A Dead God's Tear (The Netherwalker Trilogy) (26 page)

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 rar
ely 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 e
lse 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 chu
ckled; 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 initiall
y 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 la
d, 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 bene
ath 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 tolerat
e 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."

Gr
egory 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 questi
ons 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 overze
alous 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 muc
h 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 co
uld 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 an
d 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 whispere
d 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.