The Sorcerer's Abyss (The Sorcerer's Path) (13 page)

Allister pushed his dark thoughts aside and focused on his task. What was done was done, and the only thing to do now was to find out what was really happening and deal with whatever the resulting facts revealed. He did not relish the task ahead of him. He knew that any real information on the Codex Arcana would be located in the archives, but the archives were sealed and only opened after a wizard provided significant proof that what he or she needed was located within and was of intrinsic value. That likely meant weeks of scouring the library and possibly begging access to private books and scrolls from some of the most prestigious members of The Academy.

He had been gone several years and few of the students recognized him, but the established wizards nodded and called out short greetings. A few looked at him with partially veiled hostility. Obviously, Magus Parkes and his two associates were not the only ones who disliked the concept of The Orphans’ Academy. Allister had traveled over half the sparsely populated hallways on the way to the library before someone finally accosted him.

“Have you come to surrender your student, Allister?” Magus Harvey called out as he stepped from a side passage.

Allister paused and took a deep breath. “I have not. She has done nothing to warrant the disciplinary attentions of The Academy. I had thought the matter settled when you departed my school.”

The wizard sneered contemptuously. “I departed under duress. You are in my halls now, Allister. I am watching you and your school, and when that little rogue of yours steps out of line, I will be there to hold both of you accountable.”

Allister had gotten little sleep on the trip over and his exhaustion destroyed what little sufferance he had for fools. He called up the Source and lashed out at the upstart mage, lifting him from the floor and pinning him to the wall with enough force that he could not take a breath.

“You listen to me,
Wizard
Harvey!” Allister said with a dangerous tone. “Like it or not, I am a senior archmage of this academy and you will do well to remember it. Threaten or disrespect me again at your own peril!”

The furious archmage released his hold on the Source and let the man crumple to the floor, gasping for breath. “This is precisely the conduct I would expect from that haven of miscreants!” Harvey shouted after the retreating magus.

Allister regretted letting the man get under his skin, but he was tired and torn between his duty and protecting Azerick’s legacy, even when it appeared that his prodigy was heading down a dark path and threatened to bring the full weight of The Academy down upon them all.

CHAPTER 5

Sharellan, dark goddess of the abyss, sat upon her alabaster throne strumming her long, black nails against its pristine white armrest. Drak’kar awaited her presence just beyond the doors, and she was in no mood to hear his petition. She knew what he wanted. She knew everything that happened within her realm. However, she had left Drak’kar fuming out in the antechamber for what were several mortal weeks, and she could not ignore him any longer without risking the demon lord doing something foolish.

“Krade, show Drak’kar in,” she commanded her devil attendant.

Krade, tall, lean, and horned with coal-grey skin bowed deep enough that his pointed beard nearly brushed the floor. “At once, Mistress.”

The devil practically glided across the white marble floor and threw open the tall doors. Only Krade’s amazing agility kept Drak’kar from bowling him over as the demon lord bolted into the room and threw himself prostrate onto the floor in front of his queen.

“Speak quickly, Drak’kar. I have little time and less patience for nonsense,” Sharellan told the demon.

“Mistress, Klaraxis has returned in failure,” Drak’kar said hurriedly.

Sharellan looked down at the demon in annoyance. “Are you wasting my time with pointless updates? I know Klaraxis has returned, and I know he did not accomplish his goals.”

“Mistress, he is weak! He is infected with the soul of a pitiful human. I beg you, give me leave to cast him down and take over the rule of the Fifth Circle.”

“Such actions would interfere with my goals, Drak’kar. Now is not a time for division,” the goddess told her minion.

Drak’kar rocked back on his heels in surprise. Never had a petition for advancement been denied when a lord has shown such weakness and failure. “Mistress, it is my right! It is the law.”

Drak’kar did not have time to register his brash misconduct before Sharellan sent him flying the full length of the enormous hall and smashing into the far wall with so much force even cruel Krade winced sympathetically at the sound of breaking bones.

“Do not presume to lecture me about the law!” Sharellan seethed. “I made the laws! I made those laws to bring order to this chaotic place before you all destroyed each other, and you have never enjoyed such strength before the law!”

“Mistress, forgive me,” Drak’kar pleaded. “I only wish what is mine by your own divine providence.”

Sharellan released the magic pinning the demon in place and sat back down upon her throne. Drak’kar lay where he fell, not daring to move or utter a sound as his goddess sat in contemplation. Sharellan closed her eyes and used her godly powers to look upon the weave of fate guiding all living things. In the span of a few breaths, she scanned and weighed hundreds, thousands, of possible outcomes and the forks each of those choices created within the timeline.

“Very well, Drak’kar. I grant you your right to ascend—if you can take it.”

Drak’kar pressed himself against the floor in supplication. “I will not fail, Mistress.”

***

Azerick spent the past several days painstakingly etching complex sigils on the walls, floor, and ceiling of the chamber. The room looked a great deal like the laboratory he created beneath the old tower of his school. Only a few bookcases jammed with books, scrolls, and loose parchment upon which various topics of lore were written adorned the room. A large alchemy bench sat against one wall, along with a cabinet full of various parts and liquids.

The largest sigil was a complex web of runes meticulously drawn in demon blood in the center of one otherwise bare wall. This is where Azerick hoped to tear open a rift between the abyss and his home realm. He had grown amazingly adept at tuning out Klaraxis’ unending stream of complaints, but it did not keep the demon from voicing them in the least.

What do you hope to gain from this nonsense other than wasting time better spent administering to your realm?

“You know what I hope to gain. Why do you continue asking?”

I hope that it will eventually make you realize you are an idiot.

“I know full well I am an idiot, but it will never keep me from trying. Now, if you are not going to help me, at least do not interfere.”

Oh, I won’t interfere. I want you to feel the full responsibility for your failure. After which I will tell you I told you so and hope you will then stop wasting both our time and start ruling, as you should, instead of chasing shadows.

“Fine, just shut up and let me do this.”

Azerick examined his sigils one more time and then bent his entire focus into drawing and shaping the Source. He fed the energy into the sigils along with his new abyssal power. He knew this undertaking would require an enormous amount of power and again wondered if he possessed enough. Moreover, could he bring that power to bear without giving Klaraxis the opening he needed to wrest control of their shared body. Azerick had little doubt that if the demon ever got control it was highly unlikely that he could win it back. This was Klaraxis’ body and it gave the demon an enormous advantage when it came to possession.

The sigils scrawled along the walls glowed while the massive, intricate rune flared with the brilliance of the sun. Cracks began to form in the wall along the scrollwork painted upon its surface. Bright rays of white light streaked across the room, bursting through the fissures. Azerick closed his eyes against the impossible brilliance, but the light was still bright enough to be painful. Not needing to see in order to direct the magical energy, Azerick turned his head away, which gave him some relief from the searing aura.

The room began to tremor as Azerick tore a hole through space, cutting through dimensions in his bid to go home. The rays of light dimmed, but the shaking increased until it felt as though the entire citadel would come crashing down. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought he could hear Klaraxis screaming. Whether it was in fear or anger he could not tell, nor could he expend the attention needed to determine which.

 Able to see once again, Azerick looked at the wall and the spider web of deep fissures decorating its surface. Inside those cracks, he spied blackness punctuated with the twinkling of what looked like stars. Azerick knew this was the way out. He expended more power and forced the cracks to become major breaches, not just in the physical structure of the wall, but the metaphysical reality of intradimensional space. The rifts widened and Azerick thought he spied movement within, but it was difficult to tell with the entire room shaking.

…you damned idiot!
he half-heard Klaraxis scream.

“What did you say?” Azerick shouted back.

Before the demon could answer, half a dozen tentacles bearing small mouths with razor-sharp teeth burst through the wall. The appendages were enormous, at least as thick as his body where they erupted from the wall, and Azerick had a powerful notion that what were flailing around the room were just the tips of a far larger creature.

One tentacle slammed into Azerick and hurled him against the wall with bone-jarring force as they writhed around the room, smashing cabinets, alchemy equipment, and sending books and papers everywhere. A tentacle wrapped around an overturned bookcase, crushed it to splinters, and then dashed the pieces against the floor and walls until it was little more than pulp.

Azerick tried to close the portal, but he had lost control of it to whatever it was on the other side desperately fighting to come through. Unable to close the rift, Azerick tried to drive the creature back into its own dimension. The sorcerer summoned his power and lashed out at the nearest tentacle with a beam of intense, yellow light. The ray burned into the oily, black appendage with a hiss like hot steel dipped into water for tempering.

The reaction was instantaneous. What had been random destruction became a concerted effort to crush the source of pain. All six rubbery arms lashed out Azerick. Azerick leapt away and sent an arc lightning into one of the limbs questing for him. More black smoke and an acrid smell roiled off the struck tentacle, but it did little to slow or weaken it. Distracted by his target, two other tentacles came at him from opposite sides and coiled around his body. Azerick nearly disappeared within the creature’s grip as it tried to tear him apart.