The Sorcerer's Ascension (17 page)

The entire subterranean complex was mostly empty. Only a few tattered and rotted wall hangings, carpets, and empty wooden crates littered some of the rooms. He was certain there were more rooms and figured it was time to go back to the family and tell him what he had found and show them the loot he had stolen.

The young, accidental explorer left using a trap door he located at the end of one of the halls instead of leaving by way of the sewer entrance. The trap door was bolted from the inside and he was able to work it free and slowly lifted the door up just enough to peer out.

Azerick could see nothing but darkness all around his point of view. He made out the shadow of a wall just a few feet to his left and was just barely able to make out a distant wall about forty feet ahead of him. Azerick lifted the door completely and quietly climbed out of the hole. He was now standing in the distant corner of what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse.

He found an opening where a door once stood and carefully ducked outside and into the night. He quickly realized that he was in an abandoned warehouse, one that was located in the squatters’ district where he and the others made their home.

The second thing he noticed was the smell of smoke and an orange glow from further within the district. Horror filled his stomach as he ran towards the orange glow, which looked very close to where his home was.

The anxious lad pumped his legs as hard as they would go, fear pushing him to run on as fast as his legs would carry him. Azerick was about four blocks from where his home was when he saw the first licks of flame. A few seconds later realized that his worst fears were born out.

His home was on fire along with a couple nearby buildings. Dozens of people formed a bucket brigade and threw pail after pail of water onto the fire. Men and women passed the empty buckets back along a second line and immediately refilled them with water from a horse-drawn cart that had a massive water-filled cistern strapped to its bed.

 
Nearby buildings were being torn down by another team of horse to help prevent the spread of fire to the other nearby structures. Azerick looked through tear-blurred eyes at all the people hauling buckets, tearing down adjoining structures, and at those just watching the spectacle and waiting perhaps to relieve someone on the bucket brigade but he could not see a single face he knew.

Of his foster family, there was no sign, but he did think he recognized one face in the crowd. It was hard, evil-looking man, the same man he had seen threatening Jon a few weeks ago. He tried to creep closer but as he did, the man turned, walked away, and disappeared beyond the crowd and into the night.

The fires were put out by early dawn but nothing could extinguish the anguish in Azerick’s heart. People began to walk home, all exhausted from their night’s toils and muttering about the “damn squatters” starting fires.

Azerick continued to look at the smoldering ruins after everyone had gone their own way. He heard one of the guards say that the constable would be out later in the day to inspect the area for the cause of the blaze.

Once everyone had left and the ruins had cooled down, Azerick began to walk among the remnants of his former home. Another home and another family lost. Why was he cursed like this? What had he done to warrant such loss and pain?

He saw an object in the burned out rubble and walked over to inspect it. It was a doll burned nearly beyond recognition. As he stooped to pick it up, he saw the bones, also burned beyond recognition. Azerick shifted a large plank of wood and saw there were more bones beneath. Intertwined with each other, he could tell were two sets of grisly remains. One set much smaller than the other. Azerick was certain that the remains belonged to Maggy and little Beth. He fell to knees and began to sob once again at a new sorrow that filled his soul and threatened to tear him apart.

The heartbroken boy knelt there in the ashes and soot of the burned out building, holding the doll for what seemed an eternity. The sun was nearly overhead before he picked himself up and wiped a soot-stained hand across his tearing eyes, creating a black smear across his face. He walked to a large section of wall that had burned and fallen but not broken up. Like a lean-to, it was propped up against another structure that had somehow survived the blaze.

Azerick crawled beneath the wall and saw that it was leaning against the stone room where he had slept. The door was shut tight and for just a moment, a flicker of hope touched him that made him think that perhaps not all was lost.

He grabbed the iron handle and quickly pulled his hand back due to the heat that remained in the metal. He inspected his hand but the metal had not burned him badly. Azerick pulled the sleeve of his shirt over his hand and grasped the handle again. He could still feel the heat through the sleeve but was able to withstand it enough to turn the handle and pull open the solid door.

Azerick stepped inside the stone-walled room and looked around. The wooden shelves showed signs of scorching but were intact. He spied his bag towards the back in the center of the room. It too was intact with only a few signs of burnt fabric around the frayed seams at the top of the bag. He opened it up and pulled out his books, carefully inspecting each one and placing them reverently back into the bag. His clothes and books smelled strongly of smoke and probably would continue to do so for a long time but were otherwise unharmed. At least one god took pity on orphans it seemed.

Azerick hefted his bag onto his shoulders and stepped out of the ruined building. Before he left for good, he turned, bowed his head, and said a prayer for the second family he had lost.

As he stared at the ground, Azerick spied another object lying in ashes where the front door had been. He bent down and scooped the object up with his free hand. It was a large iron spike. Azerick thought this an odd thing for he had not seen any around the home before. He looked at the still standing doorframe and saw uniformly shaped indentations in the charred wood. He walked back to where another door to the outside had once stood and sifted through the ashes until he found more identical iron spikes.

Jon and the others could not get out. The doors had been wedged closed.

Seething rage quickly replaced his sorrow.

“Jon, I know what you said about seeking revenge, but I promise you, they’re going to pay for this, all of them. I hope you understand and will forgive me.”

That promise made, Azerick found the warehouse and the trap door it hid and slipped down into his new home beneath the streets of the squatters’ district.

Azerick almost expected the nightmares that once again filled his dreams. First, the face of his father seemed to hover in darkness that surrounded him, almost lost in the blackness. The image of his mother quickly replaced it before shifting into the form of Jon, Margaret, Patrick, all of his dead friends and family. Even Beth’s cherubic little face called to him from the inky void and all with the same message.

Seek your vengeance. Become the hand of Sharrellan and bring death to those that deserve their fate.

Cold sweat beaded on Azerick’s brow as he shouted at the faces before him. “Who are you? What do you want?”

I am Sharrellan, goddess of darkness and death. I want what you want, vengeance. Be my hand and deliver death to the worthy
the voices called out in a strange discordant harmony.

Impossible
, Azerick thought. The gods do not speak with mortals much less orphaned street rats.

“I will get my revenge,” Azerick shouted at the faces. “I will kill them all but I do not need you to get it! I don’t need anyone!”

CHAPTER 8

Captain Brellion led his contingent of the King’s special guard through the stone halls of the ancient abandoned citadel. Legends and lore had it that a long dead sorcerer king once ruled a vast kingdom from the once mighty castle and towers. Now the once magnificent citadel held only rubble, dust, orcs, bugbears, and goblins.

Each tribe of the creatures had claimed a different portion of the ancient enclave. The goblins lived in two of the once proud towers, bugbears in three others, while the orcs, through their superior numbers, claimed the great central castle and the huge master tower. Brellion was surprised that the evil creatures had been able to maintain some sort of peace for what appeared to be a substantial amount of time.

There was plenty of evidence to suggest that the naturally competitive creatures maintained a tenuous truce at best. Bones of all three species bore the unmistakable marks of death by crude weapons as well as ones constructed of steel.

Brellion and his band had infiltrated the citadel and fought their way to the top of the main tower, mostly bypassing the lairs of the goblins and bugbears. He reasoned that if there was an artifact still hidden in this citadel it would be in the dead sorcerer’s tower. After a long and fruitless search of the tower turned up no trace of anything of value, he led his group back down the tower stairs and into the lower catacombs of the castle.

He had only lost three men thus far, and considering the number of orcs his party had cut down, that was not bad. All were members of the King’s special guard and were loyal and highly experienced fighters. King Jarvin had tasked his, as well as other bands of his special guard to retrieve any ancient magical artifacts they could locate in order to help secure his throne and keep them out of the hands of his enemies who would use them to establish a claim to the throne should the last of the Ollander line be extinguished.

The smooth, cut stone that comprised the walls, floor, and ceiling of the subterranean passageway soon turned into natural caverns of rough-hewn rock. Everywhere there were signs of recent activity even this deep underground. Broken stone weapons, bones, and strips of cloth, both old and more recent, lay scattered about the ground.

A sudden cry from the rear of the party made Brellion spin, sword in hand, looking for signs of attack as several monstrosities dropped from the darkness of the high ceiling and bore down the rear guard. Before he was able to shout out any orders several more of the creatures dropped from the darkness overhead right on top of him. With quick reflexes, he rolled under the surprise strike and came back up on his feet in an instant. A hard carapace covered the creatures, their faces looked like a giant vulture with wickedly curved beaks, and their arms ended in huge hooks instead of hands.

The creatures blocked any chance of escape by dropping onto the front and rear party members, trapping the group in the center. Brellion blocked another swipe from the deadly jagged hook with his shield and returned the attack with a blow from his longsword. The blade cut into the creature’s side and elicited a hiss from the hideous monster. Khalar rushed up next to him, twin scimitars in hand and launched a flurry of blows at the creature, forcing it back several steps before cutting it down completely.

Brellion was glad to have the dark-skinned man from the southern desert kingdom at his side. He wore light chain armor but moved like the wind and his scimitars brought death to anything foolish enough to cross him. Some people had a hard time trusting the foreigner, but Brellion knew the man to have a code of honor even stricter than many of the knights he knew.

Brellion returned the favor by blocking one of the troglin’s attacks with his shield as both men hacked into the creatures. The rest of the party defended themselves from what appeared to be the main host of the attackers. Nearly a dozen more of the creatures attacked the rear and middle of the group. Berret defended the mage, Alleel, so she could bring her formidable power to bear. He slashed and blocked with his longsword and dagger while Alleel finished her incantation. A powerful cone of force erupted from her outstretched hand, flinging three of the beasts back and dashing them upon the unyielding stone of the cavern wall.

Vanier the cleric, Bevin, and Cyrgan fought several creatures at the rear. Bevin and Cyrgan fought in tandem while Andrill chanted his prayers. The cleric called upon his god and a pillar of flame erupted down upon two of the troglins, burning them into stinking charred corpses. Bevin and Cyrgan hacked into another pair, guarding each other’s vulnerable flanks, and dispatching their foes in relatively short order.

Back at the front, Brellion and Khalar fought the remaining pair that blocked the path forward. Khalar suddenly lost his footing on the loose scree of the cavern floor. Brellion thrust his shield out to ward the southerner, blocking a questing hook that tried to take his throat out.