The Sorcerer's Destiny (The Sorcerer's Path) (29 page)

Azerick began to formulate what he would need to do in order to achieve his goals and blessed Duncan for his education in rune magic. Despite this world being nearly bereft of the Source, there was still power within the elements, power he could tap into with runes. He stared down the mountain slope and faced a quandary. He could begin carving the runes he needed to open the rift, but if the creature appeared and attacked him it could disrupt his work. He had an idea to lay a trap and hopefully conclude their battle, but it would take time, time he did not have to squander. How long would it take the creature to track him down again, assuming it did not drown? If he focused on opening the rift, he might be able to leave this place before it caught back up with him. That scenario was unlikely. It was simply going to take too much time to gather enough energy to open the rift.

He studied his surroundings, most notably the clustered trees and draping vines. Azerick searched his memory and brought his engineering texts to the forefront of his mind. His plan was a simple one, but the execution was very complex. He started by climbing the green trunks of the trees and gathering long strands of vines. He wove them together using line splicing techniques Balor had taught him and created a single, braided rope hundreds of feet long.

Azerick set the rope aside and formed the arcanum ball on his staff into an axe head, making it look much like a halberd. The mystical metal cut into the tree with ease and carved out a large wedge in the trunk with only a few minutes of chopping. Studying the lay of the ground and the formation of the tree tops, he chose another tree and began hacking at it until it too had a large chunk cut out of its base. The wallix squawked angrily and took to the air, but they quickly returned once Azerick moved on to another tree.

Azerick took up the huge, coiled length of vine and threaded it as close as he could get through the tree tops without attracting those flying nightmares. He wedged his staff between two moss-covered boulders and tied the end of the vine to its middle. Azerick grabbed another vine, secured it near the top of the last tree, and pulled with all his might. Angry wallix took to the skies once more as the tree swayed, groaned, and cracked as it tilted sharply. The vine snapped taut and pulled the other trees down with it. This moment would determine if his plan had a chance to work or if he had just wasted half the day. The row of trees leaned and cracked in succession but did not fall as the vine supported their weight and kept them upright but leaning several degrees. Satisfied his trap was not going to collapse under its own weight, Azerick set to work painstakingly carving runes onto the ground, rocks, and trees with the claw of his index finger.

***

The river swept the borghast matron all the way back to her nest site near the pool below the falls before she was able to extract herself from the water. She was exhausted. Borghast were not strong swimmers, but her desire to seek retribution on the crafty creature kept her struggling to stay afloat until the river calmed enough to drag herself to safety. She rested for an hour before resuming her hunt, easily following the killer’s stench through the jungle despite its traveling through the trees and rarely touching the ground.

The borghast matron raced through the jungle, tearing at the foliage with wild abandon as if she were swimming through a lake of impenetrable green water and leaving a wake of shredded vegetation. Small animals fled from her path as she tore a wide swath through the jungle and clamored up the slope toward the mountain top. It took her nearly a day to reach the mountain, and it would take several more hours to scale it. Her instincts told her the creature was drawn to the strange tear in the sky. Perhaps it had fallen out of it and was trying to get home. She could not allow that to happen. Her mounting fatigue did nothing to ease the fury raging inside her. Every burning muscle and labored breath acted as a bellows pump, stoking her anger to even greater intensity until it burned so hot she was certain it would consume her.

Darkness fell and still she pressed on. Her eyes had no trouble seeing in the pure blackness of a jungle too dense to ever witness the light of the twin moons or the star-dotted sky even on the rare occasion that the clouds allowed them to gaze down upon their world. A light drizzle began to fall as she neared the high plateau, and she slowed to a predator’s hunting pace. Unlike her earlier reckless, destructive sprint through the jungle, there was no tearing of leaves or snapping of branches to betray her presence.

Heavier droplets of water cascaded down her face as she pushed her head through a thick wall of vegetation and spotted her quarry scratching in the dirt and on rocks and trees. It seemed a peculiar thing to do, and she wondered if it was looking for food. The creature finished what it was doing, moved a ways away, and began scratching on a tree trunk once again. When it moved to another spot farther away, she slinked from her concealment to see what it was doing. The gouges were made with deliberate care with straight lines and uniform arcs and circles. Were they territorial markers? She flicked her tongue at them and recoiled. There was something grossly unnatural to them. It tasted bitter and made her tongue tingle like a nearby lightning strike. Her first instinct was to destroy them. No creature dared to claim territory belonging to her, but that might alert it to her presence. Better to leave them for now.

The matron slipped silently back into the thicker brush and crept closer to her family’s killer. It was near the edge of the plateau and only a few yards from where she hid. The creature was strong, but not quite as strong as she was. Nothing in this world was as strong as a mature borghast. It might be cleverer, but it lacked her ferocity. She could defeat it, but she had to be careful and respect its capabilities. She waited until the killer was bent over a large stone jutting from the dirt and fully engaged in its marking before charging from her hiding spot. She aimed for the creature’s neck in hopes of inflicting a fatal wound, but it must have sensed her attack and rolled away at the last second. Her claws cut deep wounds into its shoulder and upper arm. She chose not to press her attack and instead raced into the jungle and disappeared into the darkness.

Azerick felt a soft tremor in the ground beneath his feet and instinctively rolled to his right just before the beast’s claws ripped new gashes down his left arm. In the fraction of a second it took to get to his feet, the creature was gone. The only evidence of its existence was the blood running freely down his arm. He was amazed at how swiftly and silently a creature that size could move. There was not the slightest rustle of branches to betray its presence despite knowing that it was stalking him just beyond the range of his sight.

He turned a slow circle, gripping a stout branch in his hands and holding it defensively before him. Azerick was as prepared as he could be for this confrontation, but his nerves tingled with real fear in anticipation of the next assault. He spun toward a noise in the brush to his right and set himself for the charge. Once again, he did not detect the creature’s presence until it was nearly upon him. Azerick had to dive forward and felt the creature’s claws tear into his side before he even saw it. He spun and swung his club, but the borghast was already gone, vanishing into the night like a vengeful jungle spirit.

Azerick realized he was not dealing with a mere animal, but a creature of cunning and intelligence. Perhaps not on a human level, but enough to know how to ambush, use distractions, and thrust and retreat to bleed him out without risking the danger of a head-on fight. He could not afford to stand here and let the creature pick him apart. Azerick sprinted toward the site of his trap. It was more open, and there were fewer places for the monster to launch its ambushes.

The sorcerer raced for the stand of trees he had prepared. A flash of movement cut across the path ahead of him. He stopped and listened, searching the darkness for any sign of the borghast. Of course, there was none. Even the wind seemed afraid to blow for fear of drawing the creature’s attention. The only sound was the heavy drumming of his heart. Azerick hefted his club and felt foolish for taking a small amount of comfort in its feeble defense.

He took a few more cautious steps toward his trap and barely registered the dark shape detach itself from the trunk of a nearby tree twenty feet above him. Azerick swung his weapon with all his strength just before a massive weight bore him to the ground. The dull thud of the tree limb striking the monster’s boney armor broke the silence permeating the jungle. Azerick dropped the feeble weapon and used his hands to push the snapping jaws with their dagger-sized teeth from his throat. His arms trembled beneath the strain as drool rained down on him and fangs clashed inches from his face. Azerick gasped as the creature raked the claws of one foot down the length of his thigh. He could feel his blood pouring freely from the horrible gashes as the borghast tried to raise its foot high enough to disembowel him.

The lethal movement sacrificed the matron’s position and allowed Azerick to get his leg beneath her. Heaving with all his might, he flung the borghast beast off him and sent her crashing into the brush. Wasting no time to worry about his injuries, Azerick rolled to his feet and ran. His left leg felt mushy and slow to respond to his dictates to run. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he leapt into the air and used his wings to glide across the tangling undergrowth.

No longer concerned with stealth, Azerick could hear the borghast crashing through the brush after him. His leg buckled when he came down, but he quickly righted himself and began a loping hobble toward his staff.

Seeing her prey wounded and trying to reach its weapon, the borghast matron charged headlong in pursuit. A vine stretched taut and low across its path tripped up the matron and sent her crashing to the ground. With a frustrated roar, she dug her claws into the ground and charged forward. The creature’s leg had finally given out and it was fetched up against a large boulder, desperately trying to stem the bleeding. She needed to finish this fight before it could reach its weapon.

A slender tree sprang upward with a whoosh of air and the sharp crack of a whip. A strong tug on her ankle sent her falling once more. She was far too heavy for the trap to lift her from the ground, but it did slow and infuriate her. The matron slashed at the vine cinched around her ankle. The creature had not moved and lay just a couple hundred feet away, its face contorted in pain and weak from blood loss. She tore at the vine keeping her from her vengeance with her claws and charged ahead only to find a web of crisscrossing vines set to trip and entangle her. Refusing to allow anything to keep her from her prey, she began hacking and clawing her way forward.

Azerick watched the creature slash its way toward him, snarling and alternating hateful glares at him the vines impeding its progress. His nerves were raw, and it took all his discipline to wait and not act too soon. Forcing himself to remain calm, he waited until the creature was in the center of his trap before he sprang it. Azerick summoned his staff to hand, effectively pulling the linchpin holding everything in place. Everything started to go as planned until the tree nearest him snagged in the branches of the one next to it. Dropping his crippled ruse, he leapt up, sprinted to the tree, and cleaved its trunk with a mighty swing. The tree fell, pulled the cords tied to the others, and began the cascade effect he had hoped for. 

The borghast matron tore another vine free from around her leg and looked up to see her prey appear to shake off its injury and begin running. She roared, thinking he was trying to escape, but it stopped and hewed into a tree with its strange weapon. The tree toppled, and others within the area cracked and fell as well. The strange marks the creature scratched into the trunks exploded and trees began raining down around her. Real fear set in as she desperately tried to avoid being crushed by the falling timbers, a feat made especially challenging due to the numerous vines strung across the area. The matron leapt high into the air and hurled herself at the killer, leaping and bounding over the woven strands. She was only a few yards away from achieving her revenge when a massive weight fell across her back and pinned her to the ground.

The matron heard her ribs snap and the felt the air blasted from her lungs. She struggled to work her way free but found her efforts futile. She tasted blood in her mouth and tried to draw a breath to shout a final curse and found the attempt equally useless. She hated this creature more than anything in the world, but it was a good death. She died battling a superior predator instead of growing old and feeble until the day her instincts demanded she walk into the jungle and surrender her life and territory to a more worthy borghast. She looked up at the rare opening in the trees and basked in the glow of the twin moons peering through a rare break in the clouds. The matron sensed the creature’s approach and opened her eyes as its shadow fell over her.

“I am the Hand of Sharrellan. Death finds all those who fall beneath my shadow.” Azerick raised his staff, the arcanum spear tip gleaming in the moonlight, and thrust. “But not today.”

Azerick used his spear as a lever and heaved, lifting the tree just a couple scant inches and pushed a stout branch beneath it. His efforts provided just enough relief to allow the borghast matron to breathe. He sat on the fallen tree near the matron and examined his wounded leg, which was already on its way to mending.

“I know you don’t understand me, but I am going to talk anyway. Not that there is much else for either of us to do but talk and listen. I am sorry about killing your family. They were your family, weren’t they? I could see it in the hatred you had for me. I know that hatred very well. It too set me on a path of violence, and it killed me as well, only I came back. I came back so I could kill some more. It seems like my only purpose for existing has been to end some person or another. I always told myself it was necessary, that it was for the greater good, and that I didn’t have a choice. But I did. I always had a choice no matter how unpleasant it might have been. I chose to put myself in situations that could only be resolved through killing another. So many times I could have chosen to distance myself, to let the cards fall where they may. When did it become my responsibility to save everyone? When did I gain the right to impose my sense of morality on the world?”