“So you are saying that both Am-Shee and Alister are alive and plotting against you?” Jakar was processing this revelation and, for a moment, forgot about the High-Mage’s hideous appearance.
“Exactly,” Am-Tor said. “I want them to pay for what was done to me. I want them dead.”
Jakar nodded, realizing that he wasn’t going to be able to discuss the prisoner situation with his master, and instead, he focused his attention back on his new High-Mage and his disfigured face. “If Alister is not dead, then where is he?”
The question went unanswered.
“Who’s there?” Dareen hissed, unable to control her curiosity. She had feigned sleep for quite some time, but the faint sound of someone screaming from the direction of the spyhole alarmed her. This was no game, and death was nearby.
There was no answer, but the brick had been put back into place and the door latch began to move slowly. Whoever had done the killing was preparing to enter her cell, and a shiver ran up her spine, especially considering it was the middle of the night. Not the normal hours for visitors, though she wasn’t sure there was such a thing. It did appear that in the past, it was usually daytime or evening when activity was at its highest.
The door cracked a bit, and before it opened further, a faint voice whispered back to her, “Do not be alarmed and do not scream. I am not here to harm you. Agreed?”
Dareen nodded and then realized the speaker couldn’t hear her. “Yes, agreed,” she said.
“Excellent,” the voice said. Without a further word, the door opened and a Kesh wizard appeared, turning quickly to shut the door. It was dark and there was no torch brought into the room, so the only light came from the small, rectangular window with iron bars at the top of her cell. It was hard to see in the dim light, but there was no mistaking a Kesh magic-user.
The man turned and walked over to the bars and peered at her. She could make out his tasseled hat and metallic staff as a bit of light glinted off his precious gemstone. The robe was robust and blue in color, and he also appeared to have a small beard. There was something familiar about the man, and he seemed to understand her struggle in recognizing it. “You do not recognize me, do you?”
Dareen shook her head and squinted, trying to see his face better. She continued to crouch as she waited, using one hand to hold on to an iron bar. She didn’t have long to wait, because the man whispered something and a faint but visible blue glow illuminated his facial features very well. “You!” was all she could muster.
“Indeed,” Alister said, repressing an evil grin. “You appear alarmed and distressed.”
Dareen backed away for a moment before gathering her courage to speak to the man. “Why shouldn’t I? Last I heard from you was you suggesting that my organs be studied in a laboratory or something similarly disgusting.”
Alister brought his free hand to his chin and stroked his beard that ended in a point. He looked too young to have a beard, but his mannerisms reminded Dareen of a grandfather. The contrast was confusing at best. “It was a few months ago, but now that you mention it, I think I did say something of that nature.”
“Think?” Dareen hissed.
“Well, I did say it was a while ago, and much has happened since then.”
“It was my guts you were talking about, so I remember your words very well, Kesh. You said exactly that.”
The man nodded, and then said, “That would explain your current state of stress.”
“My state of stress?” Dareen exclaimed louder. “You should try being a prisoner with your jailor discussing the dissection of your innards. By all of Agon, you are rich, sir. I nearly died in here from thirst and starvation after you locked me in this dungeon.”
“Ah, yes, a most inconsiderate thing for me to do. However, in my defense, I was nearly killed and had to make a rather hasty retreat. I was unable to make arrangements for your care, and it pained me to learn that you were neglected here during the rebellion.”
Dareen focused on one word. “Rebellion?”
“I assume you have heard?” Alister asked.
She wasn’t one to lie, but she was curious and starved for information. Other than what Jakar had said about there being a new High-Mage, she didn’t know much about what else was happening or how the new High-Mage took over. “Not really.”
“Hmm,” Alister said, continuing his stroking of his beard. “There is a new High-Mage, and he is an imposter.”
“Really?” Dareen asked coyly. “You don’t seem to approve.”
“That is because I do not approve,” Alister explained. “That is part of the reason why I am here. I want you to help us.”
Dareen started to laugh slightly, and the man did not laugh with her. “You think I would help a Kesh wizard? Actually, how could a Kesh wizard need anything from a prisoner?”
Alister frowned but answered her. “I prefer to kill you and study your . . . innards personally; however, the master whom I serve explained things differently to me.”
“Whom do you serve?” Dareen asked, repeating the man’s phrasing.
“The greatest Arch-Mage to ever have lived,” Alister said. “Am-Shee.”
“Can’t say I’ve heard of him,” Dareen said, finally giving in to the urge to sit, since crouching was more than uncomfortable, and this wizard appeared to want to have a discussion with her. After weeks in solitary confinement, she almost welcomed the company of any other human being, even a Kesh.
“He knows you,” Alister said, turning his frown into a slight smile as the gemstone on his staff continued to glow a faint blue. “Or at least, he has heard of you.”
“Now that is interesting,” Dareen countered. “I can’t help but feel flattered that the greatest wizard in all of Kesh has heard of me, a simple Ulathan peasant woman.”
“Arch-Mage,” Alister corrected her.
“As you wish.”
“I said he has most likely heard of you, or your type.” That was not what the man had said seconds earlier, but Dareen let it go.
“What type would that be?” She brought her hands to her chest in mock exaggeration.
“There is a woodland order, with the leaders known as druids. They were thought to be extinct, but Am-Shee has learned that this is not the case. At least one is alive and well.”
“Only one?”
“Perhaps more,” Alister said, tiring of her game. “You are one of them, and I have been informed that perhaps you do have a form of magic that comes from the dirt, unlike ours, which we gather from the sky.”
“So am I a dirty magic-user?” Her hands gripped her own torso again.
“Do not mock me,” Alister warned, his face now neutral and his tone sinister. “You play a deadly game from a position of weakness. Perhaps I should kill you now and end your smug play?”
Dareen put her hands down and lowered her eyes for a moment. She didn’t want to take things too far with the wizard, but his initial revelation of need, coupled with her hate and disgust for his previous remarks, had gotten the better of her. She wanted so badly to mock him, but she also didn’t want to lose her life without a cause. She chose to defer to the man. “Fine, what would you have me do, then?”
Alister looked at her intently for a long moment. Then he said, “I want you to help us kill the new High-Mage.”
Chapter 7
Balaria
The trip to Balax, the capital of Balaria, was uneventful for Malik. He practically ran from the inner region of the land known as Pentost, where the Lich resided, to the coast of the Balar Ocean. He found the small and dilapidated realm of Tallist located along the shoreline south of Rockton. He knew Rockton was swarming with the enemy Kesh, and Tallist represented the closest port.
The small ship he had paid for passage on was hardly longer than half a stone’s throw from stem to stern. The wood of the ship looked as if it had spent more time below the water line than above it. Once it arrived in Balax, it took up a slip on an old pier, and Malik exited into the small cit
y proper. He had hardly spoken to the crewmen during his three-day voyage.
The capital of Balaria was built on a large hill overlooking a horseshoe-shaped harbor that gave excellent anchorage to seafaring ships. The harbor entrance was flanked by two spits of land that ended with small hills and cliffs at the narrow harbor entrance. There were two short but broad towers, one on either side of the entrance, that had siege equipment on top of them pointed at the only way in or out from the harbor. Being a military man, Malik appreciated the defensive quality of such an arrangement. It would be nigh to impossible for an invading fleet to simply sail in unmolested. The original city’s founders had chosen their location well.
Looking at the city itself, Malik noted that it was on a hill overlooking the harbor, with the topmost structure being the ancient castle complex that housed the government of the realm. The southernmost part of the city was flat, only slightly rising from the port proper, while the middle and northernmost parts had a steep slope to climb. The higher locations on the hill were the most desirable and the most expensive. The villas hanging from the side of the large hill looked wealthy to Malik beyond all imagination. He had never seen such luxury before, certainly not in Ulatha, which was marked by peasant farms and dirty wooden structures that could hardly be called buildings. Only the ancient fortifications, towers, and walls spoke to the once grand majestic scope, size, and splendor of his homeland.
Standing on the outer road that ran around the harbor, Malik looked around at the relatively busy port city that housed the most feared thieves and assassins in all the realms of Agon. He had long ago rid himself of any vestiges of his Korwellian uniform, and stood in the cool autumn air in a dark cloak that he had pulled around him to ensure the Kesh staff was not visible where it hung from his back under his garments.
Malik started to feel foolish as several minutes passed and there was no sign that the Lich would send to him to tell him where to go or what to do. He knew he couldn’t stand around the port all day. It was late afternoon, and the port workers would be leaving soon for the day. He had plenty of coins from the Lich, given to him months before and practically useless until now, as most of Ulatha was under Kesh control. There was simply no commerce in his home realm to allow the usage of his money.
“Looking for a place to stay or someone in particular?” a lady said from across the ring road that ran around the harbor. She was dressed provocatively and leaned against the dark stone wall of a building.
“Both,” Malik said, looking first up the road as it curved around the circular harbor and then back down it where it ended in the overall shape of a horseshoe.
“Would ye be interested in some company and entertainment this evening, stranger?” the woman said coyly.
Malik shook his head, feeling both awkward in the middle of a bustling street and suspicious of this strange woman. “I need neither.”
“Suit yourself, but ya don’t have to be rude about it, lad.”
“How have I been rude?” Malik questioned the woman.
“I asked for your name and ye refused me,” she said, shifting the weight of her feet and looking at him with narrowed eyes. “Not exactly gentlemanly, now is it?”
“I did no such thing,” Malik protested.
“Ye did,” she said.
“When?” he asked again, his patience growing thin.
“When I called you stranger,” she said, deciding to explain the Balarian custom to the foreign man who had obviously never been to Balaria or dealt with Balarians in general. “That’s your queue to make a proper and formal introduction to a lady.”
Malik had to think about this for a moment, and then decided to take the path of least resistance until he could figure out what his next steps would be. “Fine. I am known as Malik from . . . Tallist, and you are?”
“Well met, Malik of Tallist,” the woman said with a smile on her face, pleased at the turn of events with the young man. “I am called Collette, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Satisfied?” Malik asked.
“No need to be rude again when we finally made some progress,” Collette said, continuing to smile.
“Perhaps it would be best if we parted ways now to prevent further rudeness for you,” Malik said, starting to walk north along the longer part of the harbor road.
“Wait,” Collette said, standing upright and walking alongside him as he tried to leave. “You know, even if ye don’t prefer the company of a lady, you can still be a gentleman about it.”
“What do you want?” Malik said curtly, continuing to walk and weaving his way around other people, workers, and the occasional pile of dung left in the road by a horse or ox.
“If you need a place to stay, I can recommend one.”
“Would this place be filled with ruffians ready to rob someone?”
“Now, you wouldn’t think that badly of me when ye hardly know me.” Collette feigned offence.
“Then what’s in it for you?” Malik asked.
Now this was something Collette understood. “A small commission from the establishment.” Malik looked down at her, as he was taller than most all of the Balarians, and all but scowled. The woman protested. “It’s a lone copper tis all, hardly anything to boast about . . . well, a second copper if you buy enough food and drink to make the innkeeper happy.”
Malik stopped abruptly, and the woman almost tripped over a cobblestone, trying to stop with him in her stilettoed shoes. “How far away is this . . . establishment?” he asked.
The woman used both hands to lift her skirt and stop over a pile of dung that she had barely avoided with Malik’s long strides. She pointed at a rather tall building only a block away from the harbor road. “Not far. It’s right there.”
The streets that ran from the harbor road ran uphill, and this building had windows overlooking the harbor. Malik thought it might be good to be close to the ships in case he was supposed to meet in or around the area. “All right, then, take me there and do so by the normal paths of travelers.”
The woman nodded and started to walk toward a side street, and then, looking back at him, and seeing that he was following her, she veered to stay on the harbor road a bit longer till they came to a large street that branched out from the circular main road.
Moving quickly past the crowds, Malik was overwhelmed with the odor assaulting him now. It was a mix between that peculiar musty smell of the ocean that almost felt it had the tint of death mixed in with it, the stink of dung and rotting food discarded in trash receptacles, and the contrasting aroma of freshly baked bread, oven-baked goods, roasted poultry and beef, and various exotic herbs and spices, many he had never smelled before and couldn’t begin to name.
“Here we are,” Collette said, standing outside a five-story building constructed from stone for the first two floors, and wood for the topmost three. The double doors were wide open, allowing the cooler sea air to mingle with the stuffy air of the tavern, and tavern it was. A sign, as was customary for these types of establishments, hung over the door. It read The Wild Mermaid, Inn & Tavern, with a painted picture of a woman with a fish’s tail sitting on a stone slab jutting out from what looked like sea and surf beckoning to him from below the lettering. “Ye don’t have to stare,” she added.
“I’m not staring. I’m admiring the artwork of this establishment’s sign,” Malik retorted, walking past her and into the main lobby of the tavern.
“That’s what they all say,” Collette mumbled, following him in and resuming her lead as she led him to a comfy bench in an alcove that looked out onto the street. “You said you may be looking for someone. This is a major street. Lots of visitors come along this way, so you can be comfortable while yer lookin’.”
Malik noticed that she gave him a wink after saying this, and then she left to fetch a server and talk to the innkeeper. He had to take the bundled staff and his pack from off his back and set them down along the padded bench before seating himself. He was dirty, had rough clothes, ha
dn’t bathed in weeks, and didn’t look to be able to afford a meal at this location, much less a room for the night, so he was curious as to why she chose him as a mark. Malik might have been from the wilds, but his time in Korwell was spent amongst the court as a royal guard before his talents with scouting led him to his different position and unit under Captain Moross.
Collette returned, and a plump older lady came over, wiping her hands on her dirty apron and nodding at both of them. “Evening, sir. Evening, Colly. How would you be liking a drink this evening?” It was afternoon, but Malik wasn’t going to correct the woman. The speech seemed rehearsed.
“A pale ale,” Malik said simply.
“Would you mind a drink for the lady?” the server asked with a nod at Collette.
Malik looked at both women and then nodded, so Collette said, “Ooh, bring me one of those spiced pumpkin ciders with cinnamon.”
“Be right back,” the older woman said, winking at Collette and not trying to hide it.
Malik stretched and felt awkward under the circumstances, but engaged his new hostess anyway. “Why me?”
Collette placed her hands to her chest in mock shock, reminding Malik of his mother, who feigned the same more than once in his memory. “You pain me with such questions.”
“You don’t know what real pain is, so just answer the question,” Malik said rather harshly.
“Either you ain’t played the game or you don’t know how,” Collette began. Seeing Malik’s stern countenance, she quickly continued. “How else is a single woman supposed to take care of herself, except working in the hot kitchens? Would you do that to a woman?”
“How do you know that I can afford this place, or even a meal here? Do you not see how I am dressed?”
“Well,” she began, and spoke a bit too truthfully, “I could smell you before you got off yer boat, but I do agress,” she said, speaking incorrectly. Not that Malik was a learned scholar, but at least his mother had taught him how to read and write. He wasn’t sure about the basic inhabitants of Balaria after meeting this woman.
Mad Mage: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 3 (Ranger Series) Page 10