Dead Druid: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 2 (Ranger Series)

by Salvador Mercer

  “Almost,” Zorcross said, boredom and doubt expressed easily in his voice.

  “Ah, yes, Master,” Hermes answered, forgetting his burned hands again and making a wide motion with them to illustrate the animal’s size. “The huge beast lunged for me, and only due to my quickness, agility, and speedy reflexes was I able to dodge the crazed creature and leap to safety before Kaz here killed it.”

  “I thought you said the beast may be alive?” Zorcross asked.

  “No, Master, I said the beast was most likely dead.” Hermes nodded.

  “So which is it, dead or alive?”

  Hermes brought a hand to his chin and winced when he absentmindedly rubbed it, hurting the burned skin. “Dead . . . most likely.”

  “Fine, the animal is dead, and you also killed the traitor?” Zorcross raised his tone at the end, accenting the question.

  Hermes fidgeted for a second. “Not exactly, though I told you that I do not see how the man . . . ah, traitor, survived my attack.”

  “This is where you disarmed him and then burned him alive?” Zorcross’s head tilted slightly.

  “Ah, no . . . well . . . yes, I managed to elude two of his fireball attacks before I burned him,” Hermes said, discomfort becoming evident in the man’s words.

  “Surely those attacks came from the traitor’s staff?” Zorcross asked.

  “Yes, before I disarmed him, and then he was unable to defend himself,” Hermes replied, giving Kaz a sidelong look for any reaction. The barbarian looked like he was turned to stone again, unmoving.

  “You failed to mention the staff in your first telling of your story,” Zorcross said.

  “Did I?” Hermes looked up, trying to look thoughtful. “It was probably just me assuming that you would know that he would be armed to begin with.”

  “So was it fire or knives?” Zorcross asked.

  “I beg your pardon, Master?” Hermes asked, truly confused now and wondering what the knives reference was about.

  “You said that Khan threw knives at you not more than an hour ago,” Zorcross stated firmly, standing and leaning on his hands on the table in front of him.

  Hermes thought better than correcting his master in the use of the traitor’s name. “Yes, I did. He threw knives at me first and then he tried to burn me with his magic fire.”

  “Why would he do that?” Zorcross asked, his eyes narrowing.

  Hermes was quickly becoming not only confused but nervous too. “To kill me, Master. He wanted to burn me to death.”

  Zorcross shook his head violently and brought one hand to his forehead and closed his eyes before resuming his stance and looking at his apprentice. “Not the fire, you fool. Why would he throw knives at you instead of just using his magic fire?”

  “I do not know, Master. You would have to ask him; he was doing the throwing.”

  Zorcross sat back down, continuing to shake his head in disappointment. “So you then burned Khan to death after his attacks failed.”

  It was a statement, but Hermes answered. “I only burned his hands and arms. The coward fled from me before I could complete my spell, and I lost sight of him as he ran into the forest.”

  “So how do you know he died?”

  “I do not know. I suspect he could not live after being burned so seriously. His body must be lying somewhere in the Blackthorn Forest.”

  “And your staff?” Zorcross asked.

  “Ah yes, my poor staff,” Hermes said, a mental picture of the red hot and disfigured weapon that all wizards used coming to his mind. “Well, my magic must have been too powerful, Master. It not only burned that traitor to death but it ignited the very ground around my feet, and the staff itself erupted into a sheet of flame. It was quite the spectacle.”

  Zorcross looked at his apprentice from his chair without speaking. The silence went on for a very long time, and Hermes started to fidget, shifting his weight from one foot to another and trying to wring his hands but ending up wincing in pain for his efforts. Finally, after a long moment, his master spoke, revealing his decision on what he was going to do. “You know that Ke-Tor was here just yesterday evening?”

  “No, Master, I was not aware,” Hermes said, his eyebrows arching a bit in surprise at the news, yet glad that his master wasn’t questioning him further. “What was he doing way out here?”

  “He was on his way to Keshtor,” Zorcross said. “Apparently he was summoned by the High-Mage to report on our Ulathan progress . . . or lack thereof.”

  “How interesting,” Hermes began. “Perhaps he will receive word of his promotion to Arch-Mage?”

  “Doubtful,” Zorcross said, allowing a sigh to escape. “When he was here, he inferred that either he should kill me or I should kill you.”

  Hermes sucked in a loud gasp of air as the revelation surprised him. “You cannot be serious.”

  “I am,” Zorcross explained. “However, I was able to convince him that yet another member of our order need not die without good cause. He was not convinced at first, but he saw the wisdom of my words.”

  “But he did not know of our battle and the death of the bear and the . . . traitor,” Hermes said almost pleadingly.

  “Yes, the likely death of the beast and our traitor,” Zorcross said, emphasizing the word “likely” too much for Hermes’s comfort.

  “You must tell him, Master, of our deeds. Surely he will understand when he has been informed.”

  “Perhaps you are correct,” Zorcross said, taking a moment to sigh and breathe deeply, listening to the shouts of orders from below as the chief engineer barked commands to the troops. “In the meantime, we have new orders.”

  Hermes took a moment to swallow and try to find some spit for his mouth, which suddenly became very dry at the news. The last time he received orders, he almost died . . . twice. Hesitantly, Hermes found the courage to ask, feeling more than a bit certain that Zorcross enjoyed making him do so. “What orders, Master?”

  Zorcross smiled for the first time that day. “No need to fear . . . this time, my apprentice. We will put you somewhere, shall we say, safer than your last assignment.”

  “Safer?” Hermes asked.

  “Yes, with Korwell captured but undefended by anyone from our order, we need to have someone there to ensure its safety. You will travel to the Ulathan capital and oversee its defense until Ke-Tor returns or orders otherwise.”

  “You will entrust the safety of Korwell to me?” Hermes asked, confusion finally settling in the young apprentice once and for all.

  “Do not be a fool, Hermes,” Zorcross said, using Hermes’s proper name for a change. “Hork returned there as soon as Ke-Tor arrived. He will lead the troops in its defense, but it is strategically wise to have a member of our order there for security.”

  The brief moment of delusional grandeur evaporated quicker than it arrived for Hermes. “So I am to be under Hork’s command?”

  “Of course not, fool. No wizard, or apprentice for that matter, answers to the military caste. You should know that by now. However, you are new to the order, not a full wizard yet and inexperienced in battle. It would be better if you allowed Hork to command Korwell’s defenses.”

  “Ah, I see.” Hermes nodded, starting to understand his place better in Kesh society. “You feel confident, then, in Korwell’s defenses?”

  “Yes,” Zorcross said. “Ke-Tor has informed me that the last of the southern Ulathan rebels have all but been eliminated. There should be no more conflict near the capital, only this last wild band of Ulathan refugees who have taken refuge in the Blackthorn Forest.”

  Hermes nodded. “So the Ulathan captain is dead?”

  Zorcross looked at his apprentice again for any sign of sarcasm or mockery. “No, he is one of the last rebels in the south, but his days are numbered.”

  Hermes didn’t think his master sounded as convinced as his words. It was well known, and widely rumored, that the Ulathan captain had caused nearly as much death and damage to the Kesh as the wild wo
odsman who lived in the forest. “So what will you do, Master?”

  “I will stay here at the keep and personally ensure the safety of the trade route from the Ulathan rebels. Ke-Tor himself has entrusted this task to me. The next time this crazy woodsman attacks, he will be on the receiving end of a true wizard’s staff. Death awaits the fool.”

  Hermes chuckled slightly, repressing a smile as his spirits lifted. “Indeed, Master. You will kill him easily and secure Ulatha for the High-Mage once and for all. Your deeds will be noted in the Kesh chronicles for sure, Master.”

  “Yes, they will be.” Zorcross sounded pleased with his apprentice’s words. “One day, I will rule Kesh and my exploits will be known far and wide, not just in Kesh proper.”

  Hermes was jolted back to reality. “Will the High-Mage not have something to say about that, Master?”

  Zorcross seemed to ignore the slight barb from his apprentice. “The line always begins long, and one must wait in it to obtain glory. The High-Mage, and indeed Ke-Tor for that matter, will have had their chance, and when the time is right, they would not refuse a worthy member of the order stepping into a role of leadership. No, they will welcome that for sure . . . when the time is right, of course.”

  Hermes nodded as Zorcross looked at him, but inwardly he was certain that Am-Sultain, the High-Mage, would not give up the seat of power in the Onyx Tower to any wizard, much less a newly minted one as young as his master, but Hermes would not be the one to tell his master of this fact. No, he would bide his time and then once Zorcross was dealt with, there would be a place for a wise and intelligent wizard such as Hermes himself to fulfill the role that his master took now. Hermes simply needed to find a way to live for longer than a season in order to see his plans to fruition. “You are most wise, Master.”

  Zorcross didn’t believe his apprentice, but he was too pleased with himself to argue the point. He nodded and motioned for the door, willing his subjects to leave. “You will leave first thing in the morning, and take Kaz with you. He will need time to heal, and no better place to do so than in Korwell. Besides, after your failures of the last few days, I think you will need more protection, and Kaz will assist in that endeavor. You also will have Grinder there to help defend the city.”

  Hermes was pleased to hear that the stone troll was still in Korwell. Between the barbarian and the troll, not to mention Hork’s excellent sword arm, Hermes was feeling safer than he had in months. “Ah, Master, one last question?”

  “What is it, Hermes?”

  “Why do you refer to the Ulathan places by their own names and not their correct names?” Hermes asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

  “Because, unlike the old, traditional members of our order, I am a contemporary wizard, modern and in synch with our younger troops and soldiers who prefer to use those terms. Do you disagree?” Zorcross asked.

  “No, Master, it is simply that some in our order referred to the common tongue names as . . .” Hermes let the sentence die on his lips, realizing his mistake.

  “Well, go on, say it,” Zorcross ordered.

  Against his better judgment, Hermes told the truth this time. “Well, some refer to the common tongue names as vulgar, that is all.”

  “I see,” Zorcross said, gracing his apprentice with a frown, demonstrating the wizard’s disapproval of what he had just said. “We will discuss this later. For now, do not fail us for a third time. I cannot ensure that Ke-Tor remains in agreement with our plans, and those involve both of us being alive. I can assure you that if there is a price to pay, you will be the one paying it. Do I make myself clear, Hermes?”

  “Yes, Master.” Hermes nodded, again wondering if he was going to die in this accursed land known as Ulatha. “Come on, Kaz, let us leave now.”

  The motioning seemed to have no effect, and Zorcross watched attentively at his apprentice before speaking. “You can communicate with the barbarian?”

  “Yes,” Hermes said, sighing and looking at Kaz, who had turned to face him. That was progress, at least in Hermes’s experience. “Ak li, zeek mono lo.”

  Hermes hoped that his words would get the barbarian to move. They seemed to have worked as Kaz walked slowly toward the door Hermes had opened, speaking softly to him as he passed. “Li brik ak keez. Krik li lo.”

  Kaz started down the stairs, and before Hermes could exit, his master spoke. “What did Kaz say?”

  Hermes acted surprised, arching his brows and opening the door a few inches more, leaning on the door handle. “Oh, he said he will ensure our safety, especially when he heals.”

  Zorcross nodded, and Hermes shut the door. Only then, out of his master’s sight, did he allow himself to breathe deeply. He lied again and would never tell the wizard what Kaz had truly said. If he understood the barbarian correctly, the man had said, “You bad liar. You die soon.” Hermes had to agree with the barbarian.

  Chapter 14

  Lich

  “Did you have to kill them all?” Bran Moross asked from his seat by the fire, watching as the young scout squatted near a pool of brackish water, cleaning his hands and arms.

  Malik gave the Ulathan commander an inquisitive stare before resuming his cleaning. “Don’t tell me you have any pity for those murderers.”

  “Of course not,” Bran said, not taking his eyes off the young man. “It’s just the way that you did it, like you were one of them.”

  That did get Malik’s attention, and he stopped what he was doing to stand and look at his once commanding officer with a critical eye. “You dare to judge me now, after what they have done?”

  “You misunderstand me,” Bran began. “I’m not questioning your moral authority to kill them. I only question the manner in which you have done so. It doesn’t seem honorable, at least not in our society.”

  “So what would you have me do? Wake them and then allow them to arm themselves and fight outnumbered, ten to one?”

  Bran broke his gaze and looked down at the small fire burning on the only dry patch of land for several stone throws in any direction. He grabbed another hard tree branch and used it to stoke the small blaze, looking up to see that Tira and Sara had just set, making the dark gloom of the swamp even darker. He noticed that Malik had finally turned back to his cleaning, and Bran was content to let the young traitorous scout finish his task. The fresh red blood was too real a reminder of what the man had recently done.

  They had traveled for two days, moving from the southern mountains and leaving Ulatha proper. Bran was a captain, but he spent most of his days in his home country, only once traveling years ago as a young sergeant to guard a caravan from Safron. In recent times, the Ulathans under Korwell cared little for what happened outside their borders, and now, lost, tired, and confused, Captain Moross was paying the price for that policy.

  The Kesh hunting party had realized quicker than Malik had estimated that the trail into Rockton was a false one, and quickly doubled back to pick up their own tracks. At first, Malik had become angry at Bran’s inability to walk and hide his tracks. Bran had no experience, and indeed no need, in hiding tracks. When one commanded a large armed force, it was impossible to hide it and, as stated, not necessary. The simple act of walking in a manner that was hard to track did not come naturally to Captain Moross.

  Soon, they reached a point where the dry land became soggy and damp. At that point, Bran had argued for returning to the mountains where at least the rocks would help with preventing their tracks from being read. Malik, however, had vehemently argued against that course of action. For some reason, this meeting with the creature, beast, or whatever it was, seemed to be most important to the young man.

  The Kesh kill party had almost caught up to them when Malik had lured them into this swamp. With scant few dry places to sleep in this region, Malik seemed to know where they would be and used it to his full advantage. In the middle of the night, he left Bran in camp and found the Kesh at the exact spot that Malik was expecting them to be. The young rebel scout
killed the Kesh, slitting their throats in the night after silently strangling the guard until his attack became apparent and known.

  At that time, less than half the Kesh remained and Malik had disappeared into the swampy morass of the wild land, picking off several more of the Kesh with his bow. The last remaining three had made a break for it, running wildly in all directions. It took Malik just over an hour to track them all down and kill them. There would be no survivors to return word of what had happened to the Kesh.

  “You didn’t answer me,” Malik said, standing and drying his hands on an old, bloody rag that he took from his pack.

  “No, I guess I didn’t. Forget it. You did what you had to do and I’ll say no more. I do, however, want to know what your plans with this . . . creature thing is all about. Is this really necessary?” Bran asked, continuing to gaze hypnotically into the fire.

  Malik walked over, putting the damp rag into his pack and sitting down opposite of the Ulathan captain. “It’s called a Lich, and I wouldn’t have believed such creatures to exist if I haven’t had seen it with my own eyes.”

  “Who told you that term?” Bran asked.

  “What, the term Lich?” Malik asked.

  “Yes, I’ve never heard of that before.”

  “Neither had I,” Malik explained. “The creature itself used the term to describe its own state of being when I questioned it.”

  “It allowed you to ask questions?” Bran stoked the fire further, eliciting a new round of popping sounds from the escaping gas embedded within the wood.

  “I wouldn’t exactly use the word allowed,” Bran said, yawning and stretching his legs out on either side of the small fire. He leaned in closer and warmed his hands slightly. Despite it being late summer, the humidity was high and the cooler night air had just enough of a brisk chill to it that the fire felt welcoming.

  “Do you want to hear the story of how I found it?” Malik asked, looking over the fire at Bran.