The Sorcerer's Scourge (52 page)

“Do not blame yourself. It would take a man of god-like awareness not to feel in such a way after facing what you have faced. Just remember that you are not alone in these struggles and, although most of those around you do not have your power, their fight is no less significant than yours.”

“Thank you, Master Devlin.”

“Remember this as well. Mushadan is a selfish man and will lie and cheat to get what he wants. Do not trust anything he says. Rest now. I do not envy your fight tomorrow.”

Azerick nodded his understanding and did his best to follow his mentor’s order.

The sun rose early, illuminating the golden sands beneath and the clear sky above the city of Bakhtaran. People were already streaming into the noisy city walking, riding, herding livestock, or pulling carts laden with goods to sell in Bakhtaran’s famous bustling markets.

It was easy for Azerick to don a light robe of local fashion and slip into the city with Devlin. Bakhtaran was akin to a southern mirror of Southport. Both were large cities teaming with activity and a major trading hub of their respective nations. It took over two hours to reach the gates leading to the palace grounds. The elder sorcerer spent the time it took crossing the city to inform Azerick of local customs and what to expect inside the palace. 

“I will leave you here and find my own way inside. From there, I shall try to find one of my brother’s agents within. I will do my best to be there when you need me, but know that such may be beyond my control.”

“I know. Thank you.”

Devlin squeezed Azerick’s shoulder and melded into the crowd, almost immediately disappearing amongst the throng. Azerick squared his shoulders and walked purposefully towards the gates.

Four burly men stood in front of the gates wearing white, loose-fitting shirts and matching bilious trousers beneath golden breastplates. Each wore a wide, curved scimitar on their hip and gripped a halberd in their hand. The street traffic was much thinner here and more richly dressed, but it was still bustling. Yet they gave the guards and the gates a wide berth like water diverting around a boulder in the middle of a river.

The instant Azerick broke from the general populace and stepped towards the gates, two of the guards crossed halberds while the other two leveled theirs at the interloper’s chest. One of them called out something in their foreign tongue that Azerick interpreted as “stop, or I will cleave you in half”.

Azerick stopped about a body’s length from the tips of the halberds. “My name is Magus Azerick Giles, master of the Orphans’ Academy in North Haven. I require an audience with Vila Mushadan.”

“Vila Mushadan?” the one guard asked.

“Yes, I need to see Vila Mushadan,” Azerick repeated, gesticulating to himself and then towards the palace.

The guards conversed, shifting their gaze between Azerick and his staff. Deciding that the Valarian was not some common rabble, one of the guards called up to another on the wall who promptly disappeared. Azerick assumed that he had gone to fetch someone with the authority to make the decision to allow him inside, so he stood patiently while the two guards stood with halberds leveled and unwavering.

Azerick estimated he had been waiting about twenty minutes before he heard someone drawing the heavy bolt from the postern door. Azerick nearly dropped his staff in surprise when he saw Bran step through wearing a uniform similar to the guards standing watch over the gates. He was a little taller, much heavier, and significantly tanner than when he had last seen him some six years ago.

Bran’s eyes flashed over him without a hint of recognition. “You are the Valarian?” Bran asked.

Azerick recovered from his shock and answered, “Yes, I am. I need to speak with the Vila.”

“Is His Greatness expecting you?” Bran asked.

Azerick could not help but grin. “Depending on what has been said about me, there is a good possibility. He has recently acquired possession of some people close to me. I am here to make a bid to have them returned.”

Bran appeared to consider Azerick’s request before calling out something to the guards. The two nearest the sorcerer snapped their weapons back to the ready with a single loud clack of their wooden hafts striking the stone street. Bran then motioned for Azerick to follow him through the small gate.

Neither of them spoke until they were at least a score of yards beyond the gates and the nearest guards. Azerick was about to say something but Bran beat him too it.

“Nice to see that someone is important enough to bring you running to this city,” Bran said, suddenly breaking the awkward silence.

“So you did recognize me!”

“Of course I did.” Azerick watched Bran’s jaw tighten. “You were my best friend.”

Were. That single, past tense word hit him with the force of a punch.

“Bran, I am sorry. I could not have gone then. It just was not possible for me. If I had known where you were, I would have come for you when I had the strength and means to actually be useful.”

Bran looked up at the bright, blue sky and let out a breath. “I know. It’s what I have been telling myself for years.”

Azerick looked at his feet as they walked. “Did you ever find Andrea?”

The sound of Andrea’s voice being spoken instantly brought a smile to Bran’s lips just as it always did. “Yeah. We’re together in the palace. We’re married—sort of. The Vila lets us be together. She tends to him when he is in his throne room serving wine or food.”

“You look well.”

Bran gave a noncommittal twitch of his shoulders. “It’s not freedom, but it’s not a bad life.”

“Did you never think of escaping with Andrea?”

“I did, at first. Then I looked out beyond the gates and saw a city whose only difference from the one I left was that I did not speak the language. It came down to choosing whether to return to the streets and face starvation, or stay locked up in a palace where I get to eat every day. In the end, it wasn’t really a very hard choice.”

Azerick considered what his friend was saying. “So this Vila, he is not an evil man?”

Bran shrugged gain. “He is man of power, and as such takes what he thinks is his right. Is he sadistic? I don’t think so, but he will severely punish those who offend or disobey him. The half-elf boy said you would be coming. He said you would kill Mushadan.”

  Azerick inclined his head. “So Wolf is here as well. How is he?”

Bran stopped and faced Azerick. “He is not well. Not well at all. The Vila keeps him close at hand as a curiosity, but some creatures simply cannot survive captivity no matter how grand their cage. The Vila has a private menagerie. He spent a fortune recreating a habitat for these bright, crested birds from Lazuul, but even the ones that survived the trip soon died in their pens. I think the half-elf is like that. He had a wolf with him too but we had to kill it. Maybe if we hadn’t he would have the will to live, but without him he has nothing.”

Azerick’s heart broke hearing of Ghost’s fate and what affect that would have had upon Wolf. Ghost was like a permanent part of Wolf; like an inseparable appendage. He swallowed his sorrow and focused on what he could still affect.

“What of the girl and the dragon?” he asked tensely.

“Azerick, you need to understand. When the Vila takes on a new slave, especially ones that are close to him and have strength or power, they are broken. I said he was not sadistic, but he demands complete and unquestionable obedience. To achieve that, he breaks them. He breaks their spirit and trains them to do exactly as he commands without hesitation. How far his trainers have to go and what they do depends on the strength and will of the one they are breaking.”

Azerick’s stomach churned. Both Ellyssa and Sandy were creatures of very strong will, and both would resist as long as they could, but they were both young. Have they already been broken? Could he fix them if they had? His anger raged and it took all his will not to lash out at the magnificent palace just ahead of them with all his might and fury.

“Bran, I am going to kill your Vila. You need to know this as an absolute certainty. I am not the boy you once knew, and I am far more than even most of those who know me realize. Will you choose freedom if the Vila is dead? Are there others that will choose freedom if given the chance?”

Bran shook his head. “I don’t know, Azerick. We have all been trained to obey him without question. You are asking us to rise up against him.”

Azerick despised himself for what he was about to do, but he had no choice. He needed to get through to Bran. Calling upon Klaraxis’s demonic power of compulsion, Azerick laced his words with it so that Bran would listen and understand. He refused to force his friend to do what he wanted him to, but he needed to get past Mushadan’s brainwashing and training.

“I am far from alone, Bran. I have several thousand people inside the city right now, waiting for me to kill Vila Mushadan. When I do, they will take the palace and another man will take the Vila’s place. He is a decent and honorable man who will treat everyone as human beings and not as animals. I am not asking you or your people to fight, only that you do not raise a weapon against him. This is a big city and I do not know its internal politics or what will happen after the Vila is dead. However, there is one absolute certainty. Vila Mushadan is enjoying the last few moments of his life. When that happens, I need you to tell everyone not to resist. Just put down your weapons and stay out of the way.”

Bran shuddered as Azerick’s demonic-laced words washed over him. “All right, Azerick. I’ll see what I can do.”

The two Valarians reached the grand doors of the main palace entrance. Bran handed Azerick off to another guard to show him to the Vila while he went to carry out the sorcerer’s instructions. The palace was built on a scale Azerick had only seen at The Academy. Not just the Magus Academy, but all three branches combined and laid out upon grounds that would nearly accommodate the entire city of North Haven.

Such splendor was lost upon the sorcerer as his anger continued to roil within him. All he saw was the endless miles of marble that constituted the prison in which his dearest friends and family were being held against their will. Klaraxis, the demon that Azerick eternally held in check, fed upon Azerick’s anger and demanded that he release him to inflict suffering such as only he could conceive and exact.

As he expected, his escort bade him to wait an anteroom for the Vila’s summons. Men like the Vila would never permit anyone an immediate audience. To do so would imply that the Vila was of a lower status. By making Azerick wait, he was sending a clear message that he was the undisputed ruler here and that Azerick was the one being graced with the luxury of meeting him.

Azerick gripped the black gem in his pocket and sent General Baneford a quick message to ensure his people were in place. When Azerick was permitted entry to see Mushadan, he would send him the order to move. It was nearly two hours before he sent that order.

It took longer than Azerick had expected, but eventually Mushadan’s curiosity overcame his desire to show his visitor exactly how little he thought of him or his message. A man in black and purple robes entered the antechamber and gestured for Azerick to follow.

Azerick strode down the center of the enormous room, crossed over the small bridge splitting the pool of water, and looked up at the man reclining upon a sofa atop a high dais. He flicked his eyes around the room and took in every detail. At least twenty men and women stood within the room wearing the same black and plum robes. Azerick immediately recognized them as Mushadan’s pet wizards and possibly a sorcerer or two as well, from what he was able to garner from their auras.

They were equally spaced along the walls to each side of where Azerick stood. Three stood upon the dais that occupied the entire rear of the chamber. A man stood to Mushadan’s left while a woman stood to his right and next to her was Ellyssa. Azerick took note of the gold chains running from the gold choker around her neck to the gold bracelets on her wrists.

He saw that they all wore these same accoutrements except that the woman also wore a ring with a tiny chain attached to her bracelet. When the Vila raised his hand to plop a strawberry into his mouth, Azerick saw that he wore rings on every finger of both hands and each of them were attached to identical bracelets.