TST (6 page)

“I understand,” Azerick began, “that you completely underestimate my compassion for others.”

Azerick lashed out with a swift right cross, catching the psyling in the side of his soft, swollen cranium. The sorcerer felt the satisfying smack of yielding flesh crush deeply under his fist. He did not bother to stand about and witness the results of his attack but Azerick was certain the blow caused significant if not lethal harm. He spun about on the follow-through of his swing and sprinted past the surprised guard that had cut his bonds.

He knew that if he showed compassion for his friends the psyling would forever use them against him. Azerick would return to help his shipmates if he could but his best chance of helping them was escaping now.

Azerick dashed through the open gate of the tower courtyard and into the streets beyond. He heard the cries of pursuit behind him as he ran blindly down the stone-cobbled avenues. He ducked down a long narrow alleyway created by two closely built buildings and spun around as he reached the far end.

The sorcerer paused for only a moment as several human and minotaur guards ran towards him in pursuit. The sorcerer unleashed a powerful bolt of lightning into the close confines of the alley with devastating effect. The narrow walls afforded no place for the hunters to avoid the strike and they took the full brunt of the blast.

Humans toppled lifelessly to the ground and minotaurs bellowed out in pain and rage, momentarily stunned by the jolt. Azerick made another quick incantation, let loose a barrage of magic missiles into the lead brute, and dropped him to the cobbled street. He then turned and fled into the crowded streets of the city, the guards chasing him once again and bellowing for support.

He shinnied up the pole of an awning support, clamored up onto the roof of a single story building, and fled across the rooftop. The guards followed on the streets bellow as Azerick leapt up and grabbed the edge of a taller building and pulled himself up onto the roof. Several guards found a stairway attached to the side of one of the buildings and now pursued him across the rooftops while a dozen more chased after him by way of the streets.

The young sorcerer saw a gap ahead of him where another alley intersected between the building he was on and the next one. He lowered his head and pumped his legs with steady determination. Azerick planted his foot on the edge of the rooftop and leapt the span between the two buildings with only inches to spare.

He then spun around and gestured, speaking out the words of magic to another spell before fleeing once again. The guards that pursued him across the rooftop hit the slick greased area that the sorcerer conjured up and slid over the edge of the building, many of them suffering significant injuries from the twenty-foot plunge onto the unyielding stone street.

Azerick’s rooftop ended at the corner of a large open plaza. He hung by his hands from the ledge and dropped into the back of a wagon below, tumbling as he hit and rolling out onto his feet. He sprinted across the plaza to another alleyway, chased by the shouts and curses of the guards that pursued him along the streets.

Azerick ran out onto the street and quickly looked around for his next route of escape. A shout from his left stripped away most of his options as another guard contingent bore down on him. He turned right and sprinted down the street as the lesser denizens of the city scuttled out of his way.

Sharp stabbing pain bit into the back of his left thigh, bringing his flight to an end. The sorcerer tumbled to street, rolling hard across the cobblestones. He glanced down and saw the fletching of a crossbow bolt protruding from the back of his leg. He realized that his chances of escape were gone now but he would sell his life dearly before being made into a plaything of the psyling. He brought his hands up and began to prepare another spell when the twang of the crossbows sounded again.

One bolt caught him high in the right shoulder, another low in the gut. A stabbing pain filled him like none he had ever experienced before or could have even imagined. His legs failed him as he dropped to the cold hard street, barely able to catch his breath. Azerick knew that such a wound was lethal without swift aid from a cleric. He squeezed his eyes closed against the pain, tears of pain and anger leaking from the corners.

He forced himself to his feet with a great effort of will, determined to inflict one last blow against his attackers before death took him into its cold embrace. Azerick concentrated on his spell opened his eyes to find a target, and found himself staring into the hideous face of Lord Xornan.

He still stood in the courtyard of the lofty tower. No wounds were evident anywhere on his body. Only a phantom pain at the memory of the attack remained. Azerick stared in uncomprehending disbelief into what he presumed to be the smiling face of the psyling.

Excellent, I am now much more familiar with your abilities, determination, and cleverness
.
Now you see, sorcerer, your mind belongs to me. I know what you think as you think it. You cannot escape. You cannot oppose me. You will not attempt to escape. You will follow my orders exactly.

The command hit him like a physical force. Azerick recognized the mental attack as being similar to what magic users call a geas spell. The target of such a spell is forced to obey the commands of the spell caster.

I can make you experience anything I wish and you will never know it from reality. Every memory you posses is mine to use as I wish.

Azerick was suddenly in the room of the inn he shared with his mother after Duke Ulric’s men had forced them out of their home. He stood in the corner unable to move as he watched the large, drunken sailor grab his mother and force her onto the bed.

 Azerick’s screams went unheard as the man’s knife flashed in the light of the burning oil lamp. He felt the blood splash across his face as it jetted from his mother’s severed throat. He closed his eyes against the horrific scene. When he opened his eyes, he once again stood face to face with the psyling. His throat was raw from screaming and he sobbed uncontrollably.

You see, I need never resort to anything as crude as a whip to punish you. I have far more effective methods of control. Do you understand now?

“Why don’t you just completely control my mind if you are so powerful? Why leave me any form of resistance or freewill?” Azerick asked as he regained control of himself.

I could dominate your mind completely, have no doubt, but I prefer my subjects to be able to think and act on their own, within reason of course. This is why I have placed those basic commands in your mind. An arena fighter in particular needs to be able to think clearly and independently in order to function at their most effective levels. You also have a strong mind and spirit. It amuses me to watch your futile efforts at resistance and thoughts of vengeance.

Azerick was furious at his impotence to resist the psyling’s power and the creature’s usage of his most private and painful memories. He would resist him somehow. Somehow, someday, he would make this creature pay, he vowed.

Yes, that is it. Use that anger, your hatred of me in The Games. Unleash your awful power against your foes for me.

“What do I call you? I don’t think you would care for me to just call you brain sucker,” Azerick asked, trying to ignore the psyling’s taunting.

I am known as Lord Xornan, but you will call me master.

“The hell I will you brain-sucking overgrown leech!” Azerick cursed the psyling.

At least that is what his mind said. What actually came out was a simple “yes master.” His inability to even curse this creature made him even more furious.

You are most certainly proving to be amusing. Come, slave, I will show you to your quarters. You are fortunate. As my personal favorite pet, I will afford you luxuries far beyond that of your friends. Keep in mind my previous warning about their continued good health. You claim not to care overmuch about them but your mind betrays you. It would be a shame if your disobedience were to blame for my selecting one of them for my feeding. Particularly the ones named Zeb or Balor.

The sorcerer shuddered at the image that filled his mind of Xornan feeding on his friends’ brains. The psyling lord led him inside of the vast tower. Opulent furniture with soft velvet-upholstered chairs, couches, and sedans furnished the main floor along with massive glittering chandeliers, gold inlaid murals, and marble floors. A grand circular staircase wound along the wall up to the upper levels of the tower.

Azerick followed his master up several flights of stairs before stopping in front of a sturdy wooden door. Xornan opened the portal with a gesture and stepped through. The room was simple, resembling Magus Allister’s chambers at the Academy but with nicer furniture, carpets, and stonework.

This is your chamber. You may explore the tower although you some areas are blocked to your passage. I will show you to the library shortly where you will find many tomes that may assist you in your magical studies.

The evil creature’s generosity surprised Azerick but the creature quickly corrected his assumption.

My aid in your studies is purely selfish, I assure you. I plan to make a great deal of money, and more importantly, prestige, from your battles in The Games. It is the only purpose you serve at this time. Should you do well and please me, I may find further use for you. Should you cause me to lose gold or status, your usefulness and my hospitality ends. Come.

The psyling led him up another flight of stairs. The next landing opened directly into a spacious room lined with shelves and filled with books.

You are free to use the library, take books to your room, or visit the kitchens should you require sustenance, but you are not to leave the tower for any reason unless under my direction. I have a laboratory located in the sub levels of my tower that I will show you. You are free to use the equipment therein so long as it does not interfere with your combat studies. I will leave you now to see to my other duties and arrange your first bout. Ensure that you are prepared.

The young sorcerer stared at the vast library in awe. The promise of unlimited study surprised and pleased him but no matter the gilding, a cage was still a cage and he would be no one’s willing slave. He scanned the rows of shelves and found the books arranged by subject. Most were in foreign languages and incomprehensible to him but many were written in his own language as well as the language of magic.

Azerick picked several books and sat down to read by the light of the numerous glowing globes that sprouted from the walls of the library and the rest of the tower like luminous pimples. He would study, he would learn, and he would one day destroy this creature that dared to be his master.

Days passed before he saw Zeb and several former members of his crew. He spied them performing mundane tasks about the tower and the surrounding grounds. Some were given the duties of guards, others gardeners, and servants. He found Zeb overseeing a group of his men scrubbing and polishing the marble floor of the grand entrance level.

“Zeb, it is good to see you are well,” Azerick shouted as he descended the stairwell.

“Aye, well enough but not so well as yourself from the looks of it,” his friend and former captain replied, looking at his finely woven clothing.

“Yeah, I guess so. That brain sucker has me pampered like a prized hunting hound,” he replied, having the decency to look abashed at his apparent good fortune and fine treatment.

“Don’t feel no shame in that, lad; we brook no resentment for ya. From the sounds of it, you’ll be earning whatever luxuries are afforded ya. Heard you’ll be fighting in some big arena. You watch yourself and keep yourself safe. The only fair fight is the one you win; you remember that now. No matter who or what you face, it’s his life or yours.”

“I’ll remember, Zeb. How are you and the men being treated?”

“Fine enough. We’re fed, not abused, and given a bunk but that creature’s messed with our minds. He’s sapped any desire to flee or fight him. I don’t really understand it myself. Ain’t seen one of my men since we came here neither. I don’t like to think about what may have happened to him,” Zeb said with a shudder.

It was at this time that Xornan glided into the room without a sound.