“Yes, if you don’t mind sharing it. It would be interesting to know what brought about the downfall of our king.”
“That was determined by Korwell himself. The process was only accelerated slightly by the Lich’s counsel, which I accepted. This is not the subject I was willing to discuss.” Malik looked at Bran intently from over the fire’s flames.
Bran nodded at Malik. “My apologies, do start with your tale.”
Malik returned the gesture and leaned back slightly, yawning again and spreading his arms out wide to increase his blood circulation. Settled in somewhat, he began his tale. “I was transferred to the southern watch under Lieutenant Cowers—”
“A good officer,” Bran interrupted slightly, and then motioned for Malik to proceed.
“Yes, a good man, unlike some officers in the capital,” Malik said, his tone disapproving when he mentioned the capital, but Bran remained quiet and nodded. Malik continued. “It didn’t take long before I was assigned to the southern watch’s scout squad under Sergeant Winters.” Malik did pause, waiting for a comment by Bran.
Bran understood. “Yes, I knew the man as well. A fine scout and tracker, one of the best in Ulatha.”
Malik nodded in agreement. “Sergeant Winters allowed us to roam as far as we felt necessary to ensure the safety of Ulatha, but after several forays near Rockton and along the smaller trade roads, Korwell issued a ban on our activities, limiting our ability to detect threats near our realm.”
“I remember his decree. Four years ago, I think it was,” Bran said.
“Yes,” Malik confirmed, “the Rockton ruler, as well as more than one trade merchant, complained and got their way in the matter. Everyone stopped their scouting patrols except for one.”
“That would be you, by my guess,” Bran said, giving Malik a knowing look.
“Yes, I would not be cajoled into agreeing with the ruling class; however, I could not step foot into Rockton proper and neither could I stop and search any caravan for fear of punishment by my own . . . ruler.” Malik said the last word with obvious disgust.
“I understand. Go on,” Bran said.
“So I took to paths less trod, searching far and wide from Balaria in the East, to the far Western Sea, and in the North, I went as far as the dragon lands, and in the South, I traveled past Safron itself, to lands that were strange and exotic.”
“Winters allowed you that much time away from his unit?” Bran asked, surprise in his voice.
“Yes, he was a good man as well, and I am certain he informed Lieutenant Cowers as well. They approved when I brought back information of the activities of our neighbors,” Malik said.
“So to reach the dragon lands, you had to pass through the Barbarian Clans. I’m surprised you survived.” Bran was noting that this Ulathan scout had much more to him than he had previously thought.
Malik noticed the extra scrutiny and simply nodded. “Barbarians are harmless enough if they don’t know you’re there.”
“They are expert outdoorsmen and know how to live and fight in the wild. I would have thought that they would have spotted you if not captured you outright.”
“Perhaps, but you underestimate still my skill and ability to move at will undetected. Unlike you, I do not walk around trumpeting my arrival with every step.”
The rebuke was sharp again, but Bran was learning to ignore the barbs and simply accept that he would never be able to be as stealthy as this rebel scout. “Well, Malik. You have a special talent, and it appears it allowed you to avoid capture and death at the hands of the wild men of the North. This does not, however, explain your passage through Kesh.”
“Who said anything about traveling through Kesh?” Malik asked.
“You said you went as far east as Balaria, did you not? It is rumored to be located east of Kesh, on an island off Kesh’s far coast, or so my teacher always said.” Bran nodded, repeating what he had learned from the master instructor in Korwell as a child.
Malik laughed softly, putting his head back and looking straight up into the dark sky and its milky white stars shining softly above. When he had finished, he slapped his outstretched legs and gave Bran a friendly look. “You really must get out more. Your teacher was correct, but you can travel to Balaria from the sea or from the coast before you get to Kesh. I have never been into the wizard’s land, but Balaria was very interesting. They all thought of me there as one of the barbarians from a friendlier clan.”
Bran nodded. “I can see how they thought that, considering how large you are. It amazes me that you can hide so well in the wild considering how big you are.”
Malik softly laughed again, and the sound was the first joyful echoes that the swamp had heard in eons. “The Kesh would kill one of us in their homeland. Suspect that we were a spy or some such and they wouldn’t normally be that far off, so I gave the magic-user’s land a large berth, moving wide to the south, but that is for another story. The story of how I met the Balarian assassin.”
“That story I am keen to hear as well,” Bran stated, now vigorously poking the dying fire, as they were out of dry wood to burn.
“Another time, then,” Bran said. “One of my travels took me here, to the Muddy Marshes. They were one of the last places that I wanted to travel to, not exactly on the top of my list, so to speak.”
“So why, then, did you come here?”
“Because I wanted to be thorough,” Malik said, looking pensive and remembering a time when he first decided to explore the stinking swamp. “I had to take several forays into this swamp, each time learning the correct paths in order to navigate it successfully. This included the changing water levels depending on the season.”
“So the swampland changes that often, then?” Bran asked.
“Yes, but it usually reverts back to its original state at low water when the summer melts have completed and the water levels lower again. It is at these times when the swamp is most passable.”
“How much of it have you explored?” Bran asked.
“A lot, but I was unable to circumnavigate the swamp to see how big it really is,” Malik said.
“You seem more than a little educated for a scout and woodsman,” Bran said, noting Malik’s use of words that were usually heard only in the king’s court.
“Winters ensured that when I wasn’t scouting, I was learning. He had me take classes in Fornz with the nobles there.”
“I didn’t think the king would allow a soldier to study.”
“He wouldn’t. It only happened because he didn’t know and Winters wanted me to pass on as much information to the town teacher as she would pass on to me.”
Bran nodded, his eyes wide as he understood. “Ah, so Winters had you share knowledge of your travels while receiving training in your education.”
“Yes,” Malik said.
“This reminds me of my son Cedric. He studied ceaselessly in the capital. I could hardly get him to put his books down to take up a sword for practice.” Bran closed his eyes and hung his head, trying hard to picture his eldest son. Finally, Bran raised his head and opened his eyes, looking at Malik.
Malik nodded. “My mother couldn’t get my brother to put his axe or bow down and pick up a book. It didn’t take long before my brother surpassed me in both size and ability once he reached the age of adulating.”
Bran looked at Malik with serious eyes. The rebel scout was easily one of the largest men in the Ulathan military, and his strength and stealth were more than obvious, not to mention his skill with both blade and bow. “You mean to tell me you have a bigger brother?”
Malik laughed softly again. “No, not older, but yes, bigger. He outgrew me year before last when I last saw him. Not too smart, though, but you would like him.”
“Why would you say that?” Bran asked.
“Because he has old-fashioned ideas of honor and tradition, no doubt picked up by our father and grandfather. These are the kind of silly things you like to refer to in our conversations,” Malik
said.
“Why is being honorable a bad thing?” Bran asked, wondering how this younger scout could consistently get under his skin.
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing; I said it was old fashioned,” Malik answered.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that being honorable with less than honorable strangers is more likely than not to get you killed. It had its usefulness some time ago, but now it is old fashioned, outdated, and dangerous. Look at what my deal with the Balarian resulted in.”
“You mean them double-crossing you?” Bran threw the branch into the fire, giving up on stoking it further.
“Exactly,” Malik said, nodding in agreement. “Those scum have no honor, and returning it is a waste of time and energy.”
Bran nodded back, understanding the younger man’s philosophy, if not agreeing with it. “Though now we traveled far astray of your tale.”
Malik smiled, nodding in a knowing way. “Very astute, Captain. Let’s return to how I met this creature and what transpired.”
“Yes, do go on,” Bran suggested.
“After several dozen trips into the Muddy Marshes, I stumbled across the ruins of an ancient civilization. It looked to be like a large city, much larger than Korwell, but very old. On the far outskirts of the ruins stood a lone tower, broken and crumbling into decay from the humid weather and years of wind and rain.
“It had started to rain, and I sought shelter. There is scant little of that out here, almost no trees, just small bushes and swampy grasses and reeds. I thought perhaps a part of the decaying tower could provide a dry place to sleep for the night. I thought the place deserted; indeed, the entire area was devoid of any living beast, creature, or insect, but I was wrong.
I noticed a faint glow from within the tower on the ground level. I approached carefully, using as much stealth as I could muster, sword drawn and ready. It made no difference. Before reaching the open doorway, I heard a voice. It was disembodied and sounded faint but sharp, and it commanded me to enter.”
“You were forced to obey it?” Bran asked, concern in his voice.
“Not forced,” Malik said, thinking back to that day and remembering it in vivid detail. “Rather it compelled me to enter, if that makes any sense.”
“It does. Go on.”
“Well,” Malik said, continuing with his tale, “I kept my sword in front of me and walked through the doorway into a large circular chamber of the tower. On the right side, against the damp wall, stood a figure.”
“The Lich!” Bran said, snapping his fingers for emphasis.
“You remind me of my brother,” Malik said, the edges of his lips curling down slightly, “but you are correct. It was the Lich, and I felt almost as if I were paralyzed, until it laughed at me.”
“It laughed at you?” Bran asked, his brows arching slightly.
“Yes, it was amused by my fear.”
Bran looked at the deadly scout and was trying to imagine the man showing any kind of fear, but he couldn’t picture it. “Go on, what happened next?”
“I felt relief once it laughed, and I was able to press my back against the far wall, opposite the creature.”
“What did it look like?”
“It looked like a man who had died in the desert and who was discovered years later,” Malik said, his voice faltering slightly as he remembered the encounter.
“You mean it was like a skeleton?” Bran asked.
Malik looked from the sky to directly at the captain. “Yes, it was exactly like that, except . . . it was missing its right hand and it had a glow all around its body. Ah, well, bones would be a better word to describe it.”
Bran’s mouth opened, and then he quickly shut it. “You mean it glowed itself?”
“Yes, something like that. It glowed a bright purplish or blackish color. The light was muted, dark, evil, or something like that.”
Bran made the sign of warding and looked around into the darkness. The sky was a faint purplish color on the eastern horizon where the dragon’s fire would soon rise and bathe all of Agon in its golden warmth.
“You won’t see it here in the darkness,” Malik stated.
Bran looked at Malik. “It’s close though. I can feel it.”
“Yes, not far, but not too near. We dare not approach it at night. The area has new guardians, and they are most dangerous in the dark.”
“What guardians?” Bran asked, looking around again but seeing and hearing nothing.
Malik gave Bran an intense gaze. “Undead.”
“You mean like the stories that the mid-wives tell the children to get them to go to sleep at night?” Bran asked.
“Yes, monsters, demons, and dragons, all the scary ones,” Malik said.
Bran shook his head. “It doesn’t sound possible.”
“That’s what I said, at first. Then when you see it with your own eyes, you’ll believe in them as well.”
Bran continued his head shaking, finding everything the younger man telling him to be hard to believe. “Finish your story,” Bran finally said.
“The Lich spoke to me, inviting me to tell it of my life and travels. It felt strange to do so, yet it was compelling. I believe the creature was once a man, a Kesh wizard, in fact, and it seemed to have something motivating it . . . if not curiosity, then vengeance.”
“What makes you think it is a Kesh wizard?” Bran asked.
“The manner in which it spoke to me. It spoke in the common tongue, but it was an unusual dialect, and the creature’s speech was refined and educated and it spoke of magic as if it were something normal for it. The creature knows a lot about Ulatha and even more about Kesh. It was once a man, but I don’t know how long it has been in this state, but you shall see soon enough.”
“You said it invited you to speak. What did you discuss?”
“I told it of my travels, my position, my family, and of Ulatha. In return, it told me of Kesh, ancient Ulatha, and many other realms that I did not know existed. At first, we spoke simply enough, and I started to feel comfortable around it. After several visits, it revealed its true intentions, and I couldn’t resist them.”
“What were they?” Bran asked, his voice low as if speaking of a conspiracy.
“The overthrow of Korwell and the destruction of Kesh.”
Bran stood and looked around. The sky in the east was turning into oranges and light blues as the dawn approached. The Ulathan captain stomped his feet, rubbing his arms to shake off the chill of pre-dawn, which seemed more intense considering the nature of their conversation. Finally, Bran spoke. “This is all interesting, but it makes little sense to me. Why would some undead creature bother with the affairs of our king and a realm such as Kesh that lies so far from here?”
“I don’t know for sure. Maybe you can ask it?” Malik suggested.
Bran stopped his half-hearted pacing to stare at Malik. “That is another thing. What would it want with a simple scout such as yourself?”
Malik stood, gathering his belongings in preparation for their journey. “I think it wants its freedom. Freedom and revenge.”
“Freedom from what?”
“It appears to be trapped in that tower,” Malik said, shouldering his back and sheathing his sword that he had cleaned earlier. “It also appears to be angry, very angry, and it craves information.”
“What kind of information?” Bran asked, following Malik’s cue and gathering his own belongings.
“Anything about everything, though it seems most intent on anything to do with Kesh.”
“So I take it you’re not going to sleep tonight?”
“No, we have no time for that, and I’m fairly certain that neither of us want to spend an extra night in this swamp if we can help it,” Malik stated.
“I would agree with you there,” Bran said. “So are you sure you want to do this?”
“Positive,” Malik said. “The creature indicated that I should start building an army for it, and that is what
I intend to do.”
“What in Agon does it need an army for?” Bran asked, kicking dirt on the last few flames of the fire, extinguishing them and dimming the area slightly.
“Like I said, it wants to destroy Kesh, and I’m happy to help it do so.”
“You understand that’s easier said than done.”
“I do. That is why you need to meet it. If there is anyone in all of Agon who would know how to raise and command an army, it would be you,” Malik said, motioning for Bran to follow him as he left their campsite.
“And if I refuse?” Bran asked, picking his way behind the young scout.
“Then it will most likely kill you,” Malik said emotionlessly.
The birds were singing, and the gentle, late summer breeze crossed the clearing and the cabin where the Ulathans had slept for the night. Horace sat on the porch, watching the barn as he usually did in the early morning light.
“You know they aren’t actually in there, or did you forget? I bet you just miss them,” Agatha said, not able to contain herself for two days in a row.
“I’m keeping myself in practice, woman,” Horace said rather rudely by not using her name.
“You trying to stir my husband up?” Estelle said, coming back from Bony Creek with water for their morning washing and cooking.
“Ain’t nothing that can stir that man up. He’s even got you fetching the water,” Agatha remarked as she tossed the overnight water from the lone basin near the forest line, returning at the same time as Estelle. The two had been doing this ritual for months and could read each other’s time almost perfectly.
“I told her I’d do it, but she prefers the walk,” Horace stated truthfully. Estelle enjoyed the activity, and this allowed Horace to maintain watch on their Kesh guests. Now that this was no longer necessary, the trio performed their functions more out of habit than anything else.
“I miss Celeste,” Estelle said, changing the subject and sounding more than a little forlorn.
“Even our Thomas was a fine young gentleman compared to them Kesh,” Agatha said uncharacteristically for her usual norms.
“What do you think she’s doing?” Horace asked, leaning forward from his seat on the porch and peering intently at the barn.
Dead Druid: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 2 (Ranger Series) Page 20