The Sorcerer's Legacy (16 page)

The following day, just before noon, Simon shuffled fretfully into the laboratory. “Master Azerick, there is, ah, a large contingent of armed men outside and they are, ah, asking for you.”

Azerick sighed in frustration, glad that his potions were at the point where they only needed to be stored but aggravated at the interruption nonetheless. He poured the brew into several opaque glass vials, tightly seated the stoppers, and stored them in a small rack in a closet against the wall.

The sorcerer climbed the stairs and walked out onto the steps in front of the keep where he saw a contingent of armed and armored men wearing the colors of the North Haven city watch. There were six men in all, all on horses except for the one standing on the top level of the stairs that led to the front doors of the keep. The watch sergeant took three paces forward and stood three paces away from Azerick as he stepped out onto the portico with Simon shadowing his steps.

The watch sergeant brought himself to his full height and used his most authoritative voice. “Magus Azerick, you are hereby placed under arrest and commanded to present yourself forthwith to Her Grace, Duchess Mellina of North Haven, to answer for your crimes against a lord of the city.”

Azerick’s blood-red and silver arcanum-tipped staff sprang into his hands without a word and a shimmering aura appeared around his form, visible only for a brief moment.

“And what if I don’t want to present myself forthwith, watchman?” Azerick snarled.

Simon ducked back behind the relative safety of the heavy front door. “Oh my, oh my, dear me,” he stammered as he hid.

The sergeant’s hand reached for his sword in a blink but he only managed to pull it out about six inches before Azerick brought the arcanum ball on the end of his staff down, slamming the blade back home and cracking at least one bone in the sergeant’s hand. With a thought and a flick of his wrist, the silvery ball extended into a twelve-inch spear tip and gently pricked the skin just below the sergeant’s adam’s apple.

“If one of your men so much as moves, you get a new breathing hole,” Azerick coldly warned.

The watch sergeant held his hand up to tell his men to stay where they were since he could not talk or even swallow without risking the razor-sharp point piercing his throat.

“Now why don’t you tell me exactly what the duchess said and to whom she said it,” Azerick quietly demanded.

The sergeant swallowed as Azerick moved the tip of his spear away from his throat in inch. He could feel the droplet of blood running down his throat and mixing with his sweat but made no move to wipe it away.

“Her Grace requested your presence and sent a runner to deliver her summons. One of Lord Effrin’s men accompanied the runner with instructions for me and my men to bring you back under guard and issued the arrest warrant—milord.”

The sergeant relaxed a little as the sorcerer fully withdrew the spear and it became a visibly less threatening staff once more. “In the future, sergeant, I recommend that you follow the orders of your duchess as opposed to those of a pompous popinjay who wears a harlot’s makeup.”

Azerick’s comment brought a small laugh from some of the guardsmen.

“You will depart my premises with your men and inform the duchess that I will attend her shortly,” Azerick directed in a tone that would brook no argument.

“Yes, milord,” the sergeant replied without hesitation and mounted his horse.

Azerick turned towards the stables as he watched the guards make an expeditious retreat back to the city.

“Peck!” Azerick called out.

“Yes, milord,” Peck called back.

Azerick saw that Peck was standing at the corner of a building with a steel-tined pitchfork in his hands and thought he saw the black blur of movement that he was certain was Ghost and Wolf ducking back into the shadows. The half-elf probably saw the armed men as they rode up the path to the keep.

“Saddle Horse and bring him around, please.”

“Aye, Master Azerick, right away,” Peck complied.

Less than an hour later, Azerick strode down the palace hall in the company of a single guardsman who passed him off to another guard waiting in the antechamber of the reception room then promptly returned to his post.

Azerick heard the guard announce his presence then motioned Azerick to enter the reception hall. The sorcerer, wearing a deep burgundy cloak over his black shirt and pants and carrying his staff just for effect, walked briskly to within two paces of the foot of the dais.

He saw that Lord Effrin was already present so he purposely stood close to him. Azerick’s proximity had the desired effect as the lord nervously and purposely sidestepped to put more distance between them. This left Azerick standing in the center of the rich green and gold carpet and the arrogant minister standing uncomfortably half on and half off.

“Magus Azerick, thank for accepting my invitation so promptly, I know you are quite busy,” Duchess Mellina said sincerely but without warmth.

“You are quite welcome, but you can thank Lord Effrin for my timeliness. After all, it was he who sent a contingent of guards with an arrest warrant,” Azerick replied and looked pointedly at the minister.

Captain Brague suddenly took two steps forward from where he stood to the left of the dais. “You will answer the duchess with Your Grace when you address her!”

“Forgive me, Your Grace
,
I meant no discourtesy,” Azerick corrected and smiled at the captain.

“Stand down, Captain, the magus is a friend of this court and is under no formal charges,” she admonished gently.

“As for you,” the duchess said, turning her attention towards Lord Effrin. “I will speak to you regarding your changing my instructions and issuing arrest warrants without my authority, later.”

The duchess turned back towards Azerick. “However, Magus, I do need to speak with you about a very serious incident that I cannot allow.”

“What is that, Your Grace?” Azerick asked innocently.

Duchess Mellina’s face became even sterner. “Do not bandy words with me, Magus. You know very well of what I am speaking. Just look at Lord Effrin.”

Azerick turned his head and looked at the minister. The nobleman’s entire head had elongated, his eyes were nearly on the sides of his head, and his ears came to a point and stood nearly a foot tall. A black bristly tail hung uncomfortably out of the back of his blue velvet trousers.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I do not see the problem. If you are talking about his wardrobe, I feel it is ridiculous, but I am afraid I lack the fashion sense to give an honest appraisal,” Azerick replied, feigning ignorance.

“You turned my minister into an ass!” Mellina almost shouted. “He hid in his rooms all day yesterday wailing. It took us until this morning to coax him out and explain what had befallen him. Now what do you have to say for yourself, Magus?”

“Your Grace, I cannot take responsibility for his being an ass. He was an ass long before I ever met him. I simply removed the illusion of his humanity,” Azerick stated seriously.

Lady Miranda, who stood next to and just behind her mother, had to cover her smile with her hand.

The duchess was less amused. “Magus, I do not find this humorous in the least nor can I have you going about turning my nobles into quasi farm animals. Why did you feel the need to inflict such a curse on a member of my court?”

“He was beyond rude and presumed to give me orders like a servant. I am no man’s—or woman’s—servant and I thought making a visual example out of the lord was appropriate.”

Captain Brague shouted his outrage. “You dare make veiled threats against the Duchess in her very own hall? I should have your head!”

“You should be so lucky seeing as yours in such dire need of replacing,” Azerick returned without hesitation.

“Enough, both of you!” the duchess commanded. “From what I have heard and witnessed, I can imagine Lord Effrin’s behavior and I will discuss such things with him at length. Kindly return him to normal immediately, I can hardly converse with him as he is.”

“I am sorry, Your Grace, but I cannot do that. However the spell will wear off on its own by morning,” Azerick assured the duchess.

“Very well, Magus Azerick. I hope that in the future you will inform me of any impropriety regarding my citizens and allow me to deal with them myself,” Duchess Mellina said adamantly.

“I shall endeavor to so—
Your Grace
,” Azerick said, deliberately pausing for emphasis.

“Magus, allow me to escort you out,” Captain Brague offered.

“Oh I think I know my way, Captain.”

“Oh but I insist,” the captain persisted with false politeness and guided Azerick out of the hall with a gentle hand on his elbow.

“Now you listen to me, wizard, there are proper forms of protocol that
will
be maintained. The duchess may allow you a small measure of informality but I will not! You may have snowed over the duchess and Lady Miranda with your exploits, but not me. I know exactly what kind of character you are, and know you that I am watching.”

Azerick turned to Captain Brague as they reached the portico of the palace. “Thank you, Captain, for that informative lecture. I shall take it under advisement.”

“You had better, wizard,” the captain warned as he turned away and tramped back down the hall.

As soon as the captain turned his back, Azerick made a quick gesture and whispered a word of power. The next step Captain Brague took was accompanied by a loud squeal of metal on metal. The captain stopped and cocked his ear. Not hearing any further noise, resumed his pace but stopped as the screeching sound echoed through the marbled hall once more.

Brague shrugged his shoulders, which produced the noise once again. Grabbing the bottom of his well-polished breastplate, he adjusted his armor and took another step, which elicited another irritating screech. Frustrated, he stomped down the passage with every step producing the obnoxious noise.

Azerick smiled at his childish revenge, mounted Horse who was waiting for him in the hands of a groom just outside, and rode out of the palace gates and into the city. He decided that he would visit the docks since he was here, something that he had not done recently, to find out if anyone had heard anything about Captain Zeb or his ship. Horse’s iron shoes rang against the cobbled streets as he plodded along, the horse’s pace dictated as much by the street traffic as his own lethargy.

Even moving at a walk, it did not take long for Azerick to reach the shipping district and the docks. North Haven’s harbor was considerably smaller than Southport’s was, sporting only four long docks that reached out into the bay to allow ships to load and unload their precious cargos.

Even if North Haven had twice as many, it would not have taken Azerick long to spot Toron’s large, horned head as he helped unload cargo from the ship’s hold. Azerick forced Horse into a gallop, oblivious of the shouts and curses of the pedestrians, and rode right out onto the wooden dock. Horse came to a skidding halt as Azerick reined in hard.

“Toron!” Azerick shouted and waved.

The big minotaur looked up from where he was guiding a large cargo net laden with crates out of the ship’s hold that bore the name
Freedom Wind.
As soon as the big cog-wheeled hoist lifted the crates clear of the ship’s deck, Toron yelled for Zeb and Balor and ran down the gangplank towards Azerick.

“I Knew you would be coming back,” Toron’s deep voice rumbled as he slapped Azerick on his thigh. “Zeb stored your books for me at the bank here in town.”

Even sitting on Horse, Azerick was level with the tips of Toron’s horns. “I know; I picked them up a couple weeks ago, thank you, Toron. I knew you would not let me down.”

“Azerick, my boy!” Zeb shouted as he and Balor ran down the dock towards him.