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

by Salvador Mercer

  “Keep your pity to yourself, druid. I will return none to you when your body turns to dust and floats away on a stiff breeze that carries you to a million different places.” The High-Mage took some satisfaction in his success with his eyeball.

  Elister watched the man for a moment till he was sure he had his attention again. “Do you know that I once met your illustrious leader Ke-Torra when he was the High-Mage long ago?”

  “Impossible, you fool.”

  “I assure you it wasn’t, and the outcome was most interesting for me. I was but a lad back then, well, sort of. I think any normal person would have called me an old man, but I was in my youth as an initiate of the Arnen. Ke-Torra was quite powerful and greedy. I do believe he started the Great Dragon War, even though the draconus would have awoken and attacked the inhabitants of Agon anyway.”

  “You cannot be serious,” Am-Tor said, resuming his intense gaze into the chief critir.

  “I am,” Elister said, rolling his eyes back into his rocky skull for a moment and allowing the memories to return to him. “In those days, the Kesh didn’t have such formal and proper naming conventions that you seem to do now. He went simply by Kaytor, if I recall correctly. In today’s world, I think you would want to call him Amatorra, or something similar.”

  “He would be Am-Torra, and that is right and proper for the first High-Mage of Kesh.”

  “Oh, he wasn’t the first, I can assure you that, though he did change Kesh history around a bit with his planning and plotting.”

  “Your ceaseless attempts to offend me will not work,” the new High-Mage said defiantly. “Perhaps you will have a new calling in the afterlife. You will be the High-Nag there since it seems you are intent on offending those with whom you meet.”

  “I think the issue is with yourself,” Elister told the man.

  Am-Tor struggled to free the high critir, straining to bend the orb away from the Arnen. His facial muscles contorted, and his staff flared with the strong ebony light of the small dragon skull atop his metallic staff. The room lit up, and with a final tug, the High-Mage fell back in failure. The serene and calm gaze of the druid faded as the connection was broken. The new High-Mage had failed again.

  “Master Elister, are you all right?” Olga asked, rushing over to the man, along with Jons and Monique. Even Horace stood from his perch on the porch, and the commotion brought out both Agatha and Emelda.

  Elister had also fallen, though he was able to give the illusion of stability by blocking out the background and keeping his body straight as the ground rushed up to meet him. He landed in the same way he stood, horizontally, as flat as a board. “Dear me,” he said, with Olga and Monique trying to pull him up, to no avail.

  “Begging your pardon, Master Elister, but you’ve put on a few pounds since last spring,” Olga said, giving up her attempt.

  “Quite right,” Elister said. “Allow me to stand on my own. I don’t think there is much any or all of you could do even if you tried.”

  With great effort, the druid stood and waited to see if he would remain standing. His staff was gnarled, and he was using the granite stone atop it to channel the Kesh’s vision to him. It didn’t work nearly as well as Khan’s critir, but Elly felt it best that the young wizard had at least one way to divinate and possibly communicate, even if it wasn’t with him.

  “Well, you gonna live a bit longer?” Horace called out to the druid.

  Emelda shot him a disapproving look, and Elister replied, “I’ll be fine, but the next time the Kesh High-Mage uses his critir, I can no longer control it. He almost freed it with that last effort, and another attempt will succeed. I can’t stop him.”

  “That bodes ill for our heroes,” Horace said, resuming his seat now that the commotion had died down and it was obvious the druid remained dead in his current state and not really dead.

  Elister nodded and waved everyone away, allowing them to resume their duties for the night and prepare for bed. He looked at the moons as they traveled across the sky, and he thought of their heroes and the quest to free a loved one. He understood it, but now he knew that their lives became even more dangerous. He could keep the high critir from probing the forest, but soon it would be free to gaze upon other lands and other places. With such a strong device, the Kesh would be able to rally their troops, organize another offensive, and infiltrate their own defenses; at least, those outside the druid’s small realm of control.

  No one was there to appreciate the moment or to panic in fear at its implications, and Elly would have it no other way.

  “Edward,” Am-Tor yelled, picking himself off the floor and dusting the slight dirt off his robe. Being hurled away from his own critir was embarrassing enough, even though there was no one else to witness it. He wanted the druid dead, really dead this time, and he was willing to do anything in his control to see it happen.

  The door opened, and Edward was there instantly. “Yes, High-Mage?”

  Am-Tor didn’t wait and walked past the man and then started to climb the stairs to his own chambers a few stories above. Edward scrambled to keep up as the man spoke. “Tell Jakar I want him to find me an Ulathan, anyone who may mean something to this dead druid, and I want it done now.”

  “Right away, my lord. Will there be anything else?”

  “Bring me dinner and a pitcher of juice. Oh, and also a water bottle for my eye. It has been acting up again.”

  “As you wish, my lord,” Edward said, peeling away at the next floor to use a side chamber and act upon his master’s commands.

  He didn’t hear the High-Mage’s last words as the man continued to climb out of sight and out of earshot. “Someone will die for this.”

  “Things are going extremely well,” Alister said from his seat outside Dareen’s cell. He was sitting in the same chair that the dead guard had used earlier.

  “If you are referring to getting me killed, then yes, things are going splendidly. It almost happened today.” Dareen’s tone was more angry than anything else.

  “You worry too much,” the rebel wizard said, allowing an evil grin to cross his countenance.

  Dareen frowned at the man. “Most people worry when their lives are in danger; at least, those who wish to live.”

  “You complain too much. You are still breathing, so try to appreciate your current situation.”

  “How did you kill the guard? I heard nothing, and those dogs had your scent when they left here, so how was it that it led them outside to this very cell?” Dareen was bold in her questioning. She had to be. Time was running short for her.

  Alister cocked his head when looking at her and said, “That matters not. What does matter is the fact that we have the current leadership in a state of near chaos and mild panic. They have no idea what is happening, and less an idea of who is responsible. You play your role and allow me to do mine, and we will see to it that you avenge your country’s honor.”

  “Fine,” Dareen said, out of options and wanting to learn anything she could to use in her escape. She would love to avenge her country, her husband, her family, and even her own honor, but there was a part of her that cringed at helping any Kesh wizard in the process. “What’s next? The great wizard Jakar is suspicious and will execute me soon. If that happens, I’ll be no good to you dead.”

  Her words had an effect on the wizard. “Jakar is no wizard. He barely passed the initiation when he joined our order. That imposter in the High-Mage’s tower would suffer any fool into the order so long as they swore allegiance to him. He has no pride and no respect for our customs and traditions.”

  “All right,” she began again. “Those . . . imposters you refer to will kill me soon. Don’t you want me to help you kill the big imposter?”

  “I do,” Alister said, his voice softening with the apparent cooperation of the foreign prisoner. “I will cast a charm first on your chains and binding to make them appear non-magical to any casual observer. Then each binder will be imbued with the power of a fireball. All y
ou need to do is smash your feet and your hands together, binder upon binder. Do you understand?”

  “I think so,” Dareen said. “After I smash my restraints together, this fireball thingy will explode, killing the High-Mage, ah, the imposter High-Mage.”

  “It helps if you close the distance between you and him when you ignite the fires,” Alister said, his plan seemingly coming together nicely.

  Dareen nodded as if eager to assist. She had to withhold the intense urge to point out to the lying no-good wizard that during their last conversation, he mentioned there was a chance she could survive the attack on the High-Mage. If the deadly magic was going to blow up right in her face, she didn’t see any way to survive that attack, especially if it would be four balls of fire. The wizard was disingenuous and evil. Dareen had to escape before he could execute this plan, but she had no idea how.

  “When will this happen?” She tried to temper her acting so as not to appear overeager, nor make it obvious that she was not sincere in her cooperation.

  “Soon,” Alister said. His joy at anticipating his success and the rewards it would bring him was written all over his face. “The High-Mage is having some difficulty with one of your masters, and he is looking for a suitable subject to sacrifice, or at least threaten to do so, to obtain leverage over his enemy.”

  “How do you know so much of what is happening in the High-Mage’s tower?” she asked.

  “It is not his tower.” Alister’s countenance changed drastically when his thoughts were directed at Am-Tor. “The Onyx Tower belongs to all of Kesh. Besides, the imposter is too naïve to know if and who could be a spy, which makes him unworthy of the position. My master sees and knows more than you could imagine.”

  Dareen thought she could imagine quite a bit but decided not to draw the man into a quarrel. Instead, she had to sell him on keeping her alive. Sitting back a bit and rubbing her hands as if anticipating the moment also, she said, “It would be a great strike by Ulatha if justice was meted out on the invader of our homeland. Alas, I fear I’ll be dead before sunset tomorrow and unable to strike this blow for my country.”

  “What? What did you say?” Alister asked, leaning forward on his seat and completely forgetting his anger at the High-Mage and his anticipation of victory, which appeared in jeopardy by the peasant wood-witch. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Well,” she began, feigning disappointment, “first that new warden they have is absolutely out of his mind. He can’t speak without asking his master to kill me. He asks for my death at least once a day.”

  “He is insignificant—” the wizard began.

  Dareen cut him off. “Jakar was also thinking the same until the murders confused him and the entire ordeal where he was made to look a fool in front of his soldiers . . . and that Balarian, well, he wants someone to pay for it, and he whispered to me that he’d see me dead before another day has started and gone.”

  Alister leaned forward further, using his staff to assist him in not falling to the floor. “What exactly did he say?”

  “I don’t remember exactly”—she used his own word—“but it was something about paying for his humiliation.”

  The wizard seemed pleased that he was making his rival look the fool, but not so happy that it was putting his plan at risk. He had to succeed. That was his promise to his master, and his master’s mandate as well. “Perhaps we need to throw them off the scent a bit.”

  Dareen smiled, and Alister laughed at his own pun considering the bloodhounds that were used earlier that day. He seemed overly pleased with himself, and she tried to stoke that fire further, so she laughed with him, and then said, “You should have seen his face when he peered down from the windowsill up there. He looked like a schoolboy who was taught a rather embarrassing lesson by his teacher.”

  Alister held his free hand to his mouth to stifle the noise he was making. He gloated outwardly and allowed himself a moment to enjoy his victory. Truth be told, Dareen had no idea how any of the recent events could really hurt the man’s reputation, but if Alister wanted to believe that Jakar was made to look like a fool, then she’d be happy to help with that perception.

  “We must make them curious again. Do you have your magic toy wand with you?”

  She stopped laughing instantly and looked at him intently, recognizing a dangerous trap. “No,” she said simply.

  “Oh, come now,” he began, as if a father speaking to a daughter. “Do not fear this revelation. The reports from your capture indicate that you used the wand on your lock cart and freed a family member back in Ulatha on the night of your capture. You do not think us stupid now, do you?”

  She shook her head even though she wanted to say yes. “No.”

  “Now that is a good girl,” he said, smiling at her and leaning back on the chair before it could tip him over. “No one could find it on you, so either you hid it well or you lost it during your travels. Either way, you had some sort of witchcraft to use that could be of benefit to us. Think of your country and how justice would be served.”

  She pursed her lips together tightly, and then said, “True, but a shame Grimer stole it from me. I do not know what he did with it.”

  Alister’s brows went up, and his face was angry. “That no-good dungeon chief. I should have known better than to have trusted him. Serves him right, then, to lose his eyes and his life.” His grin became wider as he gazed at her, and she almost scurried away from it. “You, on the other hand, are quite the killer. Oh yes, we chose our champion well. The imposter will never see his death coming, not from you.”

  Dareen felt a chill down her spine, reminding her that she was in the presence of both evil and power. “Only if your spell works.”

  Alister’s eyes narrowed, and he barred his teeth, now appearing as a feral animal. “They will work. All four of them, and he will be nothing more than ash.”

  The day wore on, and the warm sun was most welcome to counter the chill breeze in the air. It was especially important after perspiring heavily from his increased workouts, which were now done under a double guard and a particularly nasty-looking Kesh officer who brooked no foolishness from his soldiers. Bran knew that soon he would face the barbarian in a duel to the death, and he was the underdog.

  So it was surprising when he was lead to the rear of the castle grounds in an area that once held the king’s garden. The Kesh basically ignored the place, and it was used by the servants of the army to collect a few small herbs and vegetables to supplement their supply of beets and potatoes. He was even more surprised to find the Kesh commander himself waiting to greet him.

  “Leave us,” Hork commanded as the eight guards turned in unison and marched away. They disappeared around the corner of the castle wall, and the two men were alone. Bran had never been alone in his captivity, so his first thought was that Hork would murder him. The Kesh commander was armed, and he was not.

  “You going to finish the deed?” Bran asked the man, bracing himself for an attack. He would not die without a fight, even unarmed.

  Hork scowled at him. “You insult me and my heritage.”

  “Do I?” Bran asked. “Who’s invaded whom?”

  “Your realm and your former king are unworthy of these lands,” Hork began. “Do not confuse our attack on your realm as a country with personal honor. What Kesh decides and what a soldier decides are two different things.”

  “Only in your world,” Bran said.

  “We are not so different, you and I.” Hork looked Bran over, assessing the man. “We are both commanders of our master’s troops. We lead in battle and we plan for war, both tactical and strategic. Duty and honor is part of our code. It is easy for you to judge others from your high perch. Being invaded was part of your penance. Dueling with the barbarian is another.”

  Bran noticed the insult at Kaz’s status. In public, when showing him respect, the Kesh called him a Northman. In private, much the same as they did in Ulatha, they refer to him and his kind as barbarians. �
��You don’t approve of the Northmen, then?” Bran used the more formal and polite term for the barbarians out of simple spite to Hork.

  “They are not needed, or at least, they would not have been needed had the masters listened to our battle plans,” Hork said.

  “Our or yours?” Bran asked.

  “The Kesh have more than one commander,” Hork explained. “However, when combined, we always have one chieftain or one commander. The other commander was too outspoken in the war council. For speaking the truth and his mind, he was banished by the masters. It was a group plan, but he paid the price for it.”

  “You expect me to sympathize for or with you?

  “Of course not,” Hork said, narrowing his eyes at Bran. “I expect you to do your duty, but this may have been influenced. Was it?”

  Bran was lost now. “What are you talking about?”

  “The wizard did not ask you to submit?”

  “Submit to whom?”

  “The barbarian.” Hork’s gaze never lessened. If anything, it intensified.

  Bran nodded in understanding, as he was getting an idea of what was happening. “Yes, your master asked that I not jeopardize the Kesh-clan diplomatic relations by attempting to win the duel with the Northman.”

  Hork spat on the ground in front of Bran, and he wasn’t sure if that was a prelude to an attack or just a nasty habit the Kesh seemed to have. Hork said, “What did he offer you in return?”

  Bran returned the Kesh commander’s steely gaze, understanding that his counterpart was no uneducated brigand. He spoke intelligently, and he surmised and anticipated well, which meant he was a thinker, not someone who would act hastily. Bran chose his words carefully, not wanting to place his family in any further danger, if that was even possible. “He offered my family sanctuary and life.”

  “Did you oath?”

  “What?” Bran asked.