Mad Mage: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 3 (Ranger Series)

by Salvador Mercer

“Come on, she’ll be fine,” Isolda said, motivating him to move faster, having already noticed his concern.

  They ran till the sun was high overhead, and it struggled to even be noticed by the pair. For a brief, triumphant moment, a few of its rays found a hole in the cloud cover and lit up the mountainside in warm, pleasant rays that gave them hope. Then, with a determination that exceeded the will of nature, the clouds closed the gaps and choked out the last rays of light, returning the landscape into an eternal twilight.

  They saw the Akun temple first from a good distance away. It was due south of them, a quarter league, at least, with a large chasm preventing them from walking directly to it. The fall to the bottom looked to be a good three thousand feet or so, and the rocks below looked deadly even from a distance. The road ceased to be a road, and only a small indented groove in the cliffside indicated the potential existence of a trail.

  The temple itself looked forbidding. It stuck out from the cliffside to the very edge of the mountainside. It was amazing to Malik that it still stood at all after ten centuries. The structure itself looked much like any of a number of walled villas that were common in Balax; however, it was in a state of extreme disrepair.

  The stucco walls had all peeled away, revealing ancient stone bricks used in its construction. In more than one place, the outer wall had collapsed, leaving a pile of stone and rubble to mark its demise. Old, dead vines were strewn out across the structure, reminding them both of spiderwebs, except these were brown. The domed top of what had to be the main structure at the center, visible as it peaked out above the outer walls, appeared to have suffered a partial collapse as well. Dead trees and brushes dotted the landscape around it, and the stone of the mountainside was all grey and ashy as it nestled the place of worship within its massive peaks.

  “We’ll have to go around the face of the cliff,” Malik noted. Seeing her facial expression, he added, “Have you been here before?”

  Isolda walked over to the edge of the cliff opposite of the temple and pointed to a slab of rock just to its left. “That is the closest I’ve ever been to the temple.”

  Malik looked at her intently, and then said, “You said you had never gone past that death marker at the base of the mountain before.”

  “I said no such thing, and what I did say was that the tales said not to pass it at night.”

  “Or at any time. I’m pretty sure you said that.” Malik raised his brows.

  “That is what I was told years ago, and years ago, we crossed it anyway . . . during the day . . . if you can call this daytime.” The thief stood and took a few steps to his side and turned to face the Akun temple.

  Malik turned his head as she stood next to him, following her every movement. When it was obvious that she wasn’t going to elaborate further, he asked, “When were you last here?”

  “Eleven years ago,” she answered softly, looking intently at the temple.

  Malik nodded, though she didn’t notice, and he said, “Well, it can’t be that bad, then. You survived your visit to the temple and returned to tell about it.”

  She shook her head. “I did not.”

  Malik was confused, so he kept his voice soft and his tone steady as he started to think she might be slipping into some sort of trance. “Which is it? Either you came here and returned or you didn’t.”

  Isolda didn’t hesitate, but her attention was on the temple still. “I came here and returned.”

  “Alive?” It was a question, and at any other time in his life, the Ulathan scout would have felt embarrassed and ashamed, if not outright silly and stupid, in stating the obvious. However, he had dealt with more corpses, undead, and other manner of creatures who would not be counted as one of the living that to his mind, he wasn’t sure anymore if the distinction between life and death was worth noting.

  She didn’t seem to mind and answered, “Yes, alive . . . but not the others.”

  His skin tingled and his curiosity begged for more, but what she was saying didn’t make sense. “You were not alone, then, and how exactly did you go to the temple and return if you didn’t walk there further than this spot?”

  Now she did turn to look at him, and her face was pale. Her eyes were deep in thought, and he felt as if only part of her was here answering him now. The other part was lost in a memory. She said, “I alone waited here. All the others finished the trek to the temple.”

  After another awkward pause, he asked, “And?”

  “They never returned.” Her voice was barely audible, and she started to tremble slightly but kept eye contact with him.

  Malik was upset now. “Hey,” he said, grabbing her by her arms and giving her a slight shake. “I don’t know what Kesh or Balarian magic spell you’re under, but you need to return to me in the here and now. Snap out of it.”

  Isolda blinked a few times in rapid succession and then pulled herself away from his grip. “I never left,” she scolded him, her voice raised to a hiss but still kept low. “There is no magic here, only death.”

  “I don’t understand,” Malik said in frustration. “What happened eleven years ago? It appears that you never made it to the temple proper, only here. Were you a guide or scout? Did you keep watch? Were you supposed to guard them and failed? What happened?”

  The wind picked up slightly, and the Balarian woman turned to look at the temple and then returned her gaze to Malik. She spoke softly, but her tone indicated that she was in full control of her faculties. “I was barely out of my childhood back then. The expedition felt it needed a thief light enough to scale places within the temple that the others could not. That was supposed to be my job.”

  “What happened, Isolda?” Malik said, almost pleading with her to detail further. He had a nagging feeling that she had information that they needed to live for longer than one more hour. His voice was soft and encouraging, unusual for their brief relationship.

  “I . . . failed,” she said, a pained expression coming across her face. “I could not go further, and the leader took pity on me and allowed me to stand watch . . . here.” She took a few steps back toward the edge of the chasm, and Malik took a step toward her. He had a bad feeling that she could hurl herself off the cliffside. She stood on and pointed down at the stone slab that looked to be a good place for someone to secure their footing if they were indeed tasked with keeping a watch. The place covered the temple, the trail around the chasm as it looped around the side of the mountain, and it overlooked the trail where they had ascended. In all, a perfect observation post.

  “If you returned and you kept your watch, then you didn’t fail,” Malik said, trying to sound encouraging. “You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to . . . about the others . . .”

  She looked back at the temple and then to the Ulathan. “They all entered the temple, and only one returned here close to nightfall.”

  “But . . .” Malik prompting her, “he didn’t make it back with you, correct?”

  “He died right here.” She pointed next to him. “He died in my arms.”

  “Understood,” Malik said, nodding at her sympathetically. “Do you want to stay here, then? I’ll understand if you don’t wish to go further.”

  It appeared to be the wrong thing to say to her, and he regretted it immediately. “How can you say such a thing?”

  Malik held his hands up to deflect her anger. “I just mean that I can understand if being here is stressful to you. Agon knows I would never order you to enter that temple after hearing what you’ve been through.”

  She gazed at him intently for a moment before saying, “We are going to die in there.”

  “No.” Malik almost yelled it, but he lowered his voice immediately after.“We didn’t come here to die. We came here to live. Why would Kaynin send you here if he thought you would die in the process? Surely he must know that we can succeed in our quest; otherwise, his precious Arch-Mage will suffer an eternal fate of solitude locked in a desolated magical tower in the middle of a nasty swamp.”


  “You know nothing of our culture or our politics. Have you truly seen this dead wizard-demon you’ve described?”

  “Yes. I’ve told you as much already. This is for real, and why are you suddenly doubtful? What happened on the climb up here that is causing you to doubt everything that the old mage and I have said?”

  She was about to speak when her eyes widened and she took a step backward, forcing Malik to grab her arm and prevent her from falling off the cliff. He turned to see what she was looking at and spotted a pair of reddish-blue eyes peering at them from a dirt pile at the base of the cliff that was covering something. Only a skull could be seen, and then it shocked them and spoke. “Give her your charm, now.”

  There was something familiar in that disembodied voice, and Malik gripped the Balarian thief with one hand and drew his sword with his other. Then he said with a tinge of hesitation, “Azor, is that you?”

  “Yes. I have no time. The connection is critical and difficult. Give her the charm and enter the temple. Secure the rod and my freedom . . . now.”

  “What charm?” Malik asked, and then he felt the necklace that the old mage had given him as it started to warm under his tunic.

  “The necklace . . . do it . . . now.”

  Malik pulled the necklace over his head, having some issues as it snagged on part of his collar at first. He managed to loop it over her head one handed, as he refused to part with his weapon. He felt more than he saw the tension leave Isolda, and the skull’s eyes faded into black. There was no red residual, nothing to hack or stab at. As quickly as it had animated, it sank back into whatever abyss it had arisen from.

  Azor the Lich allowed his bony hand to slide away from his critir as the last of his energy and power faded. He withdrew, preparing for the next battle. He had only been able to occasionally peer into his magic ball and make out bits and pieces of his servant’s journey. He had assistance from Kaynin twice when he had summoned the necromancer from his hibernation, and when the old mage had made contact with the Ulathan scout who had been recruited to do his bidding.

  The necklace was something unique to Kaynin, and it helped strengthen the connection between Malik and Azor. However, due to the distance involved, it took most of his supernatural energy to not only bond with the severed skull and communicate through it but to even know the position of his servant at the time of the awakening.

  The first sign of problems came from the dark emanations of the Black Queen. He felt them as they were channeled across half the continent and part of the ocean. It was impossible for a creature of his nature to not detect the wave of power that the evil denizen from another planet exuded, and he prepared for the impending battle of the mind and wills.

  He had to win, else he’d suffer eternal damnation.

  “What was that?” Isolda asked, blinking and looking at the dirt-covered remains of a partial skull.

  Malik took a moment to assess the situation, and he looked at her before speaking, ignoring her question. “Are you all right? You were in some sort of trance, though it appeared that you had control of yourself.”

  “I’m fine now. How did you know?”

  “Know what?” Malik asked.

  “That I was in distress,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Malik shook his head. “I don’t know. I only knew that you weren’t acting like yourself, though knowing you for only a couple of days doesn’t make me qualified to judge you. Now, quickly, that was the Lich and Arch-Mage, Azor. He commanded that we enter the temple right away.”

  “So he is your master” It was a statement, not a question.

  “No,” Malik tried to deflect. “He spoke with . . . with a sense of urgency. I feel that he is aiding us somehow and time is short, so let’s go.”

  Isolda nodded and drew her own blade. Together, the pair stepped with a light foot and a quick pace along the cliff’s edge, first circling back toward the northeast, turning east and then coming in almost a full circle to the northwest. The trail went around the chasm, and it was shaped like a wide horseshoe. They avoided looking down and kept their eyes on the larger rocks and dead trees that could be hiding something.

  Once around the chasm, they found themselves at the front of the temple’s entrance. It was much larger than it appeared from the far ledge. Their prior vantage point was a good quarter league away, and they could barely make out the small ledge where they had stood but a half hour earlier. Looking for a way in was easy. They could enter the front gates, which had rotted and fallen off their iron hinges, or simply walk over one of several piles of rubble where the ancient walls had tumbled down.

  Simply walking through the front door seemed sacrilegious, especially seeing as they weren’t invited, so with a nod of her head, Isolda motioned for the nearest breach in the wall. Malik tried to indicate that he should go first, and the Balarian thief simply frowned at him and lightly jumped from mound to mound in summitting the small rubble pile. Neither talked, fearful of hearing their own voices in the desolated shadow of the Akun temple.

  Following her quickly, Malik stumbled and almost fell once before regaining his composure and crossing into the courtyard of the temple grounds itself. He received a stern look from Isolda for his efforts, and she pointed at the main building a mere half stone throw away from them. There were several side buildings that looked to be stables, garrisons, or other simple structures. The main building was the one with large iron doors that had rusted but not rotted away as the main gate doors had done.

  Walking as quickly and as quietly as they could, they crossed to the iron doors and stood right outside of it. There was no question that they could enter. One of the doors was shut, but the other was cracked an inch, and it seemed to invite them to push it open. Isolda finally risked sound, and whispered, “Do you hear that?”

  Malik shook his head. “I hear nothing.”

  “Exactly,” she said.

  Malik was confused. “What do you mean?”

  She tilted her head slightly and closed her eyes as if listening intently. Even the wind, which was whipping up fairly aggressively while they were on the other side of the chasm, appeared to have died down to less than a flutter. The air was still, and as Malik listened, he understood. There was no sound at all. No sound of the wind, no sound of insects or birds. No sound of even a drip of water or a rustle of a stray leaf. It was utter silence. It was unnerving.

  “We are wasting time,” was all Malik could muster.

  “Ladies first,” Isolda said, seemingly back to her normal self. Whatever it was that was affecting her seemed to have passed. With a push, the door opened, again with no sound.

  “Creepy,” Malik said, looking at the door’s rusted hinges and wondering how it didn’t sound like a cat dying a horrible death upon opening.

  The thief motioned across the room. “There, that looks like the main entrance to the temple’s chamber.”

  “It has many chambers,” Malik complained, looking from one door to another. The room seemed to be a simple lobby, allowing worshippers to assemble in one main location first before entering the temple proper or one of the auxiliary offices of church. The floor was tiled, and the material looked to be marble like, though it was dull and dust covered most of it. Several dead leaves remained scattered about, and the smaller doors were gone; made of wood, they did not survive the millennia. Only the rusted iron latches, hinges, and supports remained to attest to their existence.

  “Don’t you think this artifact would be wherever the main altar is located?” she asked.

  “Probably,” Malik said, looking around, waiting for Azor to guide them.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, looking at him.

  Malik shrugged. “I thought we’d get some help from the Lich.”

  “Come,” she said, moving with her sword held in front of her and taking light steps. She hardly disturbed the dust, and Malik marveled at her prowess.

  With quick steps, they reached what they thought was the mai
n doors to the temple itself. Malik pushed the door that was cracked a bit and looked at Isolda in amazement. “Something’s not right.” He motioned for her to stay back, and he entered first despite her scowling at him.

  They appeared to have guessed correctly. “Looks like we found it,” she said, walking up next to him.

  “Bingo,” he said. “The dome overhead was a dead giveaway.”

  She turned to face him and gave him a disapproving glance. “Are all Ulathans so witty as you?”

  “Some.” He shrugged and looked around. The main chamber had pews with a large aisle in the middle. The large columns that held the roof over their head were aligned around the edges of the room, allowing for many places of concealment from the main congregation. The dome itself was cracked and half of it was missing; however, almost none of what had fallen remained either within the building or on the floor. It appeared that it was either taken out or disintegrated altogether.

  A faint light started to glow at the opposite end from where they stood. “That has to be the altar,” Isolda said.

  Moving quickly, they crossed the distance, moving down the aisle between the pews before stopping a few steps away from a raised dais. On a simple stone altar lay a rod that looked as if it were made from silver and not gold. It had a large diamond on its tip, with a broad hilt, and it was only a few hand widths in length, much the size of a small club. It glowed a faint ebony color bordering on purple, unlike the reds and blues that Malik had witnessed before. This color was entirely new to him.

  He turned to the thief and said, “It can’t be this simple.”

  They heard a disembodied laugh that echoed throughout the chamber. It was impossible to tell where it came from, as it surrounded them and enveloped them in a chill of death. Malik wondered what that would have sounded like had the dome been intact. It would have been fatal, or so he thought.

  They didn’t have long to wait when a small man walked from around a pillar behind the altar and in front of the scepter. He had a shaved head, was short and stubby, and his skin looked taut and dry, almost on the verge of being mummified. His eye sockets glowed the red of the undead, and his cloths were tattered and filthy. He held a small wooden club cradled in one arm and put the other on his hip in a most life-like manner. He laughed one last time and then stopped.