by King, DB
Inside was a long, milk-white gemstone, a strange, unearthly glow pouring out from it. It was brilliant and dazzling, like nothing Logan had ever seen before. The stone was set upon soft silks of purple and gold. The elf woman lifted the stone slowly and reverently. Logan had no idea of the nature of the stone, but even a quick glance revealed that it was valuable, magical.
The elf woman held it in both hands and raised it into the air, closing her eyes and mouthing words to herself. The crystal began to glow with growing intensity, bright enough that the nearby guards were forced to close their eyes and shield their faces with the crooks of their arms.
But not Logan. He stared into the stone, transfixed.
Something strange happened. He began to feel a tugging, as if a thousand small hooks were under his skin and pulling him gently, but insistently forward. At first, the sensation was more irritating than anything. But as the crystal glowed brighter and brighter, it began to feel like pain.
Even through the growing pain, the sensation was a shock to Logan as he recognized it as the first anything he’d truly felt since the brief, hot flash of pain that was his death. The pain, strangely, was physical. It was not the quasi-physical pain that he had endured in the realm of the in-between. The crystal glowed brighter, the hooks under his skin burning like nothing he had ever felt before. He tilted back his head and bellowed, releasing all the rage and agony he’d felt when he’d died all those years ago.
“Come, spirit!” shouted the elf woman. “I call you back to the world of the living! Come!”
The crystal glowed so bright it seemed more like a small sun contained in her hands. The guards began to moan with pain, and pure agony racked Logan. He was taken back to the moment of his death, reminded keenly of the feeling of the shaman’s spell burning his flesh like paper, ruining his body.
It was too much. Logan dropped to his knees, his palms on the floor.
The pain receded. He took one breath after another, the wood rough and cool against his skin.
Wait—breath? I can’t remember the last time I’ve taken a breath, he thought. Or…felt something against my skin.
Logan understood right away what this meant. The elf woman’s magic had worked.
He had a body.
He was alive.
The guards around him murmured, speaking to one another in hushed tones. As he opened and closed his hands—his real hands—for the first time in so many years, he listened to the guards’ words.
“That’s an Elderwood Ranger?”
“This is a bad idea.”
“Who the hells knows if he’ll even work with us?”
Logan took one breath and then another, the air dry and warm. A pair of boots appeared in front of him. He looked up slowly, his eyes tracking along the long, slender legs of the elf woman. She stood over him, a pleased smile on her face.
“Rise, ranger. Rise and live again.” She reached her hand down to help him up. But, despite feeling like he’d just been put through a grinder, he wasn’t about to let someone else help him to his feet.
“I can rise just fine on my own,” he growled.
“That’s not wise,” she said. “You’ve just been pulled back into the world of the living. You haven’t had a physical body for ye—“
Logan pressed onto the ground, bringing himself up to his feet with a heave. His muscles cried out, as if furious at him for expending such effort so soon after being reborn. But he was soon on his feet.
The men around him regarded him with wide eyes. But the women regarded him with expressions far more sensual. A warm wind wrapped around his body, and he glanced down to see he was as naked as the day he was born, his manhood hanging low between his powerful thighs.
But he wasn’t bothered. He was simply glad to be alive again.
“So,” she said as she made a slow circle around him, as if appraising a new piece of livestock. “This is an Elderwood Ranger. The ancient texts spoke truly when they described your kind as the pinnacle of physical prowess.”
She finished her circle around him, the woman’s eyes flicking over his body one more time. A smile formed on her face. But it wasn’t the sensual smile of a woman who wanted him. It was the amused smile of a woman in charge who had a man right where she wanted him.
“Clothes,” Logan said. The word came out hoarse and strange, as if he had to re-learn in that instant how to use his vocal cords. “I need clothes.” These last words came out clearly, in the deep, full voice he recognized as his own.
“In time,” the elf said, her eyes drifting along his body and settling on his runic tattoo. “The Tyan Kingdom has spent much money and effort to bring you back, ranger. I want to make sure we got what we paid for.”
Her hand reached out and touched his body on his tattoo. Despite his anger at the situation, the feeling of a woman’s touch against his skin was pleasing to Logan. He craved more, to touch her body in response.
“Mistress,” called out a deep voice from behind the woman. Logan glanced over his shoulder to see a towering guard clad in ornate, polished armor. His hair was long and dark, tied in a tight braid beneath his helmet. His skin was dusky, his features solid and angular. Two sharply pointed elf ears rose up to either side of his helmeted head. “I recommend keeping your distance.”
“It’s fine, Raymond,” she said. “He won’t harm me.”
Logan’s lips pulled back into a small smile. “And what makes you think that?”
“Because I gave you life,” the elf woman said. “I assume Elderwood Rangers are familiar with the concept of gratitude.”
Logan glanced at the crystal, now dull and inert. “I’d say that toy of yours was mostly responsible for that.”
“A toy,” she said with a disbelieving headshake. “If only you knew what went into finding that toy, into bringing it here to resurrect you.”
“It makes no difference to me,” Logan said. “I didn’t ask to be brought back.”
The woman placed her finger on her chin, as if surprised at his behavior.
“You seem… belligerent, ranger.”
“Being cursed to wander the world like a wraith, watching the lands of my people change into nothing more than a sun-blasted wasteland—that goes a long way to putting one in a sour mood.”
She glanced over at one of her women. “Bring him a robe.”
The woman hurried out of the room, returning moments later with a long robe of black and gold silk.
“Put it on him.”
She did as she was ordered, wrapping the robe around Logan’s broad shoulders. The woman reached down to the sash at his waist, but he quickly grabbed it before she had a chance. The woman gasped as he cinched the robe closed. And he noticed right away that the silk was some of the finest he’d ever felt against his body—finer than the silk used by Elderwood Rangers for their bows.
“Now,” Logan said. “I want to know how much time has passed. How long have I been wandering this desert?”
“You want answers,” said the elf woman with a smile. “Then you’re going to have to cooperate.” She placed her hand on her chest, her shoulders squaring with pride and confidence. “My name is Runa. What’s yours, Elderwood Ranger?”
Logan wasn’t in the mood to do a meet-and-greet. But he understood he was completely out of his element and would need help to get his bearings.
“My name is Logan Grimm, son of Jesper the War Wizard.”
Runa arched an eyebrow, and a pleased smile spread across her face.
“Well, Logan Grimm, son of Jesper—you’ve been caught between worlds for two thousand years.”
The words staggered Logan. Two thousand years.
A question formed in his mind, though he knew the answer.
“What… What happened to my people? Where are they?”
The smile faded from Runa’s lips. “Your people are gone, Logan. Wiped out thousands of years ago. I’m… sorry to be the one to tell this to you. But there’s no sense in lying. You’re the last of your people.”
Logan swallowed hard. He’d known that there was no way his people had survived the onslaught of the orcs. That army had arrived for one purpose and one purpose only—to exterminate. He thought of the shaman, the sneering leader who’d wiped out his men from afar with a blast of magical power.
He didn’t mourn his people. Mourning would do nothing. Mourning was for men who could do nothing. No, he did not want to mourn. He wanted revenge. Anger boiled inside of him.
But as he looked around at the plush, luxurious interior of the caravan, he knew his anger wouldn’t do him any good.
“I’m sure you have many, many more questions,” Runa said. “And I shall answer them in time. But we must first establish why I have brought you back.”
“What?” Logan asked.
“That’s right. For we need your magic, the magic of the Elderwood Rangers. The magic of the War Wizards. It’s the only thing that could possibly assist King Corvan of Tyan.”
“King… who?” Logan asked. “Why the hells would I care about the some king, a man who means nothing to me? I’m back in the world of the living, and all I care for now is the warmth of a woman’s body and a flagon of wine to warm my belly. The problems of your kingdom are of no concern to me.”
Logan wanted something else, too—bloody revenge. But he kept that to himself.
Raymond, the man who appeared to be the head guard, sneered and shook his head.
“Is there something you wish to say to me, sell—” Logan had been about to call Raymond a “sellsword”—a great insult when it came to the head guard. But he had caught himself right as the pride and anger was about to get the better of him.
“What was that?” Raymond asked, goading him.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“That’s what I thought,” Raymond said, a pleased smile on his face.
“Calm, Raymond,” Runa said, raising her hand.
Raymond obeyed, standing still and not saying another word. He cleared his throat and spoke.
“You want drink and women? That can be easily arranged. But only if you do as we wish, ranger.”
Logan chuckled. “You bring me back without my wish to be brought back, and now you think I’m yours to command or to be bargained with? Perhaps I’m not in much of a bargaining mood.”
“This was a waste of time!” Raymond growled. “The treasury was wiped out to bring this cur back and—“
“Enough of this,” Runa said, cutting off the guard. “Call it a bargain, or call it a mere courtesy for us bringing you back. You’re putting up a front about not wanting to be returned, ranger. But I can sense an eternity doomed to wander the scoured home of your long-extinct people isn’t the fate you had in mind when you took your ranger vows.”
Logan gritted his teeth, knowing that she spoke the truth.
“Now,” she went on. “Bringing you back… it was no small doing. This stone…” She gestured toward the lifeless thing, its brilliance and luster gone. “We paid a massive price for it. Not just in treasure, but in time and blood. And all of it was done to bring you back in hopes that you could save our kingdom. It would be a simple kindness in return for what we’ve done for you.”
Logan crossed his arms over his chest, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Runa continued. “Much of the legend of the Elderwood Rangers is lost to us, but what we do know is that they were honorable warriors, men who kept their word and sought to uphold justice wherever they could.”
“Nothing honorable about coaxing a man into an arrangement without his agreement,” he said. “But… you speak true.”
She smiled, pleased to see that she was getting through to him.
“All that we request of you is that you assist our kingdom. And if the legends of the Elderwood Rangers and their magic are true, then this should be a simple task. As the last Elderwood Ranger, you are also the last something else...”
She let the words hang in the air, and it took Logan all of a second to realize what she was implying. It caused his stomach to drop and his insides to tighten. As the last Elderwood Ranger, she thought it would mean he had inherited the powers of a War Wizard. The gift of communing with the Archspirits in exchange for symbols of power, runic tattoos.
Could it be possible?
Logan wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t about to claim otherwise to this woman right now. Not when he was unarmed and surrounded by armed men. Yes, he had practiced his martial skill for centuries, but this was neither the time nor the place to see how well it carried into the real world.
“Alright,” Logan said. “I do what I can to help your kingdom with my magic, and you give me wine and women?”
“As many women as you crave. And enough wine to drown in.”
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
Runa smiled and clasped her hands together. “You’re helping us more than you know. And you’ll be pleased when it’s all over. This, I can assure you.”
“Easy,” Logan said, raising his big palm. “If I’m going to do this, I’ll need information. Firstly, what exactly do you need from me… from a War Wizard?”
Runa glanced over at one of the servant women and nodded. The girl hopped to it, rushing over to one of the bottles of wine and pouring two golden goblets full. Moments later, Runa and Logan each had one in their hands.
“Stay, girl,” Logan said as the servant girl prepared to leave. He brought the wine to his lips and drank it in a single quaff. He held the now-empty goblet out to the servant. “More.”
The wine sat warm and rich in his belly. He would’ve preferred a deep, heady ale. But the wine would do just fine. Once he had another full goblet in his hand, he gestured for Runa to continue.
“The king is besieged by enemies on all sides,” she went on. “It is our hope that an Elderwood Ranger might revive the practices of the War Wizards. If we could lead such a person to places of power where Archspirits reside, said person could commune with the spirits and be granted power. The marks of the Archspirits are infamous for their potency both in combat and outside of it. Such things could be the edge the Tyan Kingdom needs to guarantee its survival.”
Logan sighed. He was never much of a liar. It had only been minutes, but he could no longer hold his tongue.
“You think because I am the only Elderwood Ranger alive that I’m also a War Wizard?” he asked.
“It is so,” Runa said. “The sacred texts, as much as we have been able to gather, confirm it.”
The elf woman’s words, if true, were almost beyond belief. Logan Grimm, a Rank One ranger, a War Wizard? He had undergone no sacred ceremony, had received no arcane knowledge from his forebears. How could it be true?
Logan dropped into one of the plush chairs nearby as he listened. Runa started to speak of various scrolls, tomes, and inscriptions her people had gathered from across the continent of Varsyth. These writings spoke of a legendary spirit who haunted what was once the Elderwood Forests, and how on certain nights, entire armies of ghosts could be seen battling among the scorched earth.
Logan furrowed his brow in confusion mid-sip. When he realized just what these legends were speaking of, he let out a deep, bellowing laugh.
“Those were my conjurations,” he said with a laugh. “The battles these people saw, they were creations of mine in the spirit world.”
Runa’s eyes lit up. “Then you are surely a War Wizard. The gods must not have let you pass into the Hall of Heroes. They wanted you to survive. To return for a time such as this. To be the last War Wizard.” She seemed on the verge of bounding out of her seat. Her eyes gleamed, bright and interested. “My king said you could be found in the Middle Desert, and that the rumors were true, but he did not say how he knew this. Only that he had faith we would find you here. To think that we have done what seemed an impossible task.” She shook her head in disbelief, wearing a lofty smile.
“I have no notion of what to do next,” Logan said, not quite sharing the elf woman’s optimism. “The W
ar Wizards of my people passed down their knowledge orally. With no one except me alive, I do not know how to activate my magic or speak with the Archspirits. Do any of your texts speak of the internal workings of War Wizards?”
Runa frowned and shook her head. “They do not. As you said, such knowledge was passed down orally. And with the death of the last War Wizard, so did the knowledge die.”
“Well, why don’t we just find an Archspirit?” Logan said. “Are they still around?”
“That was my thinking.” Runa’s face morphed into a smile. “I believe there is one nearby. A place of power.”
“Then we shall go there,” he said.
“We shall. And you will use the power of the War Wizard to help my king? In exchange for bringing you back?”
Logan glanced down into his wine, the liquid a ruby red. He took one more sip as he considered. He knew that there was truly no other option. If he were to refuse, there was nothing preventing the dozen or so guards in the room from swarming on him and sending him right back into his limbo. Nothing except his fists, that is.
“Very well,” he said. “I’ll help.”
The relief in the room was palpable. Logan had no idea who this King Corvan was, but he could clearly inspire loyalty.
“Excellent,” Runa said. “But I must warn you—the journey to this place of power will take some days, and it will be another two weeks at least until we can reach Tyan. We will most certainly encounter dark forces along the way.”
“‘Dark forces’?” Logan asked as he leaned forward. “What sort of ‘dark forces’.”
“The kind who have taken the lives of twenty of my men on the way here,” Raymond said. “As we said, we’ve paid a price higher than mere gold to bring you back here, ranger.” There was pain in the guard’s voice. Raymond cleared his throat and went on. “You’ll need to defend yourself, if it comes to that.”
The blood pumped hard in Logan’s veins at the mere mention of combat. Women and ale were one thing, but the idea of cleaving an enemy’s skill with a well-honed blade? That was something else.
“Among these ‘dark forces’,” he said. “Might we find any orcs?”
