The Sorcerer's Destiny (The Sorcerer's Path) (28 page)

“We’ll need to join our floating ships and replace them. I also want to get some human crew on a few of the other flying ships as well. You seem to have a handle on steering the thing, so you can instruct our other captains.”

“Aye, sir. So this is the side we’re choosing?”

“It is.”

“All right, so what happens next?”

“We go and conquer a kingdom.”

CHAPTER 14

The borghast beast sniffed at her dead mate and child. The blood was hours old, almost half a day. Borghasts were the undisputed rulers of this world, and their hunting territory was vast. It had to be when so few animals would willingly come within ten miles of the top-tier predators. Sticking her bony snout in the air, the matron quickly picked up the strange scent of her mate and child’s killer. She was not surprised to find that she did not recognize it. Few creatures would attack even a young borghast much less one guarded by its father, and any creature capable of that feat was powerful.

It did not matter to her. This creature killed her mate and it would die. Borghasts mated for life, and it was unlikely she would choose another. She had waited until she was at the height of maturity before choosing her young, virile male in hopes of producing a strong offspring. There was not another of her species for hundreds of miles. She put her nose to the ground and found the scent of blood. She flicked out her tongue, committed its taste to memory, and began loping through the jungle with preternatural silence. The killer would die, and she would make a nest of its bones to seek solace in her future of lonely isolation.

***

Azerick shoved the huge, green leaf away from his face as he pressed through the inhospitable jungle, eliciting another shower of warm water to soak him even further. Not that he could get any wetter if he jumped into a lake. The jungle was hot and steamy, and droplets of water covered everything. Every piece of foliage he pushed aside or brushed against elicited a very brief but soaking rain shower. He hated the jungle to the point he actually longed for the dry, weatherless world of the abyss.

Fighting through the vegetation and the constant deluge made it difficult for him to focus enough to grab at the few wisps of the Source to recharge his staff. It was a painstaking endeavor as the Source was a grain of salt amidst a pile of sand, and it was up to Azerick to find it. Not only was the Source nearly nonexistent, so were the signs of any life larger than whatever tiny lizard or mammal scurried about the jungle floor or climbed through the leaves. He never saw one and was aware of their presence only through the sound and tiny rainstorms made by their furtive scampering.

He was grateful he at least had his staff, and not just because it would provide the only real source of power required to reopen the rift. The arcanum blade shaped at the end easily sliced through the tough vines and thick stalks trying their best to prevent him from reaching his destination. If it were not for the fact he could feel the energy seeping through the rift’s scar, he would likely walk in circles for an eternity, unable to even find the mountain above which it lay.

Azerick stopped and listened intently as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and a chill ran down his spine. Nothing moved within the jungle around him. The chirping of tiny wildlife and the buzzing of insects was gone. Even the dew covering the broad leaves of the plants seemed afraid to fall. Something was close by. Something dangerous. Azerick tried to see past the foliage, but his vision barely stretched beyond the length of his staff.

The sorcerer stood as still as a statue and listened, but he heard nothing beyond the sound of his breathing and the rhythmic thumping of his heart. The moisture dotting his brow was no longer solely from the pervasive mist fogging the air. He was in the midst of something dangerous, and he had no idea where it was. But it was very close.

The wall of foliage to his left exploded in a mass of shredded leaves, stems, and stalks as something huge and powerful burst from hiding. Azerick tried to turn and leap away and felt the sharp burn of the creature’s claws carve furrows down his shoulder blade. The force of the blow sent him crashing into the brush and would have shattered the bones of a mortal man.

Azerick rolled to his feet and held his staff out defensively. The creature paused and growled as if to study him or was just surprised that he survived and was still able to fight. The creature looked much like the other two he had fought with its too-big teeth, ridiculously large claws, and boney plates and horns covering its leathery body. Only this one was significantly larger and seemingly angrier than the others were.

“You must be seeking vengeance,” Azerick said despite assuming the creature could not possibly understand his words. “I did not mean to encroach upon your territory, and I am sorry if I killed those you cared about. They gave me no choice except to defend myself.”

The borghast matron studied the creature crouching before her, unable to comprehend how it was not dead or crippled. It was a small, weak-looking animal. How could it have killed her mate and child? It made soft, almost mewling sounds. Was it whining in pain, or were they sounds of communication? She was unsure but did not care either way. It killed her family and destroyed her legacy. It would die.

The borghast beast lunged and Azerick tried to dive away again, but he was too slow. The creature was amazingly swift for being so large and powerful. It wrapped the clawed fingers of both hands around his chest and waist, lifted him from the ground, and went careening through the jungle. Leaves and branches whipped him as if he were running a gauntlet of punishing schoolmarms wielding switches. The forest was a blur of green, the only clear, fixed point his vision could find were the baleful eyes of the borghast beast and its wicked, slavering jaws.

Azerick’s body twisted and contorted as he shifted into Klaraxis’ form. His transformation was swift, and the borghast matron was not able to adjust to the sudden change in equilibrium. Azerick and the creature went tumbling still locked in an embrace. He brought his staff in front of him just in time to prevent the beast’s jaws from clamping onto his head. The borghast beast bit down onto the staff, shook its head, and tore it from Azerick’s grasp. Azerick got his legs between him and the monster and heaved, sending the creature crashing back along the trail of crushed and shattered foliage.

The matron spat the stick from her mouth and tried to understand the sudden change that had come over the creature. She did not know how it could transform into something completely different and obviously more powerful, but that did explain how it was able to kill her family. She would have to be more cautious in her attack, but she would never relent.

Azerick got to his feet at nearly the same time as the creature. The two foes squared off perhaps thirty feet apart, studied each other’s movements, and formulated plans of attack and defense. The borghast moved first, launching itself across the short span separating them in a second. Azerick leapt to the side and used his freshly healed wings to lift him up and away from the beast’s path. He summoned his staff to hand in mid leap and swung it in a powerful arc, clobbering the creature in the side of the head.

The borghast matron tumbled from the force of the blow but quickly shook it off and gained her feet. She was bigger than this creature and likely stronger, but it was swift, smart, and far from weak. It fought well, but she was cunning too. She would need to figure out a way to use her territory to her advantage. The intruder had wings, but it did not try to fly off. It must know about the wallix roosting above and the near instant death they represented for anything encroaching upon their treetop homes.

Azerick and the creature stood staring at one another once more. He thought perhaps his strike had stunned the creature, but its eyes were focused and caught every movement and twitch of his muscles. His ears picked up the sound of the river raging a short ways off to his right. A plan leapt to mind and he ran as fast as his legs would carry him and the resistance of the jungle allowed. He had gotten the jump on the beast, but it was more adept at navigating the thick vegetation than he was.

Before she was able to devise her next attack, the shape shifter bolted for the dense jungle. If it thought to lose her in the undergrowth, it was a foolish attempt. Nothing could escape a borghast on the ground.

Azerick jumped into the air and used his wings to lift him over the thickest obstacles but well below the towering treetops. Despite the numerous vines crisscrossing the jungle like a ship’s rigging, he was able to glide through the openings between trees enough to put some distance between himself and the creature desperate to kill him.

The matron raced furiously after the cowardly killer and roared her anger when it flew above the undergrowth and began gliding through the trees. It quickly began outpacing her, but her sense of smell allowed her to follow the creature even after it fled from sight. Let it run. Borghast were tireless hunters. She could and would track it around the world if need be. It would eventually tire, but she never would. She knew the river was nearby and wondered if the creature was going to try and lose her by flying over it. It was a risky attempt and almost as dangerous as flying above the trees. The wallix rarely flew into the jungle itself, but they would dive toward the river and attack anything wandering away from the protection of the shadowy interior.

She flicked out her tongue, tasting the air and seeing beyond the concealing foliage. She picked up the creature’s heat pattern and the electrical impulses its body generated. She slowed her pace and stalked silently forward, licking at the air and processing the vast amount of information it relayed to her brain. The killer had stopped near the edge of the river, perhaps aware that to try and fly across held significant risk. She quickened her pace without concern as the roar of the rushing water easily masked any sound she might make. The matron peered between the large fronds and spotted her foe standing in a slight clearing looking across the small gorge cutting a twisting path through the jungle.

She tensed her muscles, dug her toe claws into the soil, and burst through the undergrowth, holding her furious bellow until it was too late for the creature to avoid her attack. The black-skinned killer spun just in time for her to rake her claws through his throat and down to his abdomen. The borghast matron faltered in midflight when her talons failed to find purchase, and her body met no more resistance than if her foe were made of fog.

She tumbled as she hit the ground and dug her claws into the dirt to arrest her slide toward the chasm’s edge. Somehow, the creature had managed to deceive her eyes and had not been where she thought he was. She did not understand what kind of chameleon power allowed it to do such a thing, but she would not fall for it twice. It may be able to trick her eyes, many creatures in the jungle had such abilities, but it could not fool her tongue. She had been overconfident of the kill, but she would not make the same mistake twice.

Azerick felt the wind generated by the monstrous creature’s passage through his illusion gently caress his skin. He needed to hide very close by in case the creature was able to discern the nature of his ruse through scent. His attacker clawed at the ground to prevent going over the edge, but Azerick was not going to let that happen. He charged the borghast beast and struck her in the chest with his staff as she stood. The strike sent her arcing over the cliff and plummeting toward the raging water. The fearsome flyers instantly exploded from the treetops in cacophonous fluttering of wings and squawks and swooped down after the falling, howling creature. The borghast struck the water with an imperceptible splash, and the wallix arced back into the sky and returned to their arboreal aerie.

Azerick watched the river carry the fearsome creature away just as it did him. He hoped it carried it as far and that the creature would give up its pursuit of him. The sorcerer knew the desire to be fruitlessly optimistic. He sensed the vengeance raging within the creature’s heart and recognized it as a mirror of his own. They would fight again unless he could escape this world.

He glanced up at the treetops and was glad he had not tried to cross the span. He figured out a swifter form of travel and put it to use, gripping the tree trunks with his claws like a squirrel and leaping and gliding across the open spaces. If the river carried the borghast as far as it did him, and with this swifter form of locomotion, he should be able to put at least two days between him and the creature. Hopefully, he would have enough time to tear the rift back open and escape before it found him again.

Despite his best efforts, Azerick could not help but think about his home and what they were facing, wondering if they too were fighting for their lives at this very moment. The Scions were close to escaping when he shifted his tower. If they break free while he is trapped in this world, the consequences could be disastrous. He needed to get back, and there was little to nothing he could do to hasten his return. It would take more than an hour to replace the power it took just to create his minor illusion. Azerick forced himself to push his fears to the back of his mind. It would only serve to distract him, and distractions would get people killed.

Azerick swung from vines, flew through clearings, and leapt from tree to tree when the jungle became too dense. He was grateful for Klaraxis’ strength and ability to fly. Were he required to make his way through this inhospitable place as a human, the fate of his world would likely be decided before he ever had the chance to escape it. Movement became trickier as the ground began sloping upward and the distance between trees became greater. Patches of open sky managed to break through the green ceiling in places, some large enough to tease small swarms of wallix into chasing him a short ways until he was able to reach a denser section of forest.

After hours of climbing and gliding, he finally reached the plateau atop the mountain. Had he been forced to walk, the trip would have taken days, days he did not have. He did not even have the hours he spent, but his control over the situation was limited. Although the trees blocked his view, he could feel the remnants of the rift cutting a jagged scar across the sky. Azerick sent his otherworldly senses out to probe the tear between worlds and, as he had suspected, found the veil thin and frayed. It would heal over time and disappear, but it was still raw enough that he should be able to tear it back open even with the paltry power at his disposal.