A Dead God's Tear(44)

     
 

     

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.

Marcius's head still spun and his thoughts were scattered, unable to hold on a single subject for any extended period of time. It was like attempting to catch water in a net and sitting on the cold ground did little to remedy it. His ears rang as a creeping lethargy spread throughout his body.

The hours ticked away in an agonizingly slow fashion. Somehow, Jared had managed to fall asleep and Marcius's wits slowly returned, but unlike his friend, no sleep found him. How could that blonde idiot sleep when they were in a camp with bandits, not knowing if they would be killed tomorrow?

Marcius?

Faerril?! Where were you? Are you okay? Marcius felt guilty. With everything that had happened, he had forgotten about his tiny other half. Despite everything, he felt his confidences soar, emboldened by simply hearing the comforting voice in his head.

I could say the same to you, Marc. Your mind was like scattered birds, and we were cut off from each other. I can gnaw through the rope, you know. I'm right at the edge of the forest, about. . . and Faerril paused, and Marcius felt a bit of confusion from the wyvrr, I'm not sure about measurement, but I am to your right. Should I help?