The Sorcerer's Abyss (The Sorcerer's Path) (52 page)

“Can you not help me up?” Azerick asked as he raised a hand toward her.

“I was told you were a man of exceptional spirit. Was I misinformed?” Lissandra’s irritation was evident only in the slight narrowing of her eyes. “What you are going to experience during your recovery will take heroic effort, and I will not coddle you. Once you leave here, these tasks will seem like child’s play. If you lack the discipline to even stand, then you are not what I was led to believe.”

Lissandra turned then took a stutter step when Azerick’s slipper struck her in the back of her head. Pausing, she turned her head and said, “That’s a start.” She then turned and walked away before Azerick could see the faint smile tug at the corner of her mouth.

Azerick crawled to the entranceway, retrieved his slipper, and used the archway to pull himself to his feet. He stood there for several moments gripping the stone doorway as he got his breath back.

The room beyond looked much like the one he was in only larger. Lissandra sat a stone table looking like an enormous stone mushroom sprouting from the ground near the center. Similar, smaller bulbs of rock framed it on two sides opposite each other acting as stools. The Guardian sat upon one of these sipping from a teacup. Two large plates of food and another cup sat on the table.

There was no wall against which to brace himself and at least twenty feet of open floor between him and the table. It was apparent she expected him to take a seat and to do it unassisted. Azerick took a deep breath, stiffened his legs, and began taking small, shuffling steps toward the table. The table felt a mile away and his legs would feel steadier on a ship in a storm than they did now.

Agonizing step after exhausting step, Azerick meticulously crept across the floor. He was grateful there were no obstacles to navigate or he would have been doomed. Azerick reached the table and grabbed it as if it were the only floating object in a storm-tossed sea. Ensuring his rump was positioned over the stone stool; he sat down heavily and smiled triumphantly at Lissandra.

“You look like you expect some sort of reward for walking to the breakfast table,” Lissandra said dully over the top of her cup.

Azerick glared at the Guardian and replied, “And you sound like you want to get hit with another slipper.”

The Guardian was thankful her cup hid the smile trying desperately to break her calm façade. “I have prepared you a meal that will help you regain your strength. Eat it, and then we can begin your training.”

Azerick looked at the food set out for him and tried to identify what it was. A slab of meat seared on the outside but still oozing blood from within butted up against a pile of green vegetables that looked like leeks but were definitely not leeks. The meat was light in color, like pork, but had a strong gamey scent and taste.

He looked at the food on Lissandra’s plate. The meat looked the same without the benefit of searing. If it were any rarer, it would probably try to flee. There were no vegetables, but she did have a palm-sized honeycomb on her plate.

The Guardian caught Azerick looking. “I like to indulge. It is what helps me keep my sweet disposition.”

“And for that I am grateful,” Azerick responded sardonically. “You may want to ease up on the salt, however. It appears to be nullifying whatever effect the honey has on you.”

“Are you finished eating, or do you lack the manners to not speak with your mouth full?”

Azerick took the hint to shut up. He was certain the Guardian would not hesitate to take his food if he kept talking. The strange vegetables were bitter and spicy, like a pepper crossed with horseradish. Azerick coughed a mouthful back onto his plate.

“You need to eat those,” Lissandra said. “They possess vital nutrients.”

“I don’t see you eating them!” Azerick snapped and drank deeply from his cup, which he promptly spit out as the concoction burned the inside of his throat.

“I am not as weak as a newborn babe. And you need to drink that as well. Spit any more out and you will lick it off the table. It is not easy to brew.”

“It can’t be half as bad to brew as it is to drink,” Azerick mumbled. “What is it, concentrated armpit sweat from an ogre?”

“I could say yes. It would make you feel better than if I told you the truth.”

Azerick decided he did not want to know what any of it was, but if it helped return him to normal, he would consume it all. Feeling helpless was not something he liked. In fact, Azerick could not think of a single thing more distasteful. The more he thought about it the angrier he got. He tore into his food and ate without tasting. Only the foul liquid required him to consume it with care.

Lissandra dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “We shall start with the simple exercise of walking. You will simply walk around this chamber, using the seat here to rest only when you cannot continue any longer. Once rested, you will resume your walking.”

“For how long?”

“Until I tell you to stop.”

“So just walk? You don’t want to make me carry you or throw rocks at me? Maybe pour some oil on the floor?” Azerick asked.

“Not yet.”

Azerick bit back a retort and stood. Oddly enough, he already felt stronger. He stumbled once as he walked to the wall of the circular room but caught himself before he fell. Using his right hand to steady himself, Azerick circumnavigated the room with care.

The room was large and it took several minutes for him to complete each circuit with his dreadfully slow shuffling. Azerick made only two and a half circuits before fatigue forced him to shamble to the table to sit and rest.

“What do you think you are doing?” Lissandra asked.

“I am tired,” Azerick responded shortly. “You told me I could use the seat when I got too tired to continue.”

“You managed to walk to the table; therefore you are not too tired to walk the floor.”

Azerick’s face burned as he glowered at the Guardian. “What do you want me to do, walk until I collapse then drag myself to the table to rest? Or would you prefer if I just laid on the floor whimpering?”

Lissandra took a sip from a fresh cup of tea. “Either one is fine with me. I leave it for you to decide. If you are asking my opinion, I would tell you crawling is slightly more dignified than lying there like a dying animal in the street.”

Azerick inwardly seethed with rage and humility, but he refused to rise to the bait. He felt certain Lissandra was intentionally stoking the fires of his anger and ego. He could not control his physical weakness, but he would control his temper. Azerick felt the craving for control over himself and his surroundings like a drunkard craved strong drink. Control was everything.

Azerick stood back up forcefully and fell. Using the stool and table, he hastily got on his feet and carefully made his way back to the wall to resume his walking. Bridled anger motivated and energized his steps. He stopped thinking about his weakness and exhaustion, letting his mind fantasize about the Guardian sprawled out on the floor, desperately trying to crawl to the table, and begging for Azerick’s help.

So lost in his anger-induced daydreams, Azerick did not detect the approaching end of his physical limits. When he collapsed, it came as a complete surprise, almost as much as realizing he had made three more complete laps. This time he did crawl to the table. It took several minutes of monumental struggle to reach his seat.

When Azerick finally opened his eyes and looked at the tabletop, he was surprised to find another plate of food set out, identical to the previous meal. He had no idea when Lissandra had prepared and set it out. Azerick did not care. The moment the scent of food wafted up and reached his nose, his stomach growled noisily and did not care about how it tasted.

The next day was much like the first, only Azerick was able to dress, get to the table, and walk much farther without resting than he had yesterday. By the end of the fourth day, he could walk almost like a normal man, an old man, but not someone infirm.

“So what will it be today?” Azerick asked as he sat down to eat. “Shall I walk on my hands for you?”

“Do you think you can?” Lissandra asked.

Azerick thought a moment. “No.”

“Then we will save that for later. Today, you will continue to circle the room, but now I want you to bend down deeply with your foreleg while extending your trailing leg. You will dip low enough that your back knee almost touches the floor, but do not let it do so.”

“What happens if it touches?”

“Then I shall throw rocks at you.”

Azerick smiled and reminded himself not to give the Guardian any more ideas. He had slowly come to the opinion she was not as stern and dispassionate as she let on. He felt Lissandra’s tough approach was partly for the benefit of his training and partly from not being accustomed to being around people. On a few occasions, Azerick caught the Guardian smiling out of the corner of his eye when she thought he was not looking. Granted, the smile was subtle and mostly on the inside, but Azerick liked to think he saw it.

If walking had been difficult, the lunges were torture. Not only did it take extraordinary effort to get up after each dip, it took a lot of fine muscle control to keep from falling over, which he did several times. Azerick failed to make a single complete circuit of the room before collapsing, and this time he did choose to lie on the floor like a dead animal.

“Are you going to simply lie there all day?” Lissandra asked.

“No. It should be nightfall before too long,” Azerick groaned.

“Shall I serve your supper on the floor as well?”

“It would probably be easier than moving the table.”

The Guardian looked at her charge with annoyance. “I suppose I shall leave you with some small shred of dignity and put it in a bowl for you.”

“You are all heart. You should not coddle me so much,” Azerick quipped. “Could you do me a favor?”

“What?” Lissandra asked in exasperation.

“Pull off my slipper, and then hit yourself with it.”