Mad Mage_Claire-Agon Ranger

by Salvador Mercer

  Both Malik and Collette raised their brows, with Malik saying, “You mean a dragon?”

  “None other.” The man nodded.

  “A dragon queen?” he persisted.

  “Correct again, though of her kind, not the species.”

  “What exactly does that mean?” Malik asked.

  The mage did breathe, and that was comforting to Malik, who started to dread the man’s answer to his fifth question. Kaynin said, “She rules the black chromatics only, not all of dragon kind.”

  Malik thought for a moment and wasn’t sure he wanted a full lesson on dragon lore, though he felt confident that this was information that many realms would pay dearly for. He said simply, “All right,” but Kaynin wasn’t done.

  “You know nothing of the draconus,” he began. “They are unique to both worlds, and their customs, culture, and hierarchy is also uniquely their own. What you do need to know is that she commands the undead who are roving the Kero Swamp.”

  “Azor referred to the Muddy Marshes as the Kero Swamp,” Malik noted.

  “That is because the proper name of the place is the Kero Swamp,” Kaynin asserted.

  Malik narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Then how do you know so much about this dragon and the undead?”

  Understanding the Ulathan man’s suspicion, Kaynin said, “Azor informed me. He has personal knowledge and experience with the Black Queen.”

  “Did she . . . make him what he is today?” Malik ventured, wondering if the dragon had killed Azor long ago.

  “No.” The old mage spoke softly, but his tone was serious. “That name we shall not speak.”

  “Fine.” Malik tried to wrap up the man’s discourse. “When can we leave for the Akun temple?”

  “Soon,” Kaynin said. “After I answer your fifth question. Technically it was referencing the smell that you associated with me, though through inference, you were wondering if I was one of the undead in much the same way that Azor is, and how could I be able to converse with you if I was one of them.”

  “I don’t recall exactly, but that sounds close enough,” Malik said.

  “It is precisely what you said,” the mage replied. “The reason for the smell is that I have lived and slept for centuries in a place for the dead, a crypt, if you will, for lack of a better term. That and the fact that I am close to death myself. You do not understand the power of Akun. How old do you think me to be?”

  The question was unexpected, but Malik answered truthfully. “I don’t know, maybe a hundred years old?” The number wasn’t an exaggeration. No one was known to live for a hundred years, but the man certainly looked that old, if not older, and he was intimating that he was indeed well aged.

  “One thousand seventy-five,” Kaynin said, allowing a small measure of satisfaction to cross his face at the shock it caused his guests.

  “Impossible,” Malik said, shaking his head.

  “Certainly, if one were to be awake for the entire time,” he stated matter-of-factly. “The power of Akun is not only in the purveyance of the draconus and death worshippers, but those Kesh who dare to master the art and power of Akun. I live now because I have slumbered for most of the last thousand years. I am beginning to think by your reaction that you are unaware of Azor’s history as well.”

  Malik was no fool, and he responded so. “You then say that Azor is also a thousand years old?”

  “He is,” the mage said. “Now that I have answered your questions, do you have any more? Is everything clear to you now?”

  This was news, indeed. Malik had an understanding that time was somehow warped around these mages and wizards, but he had no idea of the spans that was revealed to him. They were talking about being centuries old. It was taking a moment to sink in, but Malik shook his head and responded, “No further questions.”

  “Good,” Kaynin said. “You may either rest here or return to your room at the inn that you have reserved for the night. Whichever you feel most comfortable with. Then on the morrow, you will follow Isolda, who will lead you to the Akun temple and assist you on your quest.”

  Malik nodded. “I’d prefer a good meal and drink at The Wild Mermaid before we set off, and I need to escort Miss Collette to the inn for her safety.”

  “Yes, of course, the noble thing to do,” Kaynin said.

  They all stood then, and Malik sheathed his sword. When Kaynin gripped his staff and withdrew it from the hole that acted as its stand, the Ulathan found himself with one last question. “Why not take your staff to Azor, then, and be done with it?”

  The old man smiled at him and tilted his head slightly in a sign of patience, much like an elderly grandfather would do to a young inquisitive grandchild. “Because, my dear Ulathan, I need the staff to live a bit longer. Besides, you do not understand the power of Akun. I cannot venture outside the city. I would age and my body would turn to dust instantly. My life would also come to a quick end if I left my abode here for any length of time. Sadly, it is a price that one must pay for a taste of immortality.”

  “I see,” Malik said with a nod. “I should thank you for your help, then, as well.”

  Kaynin shook his head. “Please do not. Had we met under different circumstances, I doubt your life would mean anything to me. You should not mistake my assistance in this matter to anything altruistic in me; rather, it is your relationship to a certain Kesh Arch-Mage that is important. I serve, and have always served, Kesh.”

  Malik nodded his head. “I see, then, no beating around the bush with you. At least you’re honest.”

  “Isolda,” Kaynin said, turning to face the Balarian as she started to exit the patio by the side courtyard, waiting on her guests. The old mage didn’t address Malik’s response further. “See to it that they return safely to the inn. I expect no failure on your part in securing the artifact if it is there. Report back immediately. Time is critical. You have three days from the morrow.”

  “That is barely enough time to travel to the temple and back,” she protested.

  “Then I suggest you do not waste time in finding the scepter once you arrive.” The group started to depart and take leave of their host, turning their backs to him as they exited the villa. They left via the side entryway, which was a walkway alongside the main building to a gate from the rear patio to the front of the complex, which was entirely walled and secured, when the man’s voice called out to them. “Do try to return alive.” The tone of the man’s last words indicated that returning dead was certainly a possibility.

  Malik shuddered at the thought.

  The evening went without a problem. They saw no sign of the bandit quartet and no further issues from any hooligans or thieves as they returned. They had a good meal of roasted beef with baked potatoes and apple cider for their drink. Their conversation was muted, and they spent what little time they had for discussion on lighter topics about Balax, Balaria, and Collette’s life.

  The mysterious woman Isolda indicated that she would meet them in the lobby at the first light of dawn. She would take care of travel arrangements and informed them that they would have to travel by horse at speed in order to make it there in a day and a half or less. Collette protested being left behind, though she had to admit that she had no desire to summit the mountain. She offered to travel with them to the crossroad along the coast where the old inn and tavern was abandoned long ago.

  At first, both Malik and Isolda objected to her offer, but Collette pointed out that unless they were going to take extra horses up the mountain, it would be good to have someone to care for their steeds while they made the ascent. While they didn’t want to take her with them, her logic made sense, and Isolda indicated that she’d arrange for three mounts by first light.

  After some discussion, Malik even agreed to allow Collette to stay in his room for the night and use his bed. He had a cot brought up for him to use. He reasoned that he didn’t want to go traipsing around the kitchen servant’s quarters before dawn to try and rouse his newfound friend and com
panion. Collette agreed and left only briefly to change her clothes from her current dress with frilly lace curls to a pair of riding pants and a blouse that fit comfortably. She also had an old pair of leather shoes tucked away somewhere that she traded for her high heels.

  Malik slept fitfully after they had retired for the night, listening to the rhythmic breathing of Collette and slightly envious of her ability to fall asleep so quickly. He managed a few hours and then woke nearly an hour before dawn. Time was marked by the passing of bells located in the governmental plaza high above. It wasn’t something necessary for the seafaring people of Balaria. They were accustomed to rising before the sunrise in order to take their fishing ships out to sea and begin a day’s work. Malik was no different. As a military scout, he instinctively sensed when the sun was about to rise.

  Rousing his companion, he left the room and allowed her to dress, while waiting in the hallway. Once done, they descended the stairs to find an empty tavern and lobby. For a minute, Malik thought that their meeting with the near-dead Kesh mage was all a dream, but he heard the faint steps of hooves and the approach of Isolda with three mounts.

  With nary a word, the trio mounted and took off toward the far northern gate. It was always open, with guards who simply nodded, allowing them to leave the city proper. They followed the crenelated wall that circled the north side of the harbor before it veered south to the entrance. The road continued northwest until it returned to the coast, where it headed due north, paralleling the coastline, which consisted of medium-sized cliffs. The large hilltop that the city of Balax was built upon represented the southern-most tip of a small mountain range. The chain grew larger and the mountaintop peaks were higher the farther north they rode.

  The road ran through many farms on its way along the coastline. The further away from the city they rode, the less populated and dense were the farms and ranches scattered throughout the land. It took most of the entire day, with the sun low on the western horizon, when they reached a desolate area and the intersection of a crossroad. To the west, the road ran a quarter league before descending the cliffs to a beach and abandoned fishing village that was out of sight. To the east, it headed directly into the heart of the Balarian Mountains.

  “Shall we camp here?” Collette asked, looking at the foreboding clouds that clung to the mountains like gnats to a light. They were a purplish black and appeared to be swollen with rain waiting to be unleashed upon the land.

  Isolda shook her head. “Master Kaynin said we only have three days in which to obtain this artifact. If we camp here, then we’ll spend half the day in reaching the Akun temple, leaving no time for a search and no time for . . .”

  There was an awkward silence when Malik asked, “No time for what?”

  Isolda looked at him, her face stern and deadly serious. “No time to battle the forces arrayed against us.”

  “What makes you think these forces are against us?” Malik asked. “They don’t even know us.”

  “They don’t need to,” Isolda explained. “They’re against us because we belong to the living.”

  “I told you the place was creepy.” Collette motioned with her head to the mountain.

  “All right, what’s our plan, then?” Malik asked the Balarian thief.

  “We ride to the base of Death Mountain, and then we walk the rest of the way.”

  “Death Mountain, eh?” Malik asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “What?” Isolda and Collette asked in unison.

  “Well,” Malik began, “Collette referred to the Akun temple as the death temple. Now you are calling it the death mountain. I suppose this temple is located on death peak near death ledge, right?”

  “Right,” they both said, again in unison. Looking at each other, Collette motioned for Isolda to go on, and the thief said, “All right, not death ledge, but the temple is located on death peak. How did you know this?”

  Malik repressed a chuckle. “Never mind. We better ride, then, before we lose the light. Is it a good idea to summit the mountain at night?”

  “No,” Isolda explained as they rode off at a gallop, raising her voice to be heard. “It’s quite deadly.”

  Malik shrugged, and Collette looked pale. They rode hard and fast while the sun was at their backs, but soon the road bobbed up and down over small spurs of the mountain’s foothills. With each bob down, they rode in the shadow of the hills of the mighty mountain until the sun finally set far to the west over the sea. Then they used the starlight to see by, and trusted in their steeds’ ability to see in the dark. The road rose and veered slightly to the south, and their pace slowed until they were almost at a walk.

  Isolda motioned for them to follow her into a clearing next to a nasty spur that had broken the road in two. It was a travesty to refer to the jumble of roots, rock, and dirt as a road, but that was what it was eons ago. They dismounted and tied their horses to a huge branch of a dead tree. Taking off their packs, they made camp silently.

  When they had settled down, taking time to either sit or squat around a shallow pit in the middle of the clearing, Collette asked, “Is it safe here for a fire?”

  Isolda pointed into the inky black in the direction that the road took as it veered up the side of the mountain and southeastward. “Do you see that stone pillar there, just to the right of the road?”

  “I don’t think so . . .” Collette squinted to see in the darkness.

  Malik hardly looked. “I saw it when we walked our horses over here. It appears to be a totem of some kind. Several heads carved out of pure stone, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “You have good eyes, then, especially for a foreigner.” Isolda nodded in approval.

  “Balarians do not have a monopoly on keen vision,” Malik said in jest.

  Collette looked confused. “What is a monopoly?”

  “Don’t.” Malik waved her off. “I second the question, though. Can we risk a fire or not? You’re the expert out here.”

  Isolda put a hand on her chest. “Me?”

  “Yes,” Malik responded.

  “I don’t know for sure. I can only tell you that the warnings I was given long ago was not to pass the Akun marker . . . at night,” Isolda added hastily.

  “At night?” Malik repeated.

  “Well, at any time, actually, but especially at night.” Isolda looked over her shoulder at the foreboding symbol of the Akun god.

  “You know,” Malik began, also looking over his shoulder, though the right one compared to Isolda’s left. Collette was facing the marker head on, “where I came from, fire was actually one of the few things that could stop these creatures of the night. They were afraid of it and its light.”

  “Do you really want to find out?” Isolda asked.

  Malik shrugged and changed the subject for a moment. “What’s the plan, then?”

  “We wait till first light and then summit from here,” Isolda said, her plan sounding rehearsed. “In and out. We return by nightfall and then ride.”

  “Ride all night?” Collette asked in shock.

  “Yes. We can sleep after we are far from here. That fat innkeeper of yours won’t mind if we sleep during the day so long as the room is paid for.”

  Collette frowned. “You should speak kinder of Mister Harvey. He is a kind man. Been good to me, he has.”

  Malik looked at both women and then back at the stone pillar about two stone throws away. Pulling out his flint and scraper, he said, “Screw it, we risk the fire. What risk could it bring that we won’t have to face tomorrow?”

  It was a rhetorical question, but Isolda shook her head in disapproval and answered it anyway. “The risk is being tired from a day-long ride. On the morrow, we’ll be better rested and equipped to fight whatever undead forces that could stand in our way. Besides, it’s better to face their kind during daylight.”

  Being autumn, Malik hardly had to move to pile some dead leaves and a few dry sticks and twigs in a shallow black pit that had obviously been used in th
e past for exactly this purpose. He started the fire and watched as the small flames danced, illuminating the area, and Collette’s face beamed in approval . . . at least for a moment, before her eyes widened and her face paled.

  “Damn, I hate being right,” Isolda said, standing from her crouch and drawing her blade, turning to face their visitors, who were approaching from the mountainside.

  Malik turned and watched in horror as a dozen skeletons, with rags hanging off their bodies, stumbled down the steep slope right at them. They were armed with dull, rusty weapons, slightly curved swords, by the look of it, and their eyes glowed a dull red, the color of blood. Malik spoke in agreement with the thief. “I hate you being right as well.”

  Chapter 12

  Ancient History

  “What do you mean by that?” Agatha scolded Khan. “It ain’t right to talk like that in front of the lady and Master Targon.”

  “Master?” Targon mouthed the words to Salina, who could only shrug.

  “Yeah,” Horace chimed in. “Don’t be talking about one of them dying like that. You’ll upset the wee ones with that.” Horace motioned with his head toward the two sons of Bran and Salina.

  So many of them were talking that it was hard to hear or make out anything else. Elister allowed them to debate the issue for a full minute before taking over, saying in a booming voice that seemed somehow artificially enhanced, “Silence!” Even Agatha was left to sit with her jaw agape, tongue in midmotion of a verbal lashing to be imposed on the Kesh rebel. “The Kesh wizard speaks the truth. If anything, he wasn’t very detailed in what we have discovered.”

  There was silence, and then Salina asked politely, “What do you mean by we?”

  Elister nodded. “Khan and I have been attentive to both of your plights.” He looked in turn to Targon and Salina. “We have monitored what has been happening to them, and recently, the dynamics of the situation have changed dramatically. We no longer can afford to wait for a more opportune time to attempt to free them. We must act now, and we must act together.”