existence.”

“You ask me to desecrate brave men and women who have given their lives to protect their homes and families.”

“Their souls will have departed this world. The magic you employ will only affect the shells once housing them. Landrin, if you refuse to do as I ask, then evil will swarm over the races and destroy them.”

“Why do you bother to ask me? Can you just not command me as your pawn? Why do you not do it yourself?”

“The answer to both is free will. We are forbidden by a power higher than even the gods understand. You must make the choice for yourselves. Will you sacrifice your morals for the continued existence of this world’s people?”

Landrin stared at the rolled velum on the floor but did not move to pick it up. He abhorred his existence and could never visit anything resembling it onto another. If this was the only way to save the people, perhaps it was time for them die. No, he could not decide for all of humanity and beyond whether they deserved to live or die. They must be given the choice, and to do that, they must survive.

“I want something in return.”

The goddess smiled coyly at the creature who was once a man. “Most people would consider their lives a proper reward.”

“I told you the last time you sought to manipulate me that I place no value on this false life.”

“All right, what do you desire?”

“You will give my soul back to Solarian. When I finally meet my end, I will return to bask in the shining god’s light.”

“Even after he cast you aside? Landrin, I would give you everything you desire within my realm. You would have power and luxury beyond your imagination.”

“Yet I would still be your pawn. Better to be an insect under the sun than a god drowning in darkness.”

Sharrellan’s laughter ended with a resigned sigh. “Sometimes, you humans are just like dogs. No matter how hard you kick them they always come scurrying back to their master’s feet. Very well, I will offer your soul back to Solarian, but I cannot guarantee he will accept it.”

“We all live and die by the choices we are given. Even gods are given choice, and I choose to wager my soul on his.”

“Then he shall have it, and I truly hope he rejects it. There are few people I am genuinely fond of, and your obstinacy has made you one of them.”

Landrin ignored the goddess’ compliment and picked up the scroll. “How much time do I have to prepare?”

“None whatsoever. You must leave immediately and begin your preparations the moment you arrive. Ancient gods and their innumerable minions are outside the walls and are moments from breaching them. Make haste, Landrin. The world depends upon it.”

Sharrellan vanished before his eyes without a sign of her departure or having ever been there. Landrin studied the scroll in his hand and wanted nothing more than to cast it into a fire, but he could not. He had a duty to perform and, no matter how distasteful, he would do it.

“I thought we were friends.”

Landrin turned and found Fetch standing in the doorway. “Of course we are friends. Why do you say that?”

“You talk to gods and don’t think to ask them to make me taller?”

He smiled at the half-man, grateful for his ability to ease his troubled soul in even the darkest of moments. “I like you just the way you are.”

“Says the man who don’t have to use a step stool to mount the privy. It sounds like we got some work to do. Do you want horses or mules?”

“Speed is of the essence. I will summon a mount. It is the only way to get where I must go quickly enough.”

“I’ve eaten a dead horse, but I never thought I’d ever ride one,” Fetch responded with a grunt.

“Fetch, you do not need to be a part of this.”

“It sounded to me like everyone is going to be a part of this. These legs may not be able to reach the privy, but I’ll stand and fight like any man.”

Landrin clapped the half-man on the shoulder as he passed through the doorway. “Fetch, I think you are a giant among men.”

“You can carve that on my headstone. ‘Here lies Fetch, the world’s shortest giant’.”

Landrin enjoyed one his rare laughs as he walked out of his home and into the dark night. Revulsion swept over him as he delved into the forbidden art of necromancy and sent the black magic out across End’s Run and into the surrounding land. It took only a few minutes to find what he sought laying buried beneath a couple feet of earth.

The undead stead pawed its way through the soil and galloped through the trees and up the hill to the manor, staying outside the walls of the town and away from the eyes of the townsfolk. The animal was in decent shape, having died just yesterday after it had gotten into a toxic mass of highland ragwort. Fetch arrived with a pack stuffed full of supplies and his crossbow slung across his chest just as Landrin cinched the saddle on tight.

“Well, at least it doesn’t smell…that bad.”

“You do not need to go with me, Fetch.”

“If you think I’m going to miss out on a gods-given quest, think again. I ain’t seen much beyond the tops of people’s legs in my life, and I ain’t about to miss this.”

“Do you need help mounting?”

“Either that or you conjure up something my size. I saw a dead raccoon on the road when we came in.”

Landrin laughed again, truly grateful for Fetch’s company and lifted him onto the back of the undead steed. Fetch was his only real friend since his transformation and a vital link to his humanity. He leapt straight into the air and came down to take an easy seat onto the saddle.

“Showoff,” Fetch muttered behind him.

“Hold on tight. This is going to be a rather intense ride.”

Landrin spurred the horse with a thought, and the undead mount exploded into motion. Fetch cursed loudly as the trees flew past as slightly darker blurs against the backdrop of the nighttime sky. That single exclamation became a near unending torrent of vulgarities when they left the road and continued the breakneck pace through the forest. Mile after mile the nightmarish creature ran, long after any other living mount would have collapsed from exhaustion.

The horse sprinted through the trees and leapt obstacles without breaking stride, reacting instantly to its creator’s mental commands. In the few hours before dawn, Landrin’s mount carried them a distance that would have taken days using a living horse. The primary reason for his haste showed itself as the sun began to lift over the horizon. The forest was slowly changing from black to grey when they spotted the ancient citadel carved into the cliff. Unlike the last time Landrin had seen the structure, it looked truly abandoned and lifeless now. He reined in his mount just before the entrance of the fortress and lowered Fetch to the ground where he promptly fell over.

“They need to make horses with narrow rumps for folks like me who lack a notable inseam,” the half-man complained as he lay on the ground.

“Fetch, I need to get inside. Are you all right?”

Fetch waved a hand. “Go, I’ll manage. I just need a minute to pop my legs back in their sockets.”

He sent his steed away to return to the earth, left Fetch to recover, and hastened inside. Landrin shuddered as he entered the fortress and navigated his way down the dark halls to the central chamber. Even after so much time had passed, he could still feel the presence of the lich he had fought.

The shattered remains of the massive, black crystal still lay scattered about the room. He paused and whispered a prayer to those who had died to prevent exactly what he was about to enact. Shoving aside his deep reservations, Landrin gathered in the Source and sent hundreds of magical tendrils creeping along the floor. The wisps of magic began gathering every crystal shard into the center of the chamber. As the fragments conglomerated, they began to fuse back into a single mass. Within minutes, the crystal was whole and resting back within its cradle.

“Well, that was something to see,” Fetch remarked as he walked into the room.

“I suppose you are wondering what this is all about.”

“That and why I bother to do so much sweeping. It seems you have a more efficient way to get the job done.”

“Something is coming that has even the gods scared,” Landrin explained. “You recall the night the dead rose?”

“Kinda hard to forget rampaging zombies.”

“It is going to happen again, only this time I am in control. Sharrellan, and I assume the other gods as well, do not think the living can defend against whatever is coming, so she asked me to aid them by raising the dead.”

“So the zombies are going to be on our side this time?” Landrin nodded. “It still sounds damned unpleasant.”

“It is, but it is vital, or so she tells me.”

“Do you trust her?”

“No, but I believe her. She is afraid, and if the gods are afraid, we should all be terrified.”

“All right then. If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll go see if I can hunt down some fresh food while you do your horribly unspeakable magic.”

“Thank you for your understanding and words of comfort,” Landrin responded sarcastically.

“I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

Fetch dropped his pack in the room, checked his crossbow and quarrels, and left to hunt some game. Landrin stared at the black crystal for several minutes before unrolling the scroll and reading the magic contained within the words burned into the vellum. He used his magic to guide the rapidly building power, drawing it toward the tower. Outside, an unnatural fog began to build, surely ruining Fetch’s plans for a good hunt. It would take days for the power to accumulate, so Landrin forced himself to relax and settle into the rhythm of the magic.

***

Azerick slowly circled the old tower, studying the runes painted on its sides and carved into the ground around it. It was the fifth and final inspection of their work. The school was silent for the first time since its founding. Azerick had ordered everyone not needed for what he was about to enact to stay well clear of the grounds. Thousands of anxious eyes focused on the old tower stabbing above the wall from the training fields.

“Azerick, are you certain you must do this? Aggie said it is very dangerous,” Miranda said worriedly.

“There is an element of danger, but I must hide the tower and the Source pool so the Scions do not destroy it. We cannot lose this valuable a tool. I will be fine.”

“You always say that.”

“And I always return.”

“Barely!”

“I have to try,” Azerick insisted.

“What if we lose you? Are you not as vital as this pool?”

“No, I’m not. Raijaun and the others will stand in my stead. This was never about me, but about all of us. It is about standing together, never surrendering, and doing whatever must be done to ensure our survival. We all must play our part, and this is mine. Now, please go stay with the others.”

“I want to stay here. What if something goes wrong?”

“What will you do if it does? If I could do this alone I would not risk my best people in this effort, so there is no reason to risk your life as well.”

“I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t,” he lied.

Azerick could not bring himself to tell her he was already lost. He inhabited the body of a demon lord and had made enemies of the King and Academy. There was almost no one of power who would not like to see him banished or dead. He was uncertain how this war would conclude, but he knew there would be no happy ending for him.

“Just go now, please.”

Miranda kissed her husband deeply before climbing astride her horse and galloping through the gates. Azerick waited until she was out of sight before turning to those gathered. Twelve of the strongest mages residing at the school stood in a loose group with mixed expressions. All were aware of the challenge ahead of them and the potential for disaster.

“It’s time,” Azerick announced. “Everyone, go take your places.”

There was no arguing. Every argument that could be made had already been voiced, and Azerick was not going to be deterred. The tower must not fall no matter the cost. Despite his reassurances, he knew this was a very risky endeavor. The elves had failed in their attempt to do this, but they had overreached. At least, Azerick hoped that was the source of their failure.

His people encircled the tower, each one of them standing at a precise location like points on a compass. Once Azerick started the spell, no one could move an inch from their spot. They were not just casting a spell, they were each part of the spell’s form, and any deviation would destroy it and possibly themselves.