The Sorcerer's Destiny (The Sorcerer's Path) (44 page)

“If it is not successful?”

“Then we all will be caught in the middle of a war between gods from which none of us may walk away with our lives.”

After asking around as they walked, Azerick found the tent assigned to him. It was a large pavilion tent with three curtained off rooms. The floor was constructed of a series of pallets covered with rugs. The furnishings were Spartan with field cots to sleep on and a small table with four chairs upon which to dine. Miranda was folding blankets over one of the cots in the “bedroom” when Azerick and Devlin entered.

Miranda emerged from the small anteroom at the sound of their voices. “Welcome home,” she greeted with a sardonic smile and wave of her hand. “It may be just a tent, but it is palatial compared to most of the others. Welcome, Devlin, it is nice to see you again.”

The senior sorcerer ducked his head. “It is always a pleasure to see you. You are looking lovely as always, Lady. I am deeply saddened for the loss of your city and home.”

“They are just things. Most of our people are away and safe, and that is what matters.”

“It is indeed. I imagine a great many people are reevaluating the importance of objects and material things.”

Azerick snorted derisively. “Do not expect that to last long. The moment the imminent threat to their lives is over, most who coveted such things will do everything in their power to regain them, and they will have no compunction about who they step on to get them.”

“Ever the optimist in regards to the human spirit,” Devlin said.

“I am a realist. There may be some brotherly cooperation and unity for a time, but that time will be short-lived. Everything we have lost, all the pain we have endured will be for nothing a generation from now. And that is optimism. Give us a decade and we will be cutting each other’s throats for the chance to make another coin.”

“Azerick, stop it,” Miranda chided. “There is enough darkness in this world right now without you casting a dark cloud around you. Be grateful we are all still here. I know I am.”

Azerick looked properly chagrinned. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Raijaun is resting in the room over there if you wanted to check in on him.” Miranda pointed to a curtained off section near the back.

“He may not wish have visitors at this time. Perhaps I should come back when he has recuperated,” Devlin offered.

Raijaun called through the curtain. “It is fine, Father.”

Azerick and his mentor entered the room and found Raijaun lying on a bed constructed to accommodate his size.

“How are you feeling?”

“Awful if I am to be honest, but I will recover. I already feel better than I did. Brother Thomas was able to help with the pain somewhat and taught me some meditations to focus my energy in way to help settle the conflicting magic inside me. It has been very helpful.”

“I am glad to hear it. Raijaun, this is my former master, Devlin Sabaht.”

“Good to meet you, sir,” Raijaun greeted.

“The pleasure is all mine. You are a very interesting fellow, Raijaun. I have heard of your actions in North Haven, and I am very impressed. Your use of multiple forms of magic intrigues me, and I would love to sit and have some very long discussions with you when you are up to the task, although probably not until this whole affair has met its resolution.”

“I would be happy to share knowledge with you, Master Devlin.”

“Please, just Devlin is fine. Rest well, young sir. You have earned it. I consider your father a dear friend, and I want you to know you can always count on me if you ever need my assistance.”

“Thank you, Devlin. I do not have a dearth of close friends outside of my home.”

“I will leave you to your rest. Azerick, I am sure you have better things to do than stand around and chat with me. I know I do, so I will leave you to it. It is good seeing you again.”

Azerick clasped Devlin’s hand. “It is good to see you as well. Thank you again for coming.”

Azerick left Raijaun to rest and showed Devlin to the door. Miranda was setting the table, and the aroma of cooking food filled the tent.

“Devlin, will you be staying for dinner? I thought you might like to eat with us,” Miranda invited.

“I thank you for the offer, but I really must return to my camp. I am sure you would like to sit with your husband alone before he charges off on his next expedition.”

“You have no idea. Sometimes, I wish I could chain him to the floor to keep him in one place for more than fifteen minutes.”

Devlin laughed. “I am sure. Unfortunately, the pull of duty is often far stronger than any chain, especially for men of conscience. Enjoy your time together, my friends. You have all earned a day of respite.”

Miranda asked Azerick once Devlin left, “When will you be leaving again?”

“Soon. There are things I must prepare, but most of it is here in the valley and not some other world. There is no danger of me being carried off into a dark void if that is your concern.”

“It is always my concern. Will you at least sit and eat with me?”

“Of course. I do need to consult the Codex. Did Raijaun bring a rucksack with him?”

“It’s in the chamber with a few other things I tasked some of the palace staff to secure for me before we fled North Haven.”

“Good. I will be in the other room if you need me.”

Miranda watched Azerick walk away ignorant of the fact that he took a piece of her heart with him just as he always did when he left her alone. Soon, there would be nothing left to take and nothing to fill the void where it once beat. With a heavy, dejected sigh, Miranda focused her attention on the pots covering the top of the iron stove set near the middle of the tent.

Azerick found the rucksack propped against the alchemy set he had bought so many years ago in Southport. His mind traveled back to those simpler times when all he had to worry about was avoiding slavers, thugs, and starvation on the streets. The fact Miranda knew how much it meant to him and ensured that it avoided destruction warmed his heart. He turned back toward the entrance flap, his heart urging him to tell his wife how much her simple consideration meant to him, but the weight of the Codex cradled in his hand was an anchor chained to a ship called duty, and it held him fast. He sat at the small desk against the tent wall and opened the Codex.

The smell of food wafting through the tent eventually pulled him away from his studies. He stepped from the antechamber and into the main pavilion. Miranda sat at the table, a half-eaten meal long gone cold scattered about the porcelain plate before her.

“I see dinner is ready,” Azerick said as he sat down at the table.

“Over an hour ago.”

“You should have called me in.”

“I did, three times. I fixed Raijaun a large plate. He is feeling much better already, or at least he’s pretending to.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry,” Azerick said. “I must have been lost in my research.”

“My husband is dead isn’t he?”

Azerick stared at the plate of cold food. “I don’t know if I would say dead. Gone might be more appropriate.”

“Is he ever coming back?”

“I don’t know. You must hate me.”

“I hate a lot of things these days, but not you. Never you. I think I finally understand. I kept trying to make you my Azerick, the one who was kind and compassionate, but you’re not him. You are the savior of our world, and I cannot hate him either for he does what he must do for the sake of us all. What hurts me so much is that I did not stop mourning until I thought you had come back. Now that I understand you never did return, I am mourning your death all over again. I do not mean to sound selfish or put the burden of my sorrow on your shoulders. I know you have more than your share to bear already. I just wanted you to know that I understand.”

“I want you to do whatever it takes to ease your pain and get past your mourning. I’m sorry I could not come back.”

“I know you are, and I know it hurts you too. I know this sounds awful, but it makes me feel a little better knowing that it does. It makes me feel like a little bit of you did make it back, and I am grateful for it. At least I finally get the chance to say goodbye.”

Azerick searched for words of comfort, but they were lost to him just like the possibility of returning to the life he once shared with Miranda.

“I must attend to something important.”

Azerick stood and walked from the tent without looking back. He had no desire to see the pain he inflicted upon his wife yet again. Miranda sat in resolute silence. She had no more tears left to shed. That well of anguish was now dry.

“Goodbye,” she whispered as the tent flap brushed closed.

Azerick stalked across the massive camp with his eyes cast toward the ground. It was dark, but even with the hood of his cloak pulled over his head, several people recognized him and called out a greeting. The sorcerer ignored their salutations and the occasional questions begging to know what was going to happen next. They did not really want to know the answer to that question anyway. If forced to answer, he would do so honestly and say that most of them were going to die in the days to come. Better to let them cling to the small bit of hope they earned through their relative victories in the cities.

They all thought they understood what they faced; saw the massive preparations made within the valleys and the enormous army waiting for the Scions and their minions. They simply could not comprehend the vastness of the horde approaching. The Scions had so far engaged them with a certain amount of reserve, but that would change here. They knew the humans had nowhere else to run, knew that the bulk of humanity was gathered here in the valley and in a few key cities in Sumara. Now they could concentrate their full power on a single battlefront, and he had made it possible for them to do so.

Daebian told him he could not win this war. His son’s words had cut him deep. Not just because of the betrayal he felt, but because deep him his heart, he knew Daebian was right. Daebian mocked his shortsightedness, but Azerick was not as blind as his son thought. Klaraxis’ memories were his to explore for several years, and within those memories were hundreds of battles. He knew how to calculate rate of attrition by gauging the numbers of opposing forces and their strengths and weaknesses. Azerick had years to study the Scions and their army and knew the forces at his disposal. He knew it was not enough, but he also understood fate and knew that nothing was certain in this world or any other. The actions of a being with freewill could unravel the strongest of prophesies and alter the course of the future forever. It was why he fought so hard despite knowing they would fail. Omnipotence was an illusion, and the real outcome of this war would be decided on what none of them could foresee.

It took over half an hour of brisk walking to reach the nearest edge of the camp, but still Azerick continued to distance himself from the tent city. Half a mile from the perimeter, he found a massive boulder jutting from the ground like a colossal grey tooth. The shaft of his arcanum door handle sank into the stone as if it were wet clay. A slight twist and pull opened a perfect doorway in the solid rock.

Azerick stepped into the cavernous chamber of his old laboratory. The Source pool cast the entire room in silver light and created no need for any other source of illumination. The sorcerer knelt beside the pool and simply luxuriated in the aura of power it radiated. Focusing on the task at hand, Azerick reached into the well with invisible arcane hands and scooped out a measure of pure Source. The magical element floated over the pool as a perfect liquid sphere until he coaxed it into a flat disc the size of a dinner plate. Azerick then leeched the pure element of the Source from the disc until the plate took on the solidity of arcanum. Able to now physically handle the object, Azerick set it aside and created three more identical arcanum platters.

He carried his priceless treasure up the stairs and out of the tower. As usual, Ancalon’s gigantic, serpentine body was wrapped around the tower but left the doorway unobstructed. The Father of Dragons’ head hove into view as Azerick emerged.

“You have crafted the discs I see. Your retreat was successful then?” the dragon asked in a voice like a thunderstorm.

“Because of you, yes it was.”

“You have relayed the requirements of my assistance to your people, and they have agreed to my terms of allegiance?”

“With great reluctance, they have agreed. No one shall be given leave to persecute the dragons once the war is concluded. However, any dragon causing harm or threatening the people will be dealt with under the King’s law.”

“This is acceptable. Let us see to our task.”

Azerick set the arcanum plates on the ground. Ancalon set a single talon over the first one and began to etch its surface. The nearly indestructible metal took the intricate design as easily as a wax tablet. Despite the tiny size of the disc compared to the dragon’s colossal body, the design he carved into the face of it was astounding. Azerick knew from practice how perfect a rune carving had to be in order to hold power, and Ancalon’s was far beyond anything he could possibly hope to replicate. Adding to the fact that the disc was little more than a small coin to the dragon made it something of a god-like achievement. Ancalon repeated his etchings upon each disc without the slightest variation in their design. Not even a stamp could reproduce the images with such an exacting level of detail.

“It is done. You know what you must do with them.”

“I do,” Azerick said with a nod.

“Even with my help, the Scions have the power to resist your trap. They must be weakened or the trap sprung during a moment of chaos, or they will certainly break free.”

“I understand. Once we force them to come to our world in their full physical embodiment, I hope to have the power to shake them enough for this to succeed. I simply do not see another way for the races to survive otherwise.”

“I wish you success, for all our people’s sake.”

***

Daebian’s armada flew over the teaming horde of ravagers loping through the forests and across the open valleys, killing and destroying everything in their path. Behind his ships, large, glowing slashes in the veil between worlds were still evident even this far away as even more creatures poured through the rifts to add to their already impossible numbers. Scores of dragons flew alongside his armada, rising, diving, and circling in their desire to cause destruction and agitated by their masters’ magical domination. Black smoke from the burning cities and countryside marred the horizon and cast the entire sky into a depressing grey haze. Blacker specks within the miasma hinted at even more dragons arriving to heed their masters’ call. The moment Daebian had been dreading finally arrived when his crew went stock-still and the dragons ceased their wild flight and hung in the air like toys dangling from a giant mobile.