The Sorcerer's Abyss (The Sorcerer's Path) (33 page)

“Me? I’m not going to do anything. It is much more satisfying to watch you torture yourself.”

“If you expect me to torture myself you are in for a long wait.”

“Nonsense. You have been torturing yourself from the time you got here, but like an amateur. I will show you what true pain is.” Krade waved at the expanse beyond. “What you see before you is the Valley of Lies. I am the Master of Lies and shall be your guide as you pass through it.”

“Why would you think lies could torment me?” Azerick asked.

“Because, as we examine and accept our lies, we discover truth, and the truth can be a very painful thing to behold.”

“Why should I listen to the Master of Lies? Doesn’t that mean everything you say is a lie?”

“Of course.”

Azerick looked up at the cliffs reaching into the bland sky. “I refuse to dance to your tune, devil.”

Azerick exchanged his soft, human fingernails for Klaraxis’ iron-like talons and began scaling the cliff face. Although severely weakened, Klaraxis’ incredible strength allowed Azerick to pull his body up the sheer, expansive escarpment. Even with his demonic strength, the climb was arduous, and his already weakened body soon began to flag.

He looked up and saw hundreds of feet of rock rising above him and a nearly equal distance beneath him when he looked down. Azerick took a minute to rest and then continued his ascent. Thrusting hands into cracks and claws into solid stone when no handholds presented themselves, Azerick continued to pull himself up the wall. Minutes stretched into hours and every movement became agony, but he refused to relent.

“Why do you continue to punish yourself?” Krade asked. “This physical self-torture became boring hours ago.”

Azerick looked over his left shoulder and saw the devil perched on an outcropping of rock he swore was not there before. He looked past Krade’s grinning face and down at the ground, which still seemed the exact same distance away as the last time he looked despite at least two hours of constant climbing.

“Why am I no nearer the top?” Azerick Demanded. He suspected the devil was involved in some sort of trickery.

“The top is a lie, of course,” Krade replied gleefully. “Now I get to ask a question. Why are you so afraid to face your lies? Do you fear the truth so much you willingly put yourself in this physical agony to avoid the assault to your conscience?”

“I have no lies from which to hide!”

“That is a lie. See how easily they fly from your lips, like bees from a hive. That is okay, for within the lie rests the truth if one has the courage to open one’s eyes and see it. Do you have the courage to look upon your lies and see the truth, or do you prefer to keep brute-forcing your way past it like you are doing now; like you have always done?”

“I have no lies, you damnable devil! I have always lived my life as one of truth. I have faced more truths than you can imagine!”

Krade tilted his head back and laughed. “Yet here you are, clinging to this crag, this towering wall of lies, like an insect instead of simply walking the valley. If you have nothing to hide then the valley holds no fear for you.”

“Fine, I will walk your Valley of Lies and show you I speak only the truth, as I always have. Now help me off this damnable wall.”

“No.”

Azerick’s face burned. “Why not? If you are so eager to have me walk your valley, then help me down so we can get on with it.”

“You chose to ascend this wall despite it being monumentally more taxing. The ground is where you will find the truth, and you must reach it yourself.”

Azerick gathered up the Source and tried to blast the arrogant devil from his perch. Krade vanished in a puff of pink smoke with a laugh as Azerick’s spell shattered the rock ledge. Pieces of stone rained down on his head and Azerick felt himself falling. The ruddy stone of the cliff flashed by as the wind rushed past his ears with an eerie howl.

The sorcerer struck the ground and his vision went black. Azerick was certain he now stood at the precipice marking the final end to his life. He almost welcomed it. Light flooded his senses when he opened his eyes and gasped in a great lungful of air to replace what his impact violently expelled. Azerick knew he should be dead now; even in this demonic body, such a fall should be at the very least crippling, if not lethal. He reasoned this to be another affect of this peculiar place.

Krade’s long face filled his vision as he looked up at the mauve sky. “Ouch. I did not expect you to be in such a hurry to face your lies.”

Azerick rolled painfully to his feet. “I have no lies. I am not like you, Klaraxis, or these other retched creatures.”

“When it comes to honesty, you fall far short of Klaraxis. He, like most of us here, are far more honest than you have ever been. Klaraxis has no delusions as to his motives, desires, or actions. You, a murderer, and at such a young age when you started upon the path of slaughter, have lived your entire life wrapped in lies. Your every motive a lie to justify your bloodlust.”

“I killed only those who tried to hurt me or to avenge my family’s murder,” Azerick said through clenched teeth.

“You lie,” Krade countered. “You say you hunted and killed all these men to avenge your parents and friends. What good does a dead man do another dead man, or woman? Your desire to kill those people had nothing to do with helping your mother, father, Jon Locke, or any of the others. It was all about making yourself feel better. It was about reclaiming power so you did not feel helpless. It was about punishing those who took from you. Go on, deny it.”

Azerick opened his mouth to do just that, but the words would not come. The lies that had come so easily to mind clogged his windpipe and refused to become words. He knew the truth. He wanted revenge, he wanted to punish everyone who wronged him and caused him pain. Not for those he lost, but to ease his own conscience, to relieve the burden of his failure to protect them. Every man or woman he killed, every drop of spilled blood was a balm meant to soothe the pain of his own fear, anger, and guilt.

“Ah, I see in the watery pools of your eyes you now accept the truth you hid even from yourself. The greatest lies ever told never pass our lips.”

Azerick took a shuddering breath. “Fine, I killed those people because I wanted to punish them for what they had done. I did it for me, but the people I killed were horrible people who enjoyed causing grief and deserved to die. But I am not like you and these other creatures who kill simply for the joy of it! I am still better than that!”

Krade’s chiseled face split with a pointy-toothed grin. “Really? Everyone was evil and deserved to die? You know this for a fact? Did you know everyone in the guild house you burned to the ground? Is it impossible to believe some of those men, some of those children, who were inside were not monsters and threw in with the thieves out of necessity? Have you never been placed in a situation where you had to act out of necessity even when such actions went against your basic nature? What about all of those who died when you destroyed the psyling city? Were they all evil? I would say not even a majority would fall under what you consider evil, and they numbered in the tens of thousands.”

“I never meant to destroy the city! Their deaths were an accident.” Azerick felt a fresh wave of remorse wash over him.

“I’m sure knowing that makes them feel better about dying.”

“So what do you want from me? Do you want me to say I’m no better than Klaraxis?” Azerick demanded.

“I want you to acknowledge the truth.”

“What truth is that?”

“The truth that not only are you no better than Klaraxis, you fall rather short,” Krade answered.

Rage suffused Azerick’s body. How dare this creature condemn him for doing what he was forced to do? He never asked someone to murder his parents. He never asked to be taken a slave and forced to kill. And he never asked Ulric or Jarvin to drag him into their political intrigues and problems. To condemn his entire existence, to claim it was all one expansive lie was beyond untenable.

“Who are you to judge me or my actions?” Azerick demanded. “You, Klaraxis, and these other monstrosities exist only to destroy and cause pain. I may have done some things I am not proud of, but at least I have the capacity for regret and remorse. I gave hundreds of children a home and taught them the skills they needed to survive and flourish. What have you and your ilk ever done to help anyone?”

Krade clapped his hands and practically squealed in delight. “I love how quickly you jump to your greatest lies. All lies, every one of them.”

“What do you mean? I did those things, and nothing you say can take them away from me!”

“Of course you did those things, but your assertion of altruism is the lie. You claim to have saved these children. You say that you empowered them by teaching them to fight, but whom were you really saving? Was it really the nameless, faceless, little wretches of North Haven, or was it the frightened little boy, homeless, parentless and huddling in the cold, dark corner of an abandoned building in Southport? Yes, you see it now. You thought by creating that silly school of yours you could paddle up the stream of time and save poor little Azerick, show him he was strong and that you could save him. But you cannot, and his fearful weeping still fills your ears, a weeping so intense all the misguided attempts at heroics cannot stifle it.”

Azerick wanted to shout his denial, lash out and destroy this creature and his lies, but part of him questioned who the true liar was. What were his true motivations? How many of those children he professed to have saved died because of him? Dozens fell during the siege and the night the dead rose from their graves. He did not save them, yet he took in more knowing the gods and fates still toyed with him, used him as a piece in some greater game that put them all at risk. What was the real purpose of teaching all these children to kill?

The sound of soft weeping reached his ears and interrupted his self-recriminating thoughts. A chill ran through him as he imagined it was the terrified child within him as Krade said, but he quickly realized the sound came from outside his head and could discern the direction from whence it came. Azerick followed the sound deeper into the canyon, pausing several times to cock an ear in order to maintain his bearing.

Azerick soon came upon a large boulder butted up against the canyon wall to his right. The crying was coming from behind its monolithic mass. He carefully skirted around the rock, keeping his distance. There he found a young boy, huddled in the corner created by the cliff wall and the stone. He looked up and stared at Azerick. It was almost like looking in a mirror, a mirror reflecting an image from years past.