Mad Mage_Claire-Agon Ranger

by Salvador Mercer

  The informality of the dead man and disrespect for Malik was bad enough, but to command him as if another servant was almost unbearable for the proud Ulathan. Malik walked over to the man with his blade out in front of him. “I will cut your little head from your dead body and see if you talk to me that way while it’s rolling around on the floor.”

  Isolda tried to grab him as he started to talk, but he was just out of reach. “Malik,” she hissed at him, yet held her sword in front of her.

  Malik stopped at the base of the dais, where three shallow steps were all that separated him from the Akun cleric. The difference was about right, and Malik was almost at eye level. The undead man raised his club and brought it backward behind the side of his body as if to backhand his opponent. “You dare,” was all the man said.

  Isolda leaped to Malik’s side to try to parry the blow, and the light from her necklace illuminated the dead man clearly. His skin started to peel slightly, and he stopped his swing and backed away, taking three steps behind the altar, but he kept his wits about him, and using his free hand, he grabbed the silver rod, taking it with him.

  “No,” Malik said, reaching out to grab it, but the old man was too far away. Malik took all three steps in one giant leap and was met with the tip of the club as the Akun cleric held it out to stop him.

  “Stay back,” the man said, “or I’ll take your precious toy with me to the abyss.”

  Malik stopped and held a hand out for Isolda to wait as well. Now that he was up on the altar, he could see that beyond the broken walls of the building loomed the cliff face that the temple was perched upon. He didn’t fancy trying to find where the dead man and rod might land if he jumped off the cliff to the rocks a couple thousand feet below. “Wait,” Malik said, realizing the mission would be in jeopardy without the scepter.

  “Enough of your games,” the dead man said.

  “You’re the one playing them,” Malik countered.

  The two men, one alive, the other not, stared at each other for what must have been several minutes. Isolda didn’t dare break their concentration, and she ventured a look to see that the skeletons had moved roughly the exact distance that they had. They had closed the gap, and she had a distinct impression that necklace or no necklace, if the Akun cleric left, died for good, or gave the command to attack, they would be beset by the skeleton creatures who numbered in the dozens.

  Finally, the Akun cleric spoke. “If you want the scepter, then you must pay the price for it. My queen did not command me to find it and secure it a thousand years ago so a peasant Ulathan boy could come take it from her.”

  The blue light dimmed slightly and then grew brighter again. Isolda felt its power wain slightly before resuming, and she looked at Malik, who had turned his head to see what was happening. “Malik . . .” she said.

  Before he could answer, the Akun cleric said, “That’s right, little one. The evil Kesh Arch-Mage is not omnipotent. Even now his energy is waning while my Dark Queen is growing. Time is short. Do you want to deal or do you want to find out how many minutes you have before your precious master fades and falters?”

  Malik stepped out of range of the man’s club and turned sideways to look at Isolda. The necklace seemed bright, but her face was pained and a look of doubt crossed it, as well as that look of fear and despair that he saw in her when they were across the chasm. He understood that the Lich could only do so much. Time was short, and his power and protection could be gone in a matter of minutes, if not seconds.

  Turning to the cleric, Malik asked, “What’s the deal?”

  The other man didn’t press his advantage and waste time. He also seemed to have a goal in mind. “Take your master’s staff and lay the tip on the altar. Sheath your sword and put out your free hand, palm up. I will cut it.”

  Malik raised a brow and said, “That’s it? You’re going to slice my hand?”

  “Don’t be a coward. I won’t kill you,” the man said, a feral grin crossing his face.

  “Hurry, Malik,” Isolda said, and the light dimmed slightly before flaring bright again.

  Malik had no time to think. Every instinct told him that to sheath his sword and come into range of the dead man’s club was suicide, yet there seemed to be a purpose in what both of them were doing. The man’s queen, whoever she was, had her own plans, and this was part of them.

  With decisiveness, Malik sheathed his sword and then fumbled around his inner robe pocket for the magical bag that held the Kesh staff. Finding it, he pulled it out, opened it, and almost comically pulled a full-sized staff from the small bag. He held it in his right hand, his sword hand, and moved around to the left side of the altar opposite the cleric. He placed the tip of the staff, gem first, on the altar and then laid his left hand out palm up and opened it. “Do your deed,” he said to the little man.

  The man continued to grin, and in return, he laid the club at the rear of the altar, along with the scepter, eyeing the Ulathan with narrow eyes. He took a moment to look at Isolda and said, “Stay back, thief.”

  Isolda was surprised to hear herself answer, “No need to tell me that twice,” and she took a half step back to show compliance with the request.

  Moving quickly, the man reached behind him and pulled a small dagger from his belt that was hidden in the small of his back. Very clever, thought Malik as he saw it flash and come into view.

  The man looked at Malik intently and reached over, grabbing his left arm at the wrist with the hand that had freed the club. The grip was both strong and icy, and Malik struggled to not withdraw. The other hand with the dagger made a small slice in his palm, and setting the dagger down on the altar, the dead Akun cleric grabbed the scepter and laid it next to the tip of the staff, and both items were next to Malik’s bleeding hand.

  The man then grabbed Malik’s hand and held it over the tip of both items, coating the diamond and staff’s gemstone with the Ulathan’s blood. Releasing his grip on Malik, the man grabbed the same knife and cut into his own hand and held it over the items as well, mixing his blood with Malik’s. The man’s blood was like a syrup, and it was blacker than coal. The items flashed, with both the diamond tip of the scepter and the gemstone of the staff glowing a bright ebony color, the same as the entire artifact when Malik had first seen it.

  Stepping back, the man picked up his club and nodded at Malik. “The deed is done.”

  Malik grabbed a small rag he carried inside another one of his cloak’s inner pockets and wrapped it around his wounded hand, clenching it to hold it tightly. He looked at the cleric and asked, “Are we free to go?”

  He answered, “Yes.” Then turning to face Isolda, he said, “Help him put the staff away. Do not allow the staff and rod to touch again.” The man took a few steps back to stay out of range from the illumination of the necklace as Isolda hurried over to assist Malik.

  Malik looked suspiciously at the man and didn’t like the look he was getting despite the dead man’s ghastly appearance. “What did you do?” Isolda grabbed the staff and took the bag from the edge of the altar and started to stow the Kesh instrument.

  The man spoke, and his words sounded truthful. “The dead Kesh mage would have killed you and sought his own revenge against my queen. I have bought her time enough to prevent her death.”

  The thought was unfinished, and the man seemed to enjoy his anticipation of Malik’s request for more information. Malik had no choice. “How did you buy her time?”

  “Do not relinquish the rod. With it, you can command my queen’s servants and allow them to execute your revenge. Your Kesh master is undead, though he is hiding where my mistress cannot reach him. Once you give him the staff, he will be free to roam Agon without her control. With the rod, he cannot harm you, for you are protected by the queen. Give it to him or relinquish it and you will perish.”

  “Are you saying that Azor must serve me?” Malik said, accidentally giving away the Lich’s name.

  It didn’t seem important, as the cleric answered
, “No, you are not strong enough to command one of his power; however, it is enough to protect you from him. Think of it as leveling the playing field with regards to power. Without it, he would kill you with ease.”

  “I still don’t see how this helps your queen,” Malik said.

  “Your master won’t be able to go after her once free. Even with his staff, he won’t be able to clear my queen’s servants. With the rod, he could do so and kill her. As I said, do not give him the rod and do not lose it. If you do, you and my queen will both die.”

  Malik looked at the man, and he loathed him. He wanted to draw his blade and strike him, and his anger surprised him. He didn’t know where the hate was coming from. Only the pleading of one soft voice pulled him from his obsession. “Malik, we must go . . . now!”

  The urgency in her voice indicated their time was almost up. He picked up the rod and tucked it under his belt and noticed that Isolda had taken care of the staff. She offered him the bag, and he tucked it back in his most secure pocket without taking his eyes off the dead Akun cleric.

  With one last tug, the pair turned and ran toward the only opening in the wall of undead skeletons that was available to them. The light of the necklace finally faded and then flared out completely, plunging them back into darkness. They departed the Akin temple and left the same way they came in, without turning to look back at the place. They did not see the grey splotched wyvern that flew overhead landing along the edge of the crumbling wall, nor did they see the cleric follow them until he stood next to the wyvern.

  The wyvern, which was a drone and much smaller than it was supposed to be, was roughly the size of two horses. It looked like a miniature dragon with wings, four legs, and a tail, but it had a stinger at the end of it, and it spoke in a hissing sound. “You have seen to it that the queen’s commands have been fulfilled?”

  “Aye,” the dead man said, watching as the pair of living humans continued their run around the edge of the chasm. They would be in sight for a long time yet until they reached the other side of the chasm. “Your mistress will be happy.”

  “Our mistress,” the wyvern corrected the dead servant of his Dark Queen. “Do not forget your place or who it was who brought you back from the abyss.”

  “How could I?” the man said sourly. “I’ve completed my duty, so leave me be.”

  The wyvern hissed and barred its fangs at the Akun cleric, who ignored it, and said, “For now . . . priest.”

  Azor the Lich fell to the ground. His bony hand slid off his critir, and the last of his energy was spent on trying to protect his servant. Never had he struggled so much to control and channel his energy across so vast a distance. It felt invigorating, and even intoxicating, to command such power, but it came at a price.

  He lay on the ground, knowing it would take him a day or two to recover his strength from the effort. It didn’t matter after all these eons if he had to lay there another year; he would be victorious, and the last thing he sensed from the exchange was success and achievement in their objective. He would have his staff and his freedom very soon.

  The pair ran for as long as they could, never looking back and never seeing the queen’s drone with the Akun cleric. They stopped to rest only briefly and barely prevented themselves from falling at least a half-dozen times. When it started to get dark, really dark, not the overcast, perpetual twilight that the cursed mountain was accustomed to, they found themselves at their camp with a wide-eyed Collette to greet them.

  “Oh my, you two look absolutely horrific,” she said in greeting them. “Is there anything I can do for ya all?”

  “Help us saddle the horses. We leave right away,” Isolda said with a glance at Malik.

  Malik nodded his approval. “We can rest past the crossroads when the twin sisters have risen.”

  “What happened?” Collette asked, moving to unhitch their mounts from a branch where they were tethered.

  “I will not speak of it,” Isolda said, moving to gather her own items and store them in her pack. She then moved to assist with the horses.

  Malik looked at Collette, who seemed to want to know something. To appease her, he said, “You were right—the place is haunted. We encountered ghosts up there and fled. I will not spend the night on or next to the haunted mountain.”

  That seemed to be enough, and the trio worked in silence to ready themselves to ride. The sun had set, and it was very dark, and they found themselves relying on the sturdy hooves of their mounts. They did not spur them on greater than a slow gallop for fear of a leg breaking in the dark. After some time, they finally reached the main road and turned south, though they couldn’t travel far before the twin sisters rose over the mountains and shed some illumination on them past the incessant cloud cover.

  It seemed counterintuitive to ride when it was darkest and rest when there was some light to see by, but their geographic location next to the mountain, coupled with their near-death experience, mandated that they travel in an unorthodox manner. They simply laid their bedrolls out, and Collette curled up against Malik, who didn’t complain. Isolda gave them an odd look but rolled over and slept. There was no guard, and they didn’t care. Their adrenaline was gone, and only shock and exhaustion was left.

  The next day, they rode at the first break of dawn. Collette asked, “So we didn’t travel all night like you had planned. I was worried about it, ya know.”

  “We can afford the half night delay as long as we get back by sunset tonight,” Isolda said.

  “Then what?” Collette asked.

  “I’ll report directly to my client, and you two will freshen up at the Mermaid and settle up with the owner. I’ll come let you know what Kaynin instructs.”

  They only discussed small matters after that. Collette wanted to chitchat, but her companions were in no mood. They rode fast and hard with fresh mounts and arrived at the city’s north gate before sunset. True to her word, Isolda returned the mounts and left while Collette and Malik ordered a good meal and a bath at the inn and tavern.

  Malik tired of answering her questions, so they waited for the thief in the main room of the tavern, sitting in the back. This allowed Collette to socialize with her acquaintances while Malik nursed a drink and warmed his back to a fire as they sat near the main hearth. Due to the cooler weather, there was a nicely sized fire roaring merrily in the tavern this evening, and they were somewhat busy with locals and a few sailors from other realms.

  The night wore on, and half the room’s customers headed home. The sisters were high in the sky overhead, though not visible from inside, when Isolda finally arrived in fresh clothes and smelling better than she had earlier.

  “What news?” Malik asked, sitting up and taking note of her outfit. “You look prepared to travel again.”

  The thief nodded and placed her rather large pack next to her chair and ordered a glass of wine before answering the Ulathan. “My client had already made arrangements for a cutter to take us to Tallist. He did this before we even left for the Akun temple.”

  “What is a cutter?” Malik asked, not as familiar with the ship types as the Balarian was.

  Isolda looked round to see if anyone was listening, and then said, “All you need to know is that this ship is built for speed, not cargo.”

  “So he wants us to return to his master as quickly as possible.” It was a statement and not a question.

  “Based on the ship he’s chartered, I’d say he desires it very quickly,” Isolda said, gracing him with a smile and sipping on her drink that was set in front of her on the table.

  “Of course, he is sending you to ensure that I don’t . . . get lost along the way, isn’t he?” Malik wanted to frown but couldn’t with the Balarian women keeping him company. Collette was chipper and chatty, and Isolda seemed to welcome the change her new assignment would bring to her.

  “You could use my help,” she said.

  Malik noticed a faint glimmer of gold from beneath her blouse, “He let you keep it?”


  “What, this?” Isolda pulled a small part of the chain from under her shirt and then shrugged, letting it fall back again. “He thought it was a good idea for my safety and as a form of payment for succeeding in our mission.”

  “Very well,” he said, not wanting to comment on their business transaction further. “When do we leave? Tonight?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” she said. “The tide isn’t right and the payment scheduled us to leave at dawn tomorrow.”

  “So we stay here for the night?”

  “Yes,” Isolda said, narrowing her eyes and looking at Collette coyly. “This will give you two some time to say your goodbyes properly.”

  Fortunately, their companion seemed engrossed in current gossip with their server Sybil and didn’t appear to hear the thief. Malik did hear, however, and said, “That won’t be necessary, though I welcome spending the night in a feather bed before traveling again so soon.”

  “Agreed,” Isolda said. “I’ll be staying the night here as well so that we can depart first thing in the morning.”

  They smiled at each other and enjoyed their last hour together listening to Collette go on about what they had missed in only three days. Malik didn’t have the heart to tell her that he would be leaving early the next day, and so Isolda made plans to have a note drawn for him to leave with her. He also fished out a pair of gold coins to leave in her possession until his return, if he returned.

  They retired for the night, and as promised, Isolda met Malik in the main lobby an hour before sunrise. Collette remained behind in the plush room, and Malik had taken care to pay the rest of the month for her to stay there, as well as laying out the letter and gold coins for her. They gathered their things quietly and headed to the dock where only a few workers were up even earlier than they were to get a head start on their work.

  They went to a secluded pier and walked all the way out to its end. The cutter was smaller than most the ships, but it had an immense main sail and tall mast to capture as much wind as it could. Its sleek shape and angular hull lines hinted at its speed. The name was blazoned on its hull at the bow in fancy lettering, saying Sea Runner. The name seemed apt, and a small plank allowed them to board, where a middle-aged man greeted them. “Welcome, Issy. Are you and your guest ready?”