The Sorcerer's Scourge (50 page)

“Taken by whom?”

“Slavers. Aggie tried to find her magically the next morning when she did not return to the school, but was unable to. She said something was blocking her scrying. A couple weeks later, we saw that the construct you made was gone from your laboratory. Aggie was able to follow it with her magic and saw Wolf and Sandy chasing after it. She watched it until it reached a city in Sumara and was destroyed by soldiers and mages. She also saw them capture Sandy. We are certain they took Sandy to the Palace and think Ellyssa is there as well. We are not sure about Wolf.”

“I see,” he said simply.

Azerick’s face betrayed no emotion as he listened. People who did not know the sorcerer well might assume he was heartless and bereft of concern. Those that knew him well knew that he was simply making a mental tally of the number of souls he would soon be sending to the dark god, Sharrellan.

Azerick began stalking towards the school, leaving Horse and his friends to follow in his furious wake. He strode through the gates like a thunderstorm and pointed a finger at one of the young guards standing nearby.

“You, go fetch Simon and have him meet me in the dining hall.”

The guard nodded briskly and ran off to summon the accountant. Azerick stormed into the old tower and shouted for Aggie. The elder wizard quickly appeared on the arm of a much younger man with a close-cropped, salt and pepper beard, and descended the stairs.

“Azerick,” Devlin, Azerick’s former master, greeted, “wonderful to see you again. I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances, but I have been enjoying the company of this marvelous woman.”

Aggie giggled like a young girl, but Allister found nothing amusing whatsoever. “Have you now?”

Aggie shot the archmage a sour look. “Oh please, he’s young enough to be my grandson, with a few greats thrown in. Don’t get your beard in a knot or I’ll set fire to your eyebrows.”

“It is good to see you again, but I am afraid I must be leaving immediately,” Azerick replied.

Miranda laid a restraining hand on Azerick’s arm. “Azerick, just wait. There is much we need to discuss.”

Azerick spun on his wife, his stoic façade vanishing in an instant. “What is there to wait for? My dau—apprentice has been enslaved as well as two very special friends. There is nothing to wait for. Every minute I delay is another minute in the hands of scum doing the gods know what! I will not allow them to suffer as I have.”

“Do you think I care any less? I may not know what it is like being in that kind of situation, but I want them safe just as badly as you do. But if you run off without thinking, you might do more harm than good. You are no longer just a sorcerer that can strike out at anyone you think has done you wrong. You are a lord of Valaria, and anything you do you do in the name of the King! Will reigniting a war with Sumara help Ellyssa or anyone else?”

“What would you have me do? Write a letter to the King of Sumara and ask for my people back? What they do is legal down there. Do you think whoever has them will just send them on their way because I say please?”

Devlin cleared his throat. “Actually, in most any other situation it might.”

“Azerick, I asked Master Devlin here as a Sumara’s lawful ambassador. You need to sit down and listen to him,” Miranda told her husband, pleading for him to act rationally.

Simon hustled into the room, winded from running from wherever he had been. “M-Master Azerick, you, ah, sent for me?”

“Yes. Let us all go sit in the dining room.”

Everyone sat around the long, rectangular table. Azerick called for Agnes to bring them some food and something to drink.

“Devlin, you said a letter would normally get me my people back?”

“As a very prominent figure in Valaria, my King would almost certainly demand that the Vila of Bakhtaran return your people. He has no desire to return to hostilities any more than your King does. However, Vila Mushadan has been amassing power over the years and has all but declared Bakhtaran an independent state. He defies the King at every opportunity, and we believe that his intent is to seize the throne.”

“Why does your King let him do this? Why does he not simply destroy the man?”

“Mushadan has built a very formidable army and his walls could withstand all but a concerted siege of every resource at the King’s disposal. Many of the other Vilas have taken something of a neutral stance and have resisted aiding the King, unsure of who might be wearing the crown a few years from now. The greatest obstacle is that Mushadan has enslaved numerous wizards. Such a concentration of magical power would make besieging the city nearly impossible.”

“These wizards are slaves? How can he hold people with that much power against their will?”

Devlin explained. “He has discovered a way to block a spell caster from reaching the Source without his explicit permission. He chains the wizards, literally and figuratively, with these devices. He wears a related device upon his person that allows him to control the wizard or sorcerer’s power or inflict great pain. This is all our spies have discovered as they are quickly found out and executed. We know Mushadan has a spy network within the capitol and it is far more effective than ours is.”

“What you are saying is that this is not a problem I can solve by simply blasting my way through it. What do you suggest I do?”

Azerick’s former master turned his palms up. “I do not know. You are an unknown entity to him. It is possible you might be able infiltrate his palace and rescue your people, but with the magic at his disposal it would be beyond challenging.”

“No, I will not simply take my friends and leave him be. I have seen what happens when people like him are left alone to work their schemes. I have to punish him—destroy him. You may be right about infiltrating his city.” Azerick turned to Simon. “How many ships do I have at hand right now?”

Simon opened the thick book no one ever saw him without and flipped through a few pages. “Oh, ah, nine of sixteen have returned from their summer runs, and, ah, are at dock or anchored for, ah, refitting and repairs.”

“Simon, have someone send Peck to the city and have him bring Zeb here immediately. Then go to the vault and bring me that speaking stone.”

“What are you planning, Azerick?” Devlin asked.

Azerick steepled his fingers and held them under his chin as he calculated numbers and formed his strategy. “Your King cannot get anyone inside Bakhtaran without this Mushadan guy knowing, but he does not have any spies here. If I can get a sizable force inside his city, free all of the mages from bondage, and kill him, I might be able to turn many of his people against him and create an insurrection. Some will certainly continue to follow orders, but if enough are willing to fight for their freedom, they can topple the entire city government.”

“Azerick, even if General Brague had not taken the bulk of North Haven’s military to aid King Jarvin, you could not ship them to do battle in Sumara without igniting a war, no matter how noble your ideals,” Miranda insisted. “Even if Sumara’s King secretly applauded your invasion of this renegade state, publicly he would have to denounce you and take action. Remember, you are not just the master of a school, you are the next Duke of North Haven.”

“I will not go as the North Haven’s heir. I will go as a master retrieving his apprentice. I will fly no colors of state nor bring anyone bearing the crest of any of Valaria’s cities. If I succeed, Sumara’s King can claim the attack on the city as his own. If I fail, he can claim it as a strike by mercenaries and bandits.”

“But where are you going to get enough people to have the slightest chance of creating this insurrection?” Devlin asked.

“I have a school of two senior archmages, five full wizards and at least a dozen adepts. I have four hundred fighters old enough to choose whether they wish to go and fight for their friends and surrogate family. I employ sixteen ships and over five thousand sailors, dockworkers, and men fully capable of fighting. Most of them were soldiers in the war with Sumara and know how to handle a sword.” Simon walked in bearing a small black gem, which he handed to Azerick. “I also have this.”

“Is that a speaking stone?” Devlin asked.

“It is, and a man that owes me his life has the other.”

Azerick focused his will into the gem and waited. It took a full minute before a tinny voice echoed forth from within its black, crystalline form.

“Yes?” a voice asked cautiously.

“General Baneford, do you know who this is?”

 “Unfortunately, yes,” Baneford’s weary voice responded.

“If you are still leading a mercenary company, I have a proposition for you.”

“I am. What is it you need?”

“You once told me you wanted your own town where you would be free from the petty dictates of men like Ulric. Are you still looking for one?” Azerick asked the mercenary general.

Baneford paused, apparently in thought. “I have a town, although it is mostly tents and shanties. I could be interested in upgrading. What is it you have in mind?”

“Have you heard of Bakhtaran?”

“Yes,” he said drawing out the word suspiciously.

“What do you think of becoming the new Vila?”

“I think you have confirmed what I have long thought; that you are completely insane. I can field nearly fourteen hundred men with a few days preparation. That would still put me at one-fifth the size of Bakhtaran’s military might; and that is a best estimate. The odds are more likely half again that. I hear he has a sizable wizard force as well where as I have one. As capable as Magus Krendall is, I think even he would last about as long as soap bubble in a hurricane against odds like that.”

“What if you could get your entire force inside the walls and Vila Mushadan was dead before the first man drew steel?”

“That would depend upon the loyalty of the populace and whether they will capitulate or if we all get crushed in its death throes once you strike the head from the beast.”

Azerick explained his plan and described the forces he would bring. Baneford listened as Azerick outlined his intent.

“Assuming you can kill the Vila, get word to his people that he is dead, and a fair number of them, particularly the wizards, are willing to rise against his rule, then a coup is certainly possible. However, there are numerous holes in your plan. I would imagine there are a fair number of people that would have a far greater claim to his seat than I, and if he or she were to have the support of Bakhtaran’s military, they could promptly toss me out onto my backside without so much as a thank you. Even if I was able to claim Bakhtaran, why would the King let me, an outsider and mercenary, keep it? Besides, I risked far too much climbing out from under Ulric’s boot heel to willingly put myself beneath another’s.”

Devin leaned towards the gem. “General, if Azerick is willing to vouch for your character, I believe I can assist you in working out an agreement between King Yusuf and yourself. Mushadan has not paid a copper in taxes in years. I am certain that if you are willing to give King Yusuf his due, he would sign a compact that would allow you significant autonomy as long as you respected him and his rule.”

“And who are you to make such offers?” Baneford asked skeptically.

“I am Magus Devlin Sabaht, official ambassador to Valaria and foreign voice to King Yusuf.”

“Devlin, is that really you?” a new voice asked through the stone.

“Krendall, I should have known a scoundrel like you would be mixing company with a band of mercenaries. No offense, General.”

“Well, after a particular young sorcerer destroyed the Black Tower and crushed most of the tower hierarchy in the process, I found myself in need of a new home, and I found the general reasonable company,” Krendall explained.

Devlin raised a questioning eyebrow at his former apprentice. Azerick smiled and shrugged.