The Sorcerer's Ascension Read Online Free PDF Page B

body but he responded to the pain with nothing more than a hiss.
    General Baneford dismounted and pressed through the men that had the blackguard surrounded, weapons nervously poised to strike at the slightest movement.
    “You and your men fought well, agent. It is unfortunate that we find ourselves on opposing sides and I had to witness the truth of the rumors surrounding the fabled blackguard as a foe.”
    “To the abyss with you, you vile, treasonous, scum!” the blackguard captain spat in anger, pain, and disgust.
    “It is not I who commits treason. I am simply a soldier following the orders of the one I have pledged my loyalty to,” the general replied. “Where is the artifact?”
    The blackguard laughed despite his pain. “I’ll never tell the likes of you. The only way you will get the gauntlets is off my corpse!”
    General Baneford shook his head with unfeigned remorse. “Unfortunately, such had always been the only option available to us.”
    General Baneford stretched out his hand, took a loaded crossbow from one of his men, and put a quarrel into the kneeling man’s heart. He found the artifact packed away in the dead man’s small haversack still strapped to his back. He examined the inky black gauntlets with their gold trim in amazement. Not a single scratch marred their surface and they seemed to reflect no light despite their perfect ebony gloss.
    General Baneford stood up and put the gauntlets into his own saddlebags. “Drag these men deep into the woods and strap our own fallen onto horses. We will leave no evidence of whom we are. We will bury them far from here later.”
    He looked about at the number of his men that had fallen and shook his head. Out of nearly three dozen men, only fifteen would be riding back under their own power. With any luck, two or three more may survive their wounds, but it would be a close thing. This was only the first battle in Ulric’s fight for the throne, and already his general lost nearly two dozen men to less than a quarter their original number. He wondered how much blood would be spent to purchase the Duke’s throne.

CHAPTER 3

    As was usual, Azerick had his nose pressed into a book of mathematics. He had grown bored with his history and engineering studies earlier in the day and sought a greater challenge for his mind.
    He was a handsome lad with brownish hair that shown like polished bronze when the light struck it. He was slender but not weak or sickly-looking. His hazel eyes were almost constantly buried in one book or another.
    The boy was pressed for time though. He looked at the expensive water clock on top of the polished ironwood bookcase in the study. It was time for his private weapons training. He wondered what weapons it would be today; or perhaps it would be hand to hand fighting.
    Azerick did not care much for the barehanded fighting. Being only thirteen years old, he hated the size and strength disadvantages he had against his instructor even though Ewen would let him use the moves he taught him without putting up much more resistance than the lad could handle. The boy figured a primarily all theory lesson had its uses, but he looked forward to the day he could make old Ewen submit due to his own skill and power. However, that would be years, off he knew.
    Azerick was the son of a successful merchant and of a caste that should have been beyond such a crude thing as actually engaging in any kind of melee outside of fencing. Those of his class hired muscle for that sort of thing, but his father had gotten his start as a sailor then captain of his own ship and considered self-defense important for any man.
    From there he had built a successful trading company that now consisted of six ships: five, two-masted schooners and his three-masted flagship, a large boat that made long journey’s across the sea to exotic lands and brought back rare and sometimes never before seen curiosities and treasures.
    Azerick often heard the tales of his father and