The Sorcerer's Legacy (42 page)

The door was unlocked and the Rook’s unnatural eyes pierced the darkness. There was a single form lying in the bed under the blankets as well as another on a pallet near the wall. A crib, bassinette, and a cradle also decorated the room. He could see the bundled form of the infant lying in the cradle. It was not the wizard’s room. Must be Cossington’s room then, and either the woman made her man sleep on the floor for being drunk or it was possibly the nursemaid.

The assassin mounted the stairs and swiftly began ascending them. The infants made him nervous. He had heard in the tavern that the woman had just given birth to them earlier today and they would wake up squalling all through the night. That meant he needed to be done with this job all the more swiftly.

His boots also helped keep his movements unheard as he hurried up the stairs. There were two rooms on the first landing but neither was warded so he passed them by. There were two doors on the third landing and one of them tingled with the obvious effects of a ward. The ward was not as strong as the one on the headmaster’s window but it was cleverly done. The wizard must possess great skill for what should be rather limited power given his age.

The Rook bent his will to the task of disabling or disassembling the ward on the door. It was only set to secure the door and warn the wizard of anyone entering without permission, but it was unusually made. The assassin had made wards a major focus of his magical studies, but this one was crafted completely different from any he had dealt with before. It did not matter in the end. No ward could keep the Rook from his chosen target.

Within minutes, the assassin managed to unravel the ward in a manner that should not have alerted the mage that was hopefully inside. He cast a globe of silence around himself, not so much to mask his movements; he needed no such protection, but to prevent the wizard from being able to cast most any spells in which to defend himself just in case he woke before the assassin could take his life.

The Rook eased inside, stepping cautiously out of habit even though his globe of silence would mask any sound he made no matter how loud. He found the mage sprawled sideways across the bed deep in a drunken stupor. The assassin sighed, almost feeling disappointed that the fool had made it so easy on him.

I believe it is about time to retire,
he thought to himself.

He had peaked. He had become such a master assassin that there was no longer even the slightest bit of challenge. Even his hanging crossbow shot that killed Brightridge’s chamberlain barely got his blood pumping.

The Rook slid his knife from its sheath and approached the unconscious wizard.

I cannot even get him to look me in the eye before I kill him,
he thought despondently.

He raised his blade, aiming at a point between the ribs so his knife would pierce the heart. Just as he was about to strike, an incredibly sharp pain in his right kidney area dropped him to his knees with an inaudible hiss of agony. A gnarly, calloused hand wrapped around the assassin’s mouth as a needle sharp blade pierced the back of his neck at the base of his skull.

Cerulean sparks crackled along the magnificent blade that Azerick had given him as it easily slipped through the formidable magical shields in which the assassin wrapped himself.

Oblivion washed across the most deadly assassin in the known world. I was probably fortunate that his death came almost instantaneously for had he known that he, the ever-feared Rook, had been brought down by a lowly goblin, his soul would likely have languished in undeath for an eternity.

“Mustn’t disturb the master,” Grick whispered as he pulled his wonderful blade out of the back of the assassin’s neck.

“You one heavy rat,” the goblin complained as he dragged the assassin out of his master’s bedroom by the legs.

Azerick woke the next morning to a massive headache and a queasy stomach.
Nothing a little tea and a bit of healing draught will not cure,
he thought as he got up and stretched out the kinks in his muscles.

He stood near the end of his bed and bent down to touch his toes. A large red spot on the floor, like spilled wine only darker, caught his eye and he took a closer look. Straightening back up, he walked a bit unsteadily down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Agnes and several other women and young girls were in the kitchen preparing meals for everyone to break their fast. Azerick was surprised to find Grick eating at the small table in the kitchen.

“Good morn to you, Grick. I am surprised to see you still up this late,” Azerick greeted the little goblin.

Grick grunted in reply. “Very busy last night.”

“Grick, did you see anything unusual last night?” Azerick asked.

Grick grunted and shrugged his shoulders. “Big rat, give Grick some trouble.”

Azerick forced his angry, rebellious brain to work harder despite the pain. “Was the big rat in my room last night?”

“Yeah, but not four legged kind—two legged,” Grick nodded.

“And where is the big, two legged rat now?”

A shrill cry came from upstairs. Azerick figured it was one of the housekeepers.

Grick took another sip of his coffee. “Put in Grick’s room. Too heavy to take outside. Grick get big human help to drag to trash heap when finished eating.”

“How about you and I go take a look at him after I have some tea,” Azerick told Grick who simply shrugged and drank his coffee.

The cleaning woman bounded down the stairs and burst frantically into the kitchen. “Master Azerick, there is a dead man in the—in his room!” the woman exclaimed, barely able to keep from shouting hysterically.

“It is all right. I am aware of it and Grick and I are going to take care of it,” Azerick calmly assured her. “Why don’t you sit down and once you are calm, go ahead and take the rest of the day off.”

The woman took a seat on a stool next to one of the kitchen counters while Agnes poured her some tea and tried to calm her down. Azerick was already feeling better by the time he finished his potion-spiked tea and had Grick lead him upstairs to his room where he had stashed the body.

“What can you tell me what he did last night, Grick?” Azerick asked as he examined the body.

“Grick see him come through dining hall. He go in baby room with mother and nurse woman, but come back out quick. Then he go upstairs and do stuff outside your door,” Grick explained, waving his long arms and wriggling his fingers in a parody of spell casting. “Then he go in master’s chambers and look at you. He pull big knife out and make to stab you. His eyes glow all blue then Grick stab big rat man inna back then inna neck with pretty blade master give Grick. It go all sparkly when Grick stab him and then his eyes glow no more. Grick do ok for master?” Grick asked nervously.

“You did very well, Grick. You saved my life.”

The goblin bobbed his head up and down. “That good. Grick like job and nice room with much food to eat.”

Azerick gave the goblin’s scrawny shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Grick will always have his job and nice room for as long as I am master of this tower.”

“Good, Grick work extra hard, make sure master not get killed for long long time.”

Azerick gazed at the face that looked up with sightless eyes from within the dark cowl. The man had a thin, almost gaunt face with a sharp patrician’s nose and a narrow chin. The eyes that once blazed with an Azure aura of life were now a lifeless yet still deep blue. Azerick cast a minor spell and examined the assassin’s body and belongings.

Several items radiated with an aura of magic that only the sorcerer’s temporarily augmented sight could detect. He stripped off the man’s shoes, gloves, and cloak and searched through his pockets. Other than a strange black gem, he found little else other than a few thieves’ implements. His knife, Cloak clasp, and a few rings also glowed with an aura of magic, all of which Azerick would deposit in his vault for later study.

Once he was finished, he went and found a few workers to take the body outside and cremate it far away from the citadel grounds. Rumors of the dead not staying buried made burning a much wiser course of action. Azerick sat at the dining table drinking tea and nibbling at a piece of fresh bread, lost in thought. He heard the wail of his godchildren, as they demanded to be fed.

He was in their room last night,
Azerick thought angrily.
They could have been hurt or Colleen or Rusty because this man wanted me dead for some reason.

Azerick could tell that the man was a hired professional. The killer himself likely had no interest in him beyond completing a job for which he had been hired. Who hired him and why? Azerick could not bear the thought of any of his friends being hurt or killed because of him. He had lost far too many people he cared about over the years and he was not going to lose any more.

Did it have anything to do with the artifacts his father had been killed for?
Azerick thought of the man that his former master had been talking with. He was in search of the artifacts. Was it the same man, were they connected? There could be a link and the only way to find out would be to confront Devlin, his old master. Azerick knew he would have to get his master to reveal what he knew.

***

General Baneford strode before his newest troops, looking them over and finding most of them thoroughly undesirable but he would change that. He had spent a great deal of the winter holed up in the ruins of an old citadel that looked over the stony plains just a day’s ride from the badlands.

Once the weather became more favorable, he sent men out to the towns looking for recruits. He had thirty-four horses that needed men to ride them, but he was not so desperate as to hire just any petty thug or bloodthirsty mercenary.

“You men were approached and chosen by my officers for two reasons; you knew how to fight and you looked like you had enough discipline to follow orders. If either of those attributes does not accurately describe you, then you had best leave now because lacking in either one will most assuredly get you killed; the former by your enemy and the latter by me!

“I am a fair man and a disciplined man and I demand the same from my men. We are not a band of cutthroats, rapists, and murderers. I am a professional, my men are professionals, and you will all conduct yourselves as professionals. My justice is swift and severe and I play no favorites. Many of you may have worked as mercenaries. We are not mercenaries and we are not for hire. You will be paid according to your rank and time in service as well as a percentage of any spoils we may acquire.

“You may begin to wonder, as many of my men already have, what it is we are doing. What is our goal? I will divulge that information when the time comes, but that time is not yet upon us. For now, we build up our forces and equipment. My officers and drill instructors will now show you where you will bunk, where you will eat, where you will relieve yourselves, and then take you through some drills. They will educate you on our rules and regulations. I strongly suggest you give them your utmost attention. Your lives
will
depend on it. Fallout!”

General Baneford left his new recruits, an even fifty in all, and headed back for his tent, eagerly anticipating a good glass of wine. The two guards standing by the tent entrance snapped to attention as he approached and rendered sharp salutes. The general returned the salutes with one of his own, threw back the tent flap, and walked into the shadowy interior.

He crossed the tent to a small cabinet that sat upon a field table and opened the ornately carved wooden doors. The cabinet held twelve bottles of wine ranging from good to extraordinary. It was the one piece of loot he specifically secured for himself when they sacked Langdon’s Crossing. There were also twelve crystal goblets secured to the inside of the doors. He plucked one from its holder and selected a rich red wine from the rack.

He turned around and let both fall to the ground as his hands scrambled for his sword.

“Relax, General, you are amongst friends. Had I wished you harm you would most assuredly be dead already,” a black-robed figure informed him.