Rorian's huge grin told him exactly how the protective oggron took it. "Not well at all, sir. We thought the oggron would kill the one man. He nearly in fact did, but somehow the wizard had released a spell in an attempt, we think, at killing both of them. A suicide with extras, if you will. But the spell must have gone awry. Nothing came of it besides an unconscious wizard and a very confused, Gragis."
Gregory's eyebrow rose up in surprise. That was something different. The wizards he knew would never do such a self destructive thing. He didn't know whether to be impressed at the bravery, or to mock the foolishness of the failure. The young man continued, undaunted. "Anyway, sir, we found no trace of these familiar creatures you told us to look out for. But, again at your suggestion, we tied the fingers together and gagged them; ensuring no spell play will come forth from them. They await your summons outside."
He was impressed. They had managed to catch a potentially dangerous group, alive. So very rarely did plans ever follow through without some mishap muddling them. He had fully expected, when asking Rorian to capture the group alive, for the raiding party to come back with significantly less members, and the heads of the wizards on the end of their spears.
"Good job Rorian. Split up any money evenly among the members of the raiding band for me then. Make sure to give a bit extra, taken from my share, to Gragis and Squibs respectively for their roles. Report back to me a full inventory of everything else acquired, after you are done."
"As you will, Boss" Rorian paused at the entrance. "By the way, sir, I must say, you were magnificent out there. Really inspiring. Perhaps I should compose a song of the incident? The Ballad of the Bandit with a Heart?"
Gregory couldn't help but to laugh, "Rorian, kiss my ass some other time, okay?"
Rorian grinned in response, not at all abashed by the tongue in cheek reprimand, then quickly exited before the full wrath of the Boss could descend upon him. Again Gregory chuckled; Rorian had managed to brighten his mood considerably.
Gregory rubbed his chin thoughtfully as his mind settled back to the matter at hand. What were three wizards doing wandering around in the middle of the forest by themselves? He had been initially wary of attacking the small group. Although he hated wizards, he didn't want a disaster to befall his band, something that could have been a poignant reality had the wizards been more experienced. But if there was one thing he learned, whether it was the battlefield or everyday life, information was the key to power. Wizards were power incarnate and they didn't just travel around for nothing. He couldn't just let them traverse around freely.
"Send in the prisoners!" he yelled.
In came Gragis and the three wizards, the thickly muscled oggron towering above his charges. He was quick to push them to the grassy floor in front of Gregory, a rough and not very subtle reminder as to where the power lay between the five of them.
Gregory smiled wryly, it was a bit rougher than his, admittedly small, conscious would have liked, but he couldn't argue with results. The immense presence of Gragis would go far in the upcoming questioning. A bit of anger flared within him at the sight of the wizards, but he was quick to suppress it. He had to go through this with a level head; vengeance was something he could pursue later.
He took the time to study his prisoners, using the enveloping silence as yet another way of instilling dread. The first of them was a rather scrawny lad, with unkempt sandy brown hair. His eyes wore an expression of fogged glass, as if he wasn't all there. Judging by the bruise blossoming on the boy's face, like a purple-black flower, it would have been safe to assume that he was only just coming back to his senses. Gregory wasn't too impressed with him, really.
In the middle was a much taller lad, with long curly blonde hair and amber eyes, which bored straight into Gregory's, contempt and anger palpable. The Boss was impressed with this one, not many people could stare back at him like that without eventually losing the contest of wills. The blonde man intrigued Gregory, for the experienced part of him sensed this one was cut from different material than his two companions. He gave a mental shrug. He had all the time in the world to find out exactly how.
The last of the three caused him to narrow his eyes, a bit of anger once again rearing its head. He had seen that expression far too many times, the haughty set of a face that viewed everyone else as beneath them. Poised like a coiled viper. It took considerable willpower to not just whip a dagger across the space between them, for the sharpened weapon sticking out from an eye socket would no doubt erase that smug look from her features. He did admit she was attractive, with her vivid green eyes and beautifully pale complexion, but when had the Academy taken up teaching women magic? Last time he had checked it was mostly a male profession.
All three of them wore standard traveling clothing, but as Gregory's astute eye was quick to notice, they had that 'new' feeling and look to them. It was obvious that none of them had born the weight of travel more so than a ten-day, perhaps two; and were probably newly purchased. And judging by their ages and general lack of wear and tear, it would seem as if none of them were experienced at traveling at all.
What were these children doing wandering about his forest?
"So, before we begin,” Gregory started, breaking the silence and pulling out a dagger from his belt, turning the deadly blade slowly in his hands, "Allow me to lay out some ground rules? You see, in order for me to interrogate you, you must be able to respond to my questions. Now, that's good and all, but then we run into an apparent snag. You're wizards, and I am experienced with your kind and your ways. So, if I even catch a hint of casting, the smallest utterance of an arcane phrase from any of you, I will cut the tongue from your mouth and force feed it to you, in addition to your still beating heart. Got it?" At the proclamation, Gregory threw the dagger at the ground in front of the trio, where it pointedly stuck with a dull, hollow thud.
All three were quick to nod their understanding, Gregory noted. So with a satisfied gesture, he indicated for Gragis to remove the gags from their mouths. The oggron did so reluctantly, again with a bit more roughness than was needed. He patiently waited as his prisoners cleared the filth from their mouths, spitting the gathering of saliva, dirt, and slime onto the ground.
"Alright," he said, growing tired of waiting. "We will begin with your names. Starting from the left."
"Marcius Realure." the brown haired boy mumbled, the words coming out in a slur.
"Jared. . . uhh. . . Smith."
Gregory's eyes narrowed. He didn't tolerate lying. Again he nodded to Gragis, and with a grin the muscular oggron complied. In a flurry, the grey skinned oggron had pushed the man face first into the ground, grabbed his hand and twisted violently at the wrist, hard enough to cause sharp pain that would no doubt linger, but not enough to break bone. It was a fine line Gragis was skilled at walking.
"Garalan!" the blonde man stammered through teeth clenched in pain, his face pushed up against the cold grassy ground. Satisfied, Gregory gave the motion for the oggron to release him. Something bothered him in the recesses of his mind. Garalan. . . .he had heard that name somewhere before, but exactly where eluded him. It was just beyond his grasp, annoyingly just out of reach. He got the feeling he should know it. . .
"Alicia Wendeline," the woman said, with just a trace of pride in her voice.
"Now that wasn't so hard was it?" he said, his voice bubbling over with false friendliness. “Okay, now what are three wizards doing traveling all alone in my forest?"
"I'm not a wizard," the blonde man whispered. Gregory found himself impressed with the fight in his voice, but insubordination was also something he couldn't tolerate. Gragis moved preemptively to punish the man, but Gregory held up a hand, stalling-at least temporarily, the punishment.
The oggron scowled, but obeyed.
"Oh, not a wizard? What are you doing in the company of wizards?"
"I'm a hired sword, we are. . . " Jared paused, glaring at Gregory. “We were going to Harcourt. For what, I know not."
Gregory looked at Gragis, and the oggron wordlessly confirmed the story with a subtle nod. The man had not used magic. Okay, it would seem as if it was now two wizards, instead of three. This was getting more and more interesting.
"We were going to Harcourt to restock supplies," Alicia joined in, yet another unbidden intrusion. The part of Gregory that craved order and structure yearned to punish the impertinent woman, but the wise part of him stayed his hand.
If his prisoners were going to answer his questions with little prompting, who was he to stop them? One had to know when to apply force and when to allow the situation to snowball on its own. "Marcius is someone who shows an aptitude for magic. I'm a recruiter and we were heading back to induct him to the Academy."
Gregory's brow scrunched up, something didn't fit in this explanation. All his time dealing with wizards, he'd never heard of 'recruiters.' Though the idea wasn't too farfetched, the mental image it conjured was absurd. He likened it to overzealous priests preaching the tenets of their god or goddess, resolute that their way and ideas were correct. Only, instead of priestly robes, the mental picture wore pointy wide brimmed wizard hats. "Seems like a jaunt for a single boy."
"Wizards are scarce nowadays. We are a dying breed with the superstition that surrounds us. No longer do families see advantage in having a wizard in the family. It is a brutal necessity," Alicia supplied quickly.
He stroked his chin. He could see that. Gregory had heard much of the rumors and such between wizards during his tenure in the Lorinia army, of how the numbers had dwindled in the Academy. Formerly full dormitories were now mere shells of their early populations. Last time he had checked, the numbers had been reduced from some fifteen hundred to one-third that. Though there were no doubt unsanctioned magic users lurking about. It made sense, but his instinct still told him something was off. And, over the years, he had learned to trust his instinct more so than even his eyes.
"And what do you have to say to all of this?" he asked Marcius, obvious suspicion framing his words.
The brown haired man just looked at him numbly, still seemingly not all 'there.' Gregory turned back to Alicia."What's wrong with your companion? Seems as if the Academy has fallen pretty low if it is willing to go to such lengths for that."
He didn't miss the way both the blonde man and the woman bristled at his harsh criticism. Again, there was more here than meets the eye. Jared was the first to respond. "Your big friend," and he eyed Gragis with undisguised hatred, "Cuffed him rather hard. Marcius had been a bit hysterical when he awoke to the face of your. . . well. . . that," he said, jerking his head roughly toward the oggron, mimicking the exact tone of voice Gregory had used. "He wasn't exactly conscious when we surrendered. It's little wonder he still has a head on his shoulders."
The huge grin he received, showing the garish extended incisors and yellow teeth of the oggron, again confirmed the blonde’s accusations. He couldn't really fault the brown haired wizard for being a bit addled. Even he would have felt the effects of a blow delivered by the strong armed oggron.
Gregory decided to play the waiting game. They’d eventually tell him everything. "Tie them up and keep a close eye on them. No doubt their familiars are out and about. Heads will roll if they escape! Tomorrow we will continue this."
"Wait!" the woman jerked against the iron-fast grip of Gragis in protest, before the oggron could re-gag her. "I have a bargain for you. For our lives!"
Something that she said, or perhaps how she said it, irked him to the very core of his being. He was done playing, done humoring them. In a near instant he had pushed himself off the huge pillow and pulled out the wicked edged dagger that hung on his side, reversing his grip on the hilt so now the dull side lay half against his forearm, and the sharp edge rested ever so softly against Alicia's throat.
Pushing his mouth close to her ear, he whispered in a hoarse voice loud enough for everyone in the tent to hear. "You presume much, wizard. You bargain nothing. You have not a leg to stand on. The moment you entered this camp, the moment you entered this, my domain, your lives were forfeit. It is my choice what I do with you. The only say you have in the matter depends on how well you answer my questions. Will I kill you? Painfully or quickly? Or perhaps I will cut off your hands and that foul tongue of yours, so you may never practice magic again, and then keep you around as a plaything for my men? No matter what I decide, it starts and ends with me. Got it?"
Their eyes widened as they all tried to process what had happened in that split second. Fear, yes, finally! The seriousness of their situation was now properly conveyed to them, and they now realized who exactly it was that they dealt with.
He pushed a bit harder with the sword against her throat, drawing a tiny line of blood that trickled down the length of his sword, where it pooled at the hilt.
He did it merely because he could.
Fear and respect went hand in hand, and he held no qualms in maintaining that status quo. He was rewarded with a slight gasp as the sword bit into her flesh, but the action forced him to look into her eyes, and the endless green orbs assailed his conscious far more acutely than the nick on her throat. He quickly withdrew the sword, swirling around to hide his momentary lack of self control as he sheathed it once more. "Take them and do as I said, Gragis!" he growled, shaking his hand irritably at the oggron.
"Wait!" Alicia pleaded, and her voice was so very quiet in the still air of the tent. "Please, hear me out."
Gregory was flabbergasted, even the unmovable Gragis seemed to be confused at this turn of events. This woman, this wizard, was just so daring! Did she not recollect the sharp blade that had been against her throat only moments before and the warning that had come with it? The sheer bravery, or maybe it was stupidity, convinced Gregory that perhaps she did have something that would be of interest to him. He was a bandit after all, and as everyone knew, people of his ilk were driven by profit. Or at least he was supposed to be.
Unable to hold onto his anger, he gave great sigh of resignation as he turned around, facing his three unwilling prisoners with hands open in a gesture of helplessness. "Alright, wizard," he said, plopping himself back down on his pillow. "Spit it out. What is it, Goddess willing, that you could possibly have that would be of interest to me?”
"I will tell you. Alone."
It started as a throaty chuckle, before erupting into a full blown laughter that rolled out and filled the air with its sound, continuing for some time until Gregory was in stitches. The fact that this wizard, this prisoner, still continued to make demands despite everything. . . it was just too much for one person to handle.
He figured he could allow it, just this once. When he finally managed to suppress his mirth, he waved for Gragis to leave, which the oggron, no doubt very confused with the whole situation, was quick to comply, dragging the other two prisoners along with him. The look on the stalwart oggron's face was almost enough to send Gregory back into fits of laughter.
"Alright,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Now that I have fulfilled your wishes, what is this secret of yours?"
"May I humbly request for you to first remove the rope binding my hands and fingers?"
Gregory instantly sobered. Narrowing his eyes at her, he warned, "Remove your bindings? How do I know you won't strike me down with some spell? What is it that you are hiding that you can't reveal unless I free you? I've been forgiving thus far, but don't assume that it is always so. I have cut people down for far less than what you are guilty of now, wizard. Damn, woman! By the Goddess herself, I should have run you through the moment I saw you. Wizards are not to be trusted."
"Please, I beg of you. It will be worth your while. No treachery will come from me, on that you have my word."
"Psh, word of a wizard," he said dismissively, but by now curiosity had thoroughly eaten away at his resolve. Warily he stood up and walked behind the kneeling woman. With a flick of his wrist, his sword easily sliced through the tough rope binding her wrists, leaving it up to
Alicia to unravel the rest from her fingers. To illustrate a point, the cold sword then found itself once again at her throat, lifting her chin ever so gently up. "Even a single hint of spell casting and I will show you that I am a man of my word."
With her emphatic nod as assurance, he withdrew the sword and sat himself down on the pillow, scooting forward a bit with the sword pointedly unsheathed on his lap. He stared at her expectantly. She flexed her fingers, willing the blood to once again flow through them, working out the stiffness that had settled in the joints, before matching his stare.
"What I have to offer," Alicia said with just a slight waver in her voice, "is me."
Chapter 16
The bandit camp was surprisingly clean and organized. Everything was in its place with almost a military-esque level of precision and care. Deerskin tents, cured white to softly glow in the late afternoon sun, flapped lazily in the breeze, while spits turned slowly above low burning campfires. The worst part about this whole surreal situation was that the occupants almost seemed like people to Marcius; milling about, chatting, laughing, and generally just relaxing.
It was hard to believe earlier in the day these very people had tried to kill him. Sure they still fixed him with pointed stares as he was led forcibly toward a large pole situated the middle of the camp.
Gazes mixed with uncertainty and a very healthy dose of suspicion, simply for the fact that he was a wizard, or at least an apprentice. Not that they knew the difference. But it was just so hard to hate them, for without their masks, without those wicked blades, they looked like normal everyday people. They were normal, everyday people.
Marcius blamed the bump on his head for that train of thought. It was too strange a notion, considering the circumstances.
He allowed himself to be led to a pole by the oggron, putting up no resistance as the strong rope was wrapped about him, securing him in place. The ropes dug into his arms, and the gag made his lips dry, unable as he was to lick them. Then he was forced to watch the grey skinned oggron lash Jared to a matching pole, in similar fashion as he was. Jared and Marcius locked eyes, both in that moment emphatically understanding what the other was going through.
A Dead God's Tear (The Netherwalker Trilogy) Page 23
