The Aritor troops were blown from the mountain like leaves from a tree in autumn. Their bodies lay crumpled upon the narrow trail they had ridden upon. The horses were spooked and tried to pull free from their tether lines.
The squad leader shook his head and rose warily. His body ached all over from the tumbling fall off the steep slope. His eyes darted up the path of destruction, but the specter was nowhere to be seen. The squad leader looked down and surveyed his men.
“Is everyone all right?” he asked loudly.
“What was that?” questioned one of the soldiers. “What happened?”
The squad leader ignored the question. He did not have an answer for it. Instead, he personally checked each of his men for injuries. One of the soldiers remained immobile on the narrow trail. The man was unconscious, and his legs were bent at impossible angles.
“Help me with this man,” shouted the squad leader.
The other soldiers all crowded around, but none of them had any training in healing. The wounded soldier awoke, and blood flowed from his mouth as he tried to speak.
“He is dying,” frowned a soldier. “We will never get him back to the estate alive.”
The squad leader nodded sadly and stood up. “You,” he said pointing to one of the soldiers, “ride on and get a healer. Bring him back here quickly.”
The chosen soldier nodded and ran for his horse. He galloped down the narrow trail and disappeared.
“He will never return with the healer in time,” another soldier said softly. “I have seen battle wounds that were not as serious as this. He will not live more than an hour.”
“I know,” the squad leader said with remorse in his voice. “Still, I cannot stand by and do nothing.”
Even as he spoke the words, his mind drifted back to the black specter upon the mountain. He was sure that none of the other men had seen what he had seen. They surely would have mentioned it. The squad leader wondered who or what it was. It had looked like a man, a man dressed entirely in black, including a hood that covered his face. He thought about the wind that blew them off the mountain and then the force used to blaze the trail of destruction.
“Has anyone ever heard of a male mage?” the squad leader asked his troops.
All of the men shook their heads, and the squad leader turned and wandered back to the base of the steep incline. He stood there gazing upward as he tried desperately to piece together parts of the puzzle. He finally realized that the only possible way to save his man was to believe that male mages existed. He gritted his teeth and started climbing the blazed path up the mountainside.
His men did not try to follow him, nor did they call out to attempt to stop him. They were afraid that they would be ordered to follow him. The squad leader climbed slowly, his eyes always raised towards the top of the path.
He was over half way up the path when the black specter again revealed itself. The dark man’s hands rose over his head, and the squad leader shouted.
“Stop!” yelled the squad leader. “I mean you no harm. I seek your help. Hear my plea.”
“I have no help for you,” bellowed a low voice. “You trespass upon my lands. Begone!”
“We mean no trespass,” shouted the squad leader. “I apologize for any transgression, but your wind has injured one of my men. I am hoping that you have powers that will heal him.”
“Go away!” snarled the dark mage. “Take your wounded and leave me.”
“I would if I could,” confessed the squad leader. “You have injured him beyond what we can repair.”
“Leave him and begone,” insisted the dark mage.
“I cannot do that,” argued the squad leader. “Look, we mean you no ill, and we will depart and never return if only you will see if you can heal him.”
“More likely,” grumbled the mage, “you will spread word to others so that they will come and bother me.”
“The opposite is true,” warned the squad leader. “If my man dies, all of Khadora will know of the mysterious mage that lives here. Adventurers from all over the country will come to test their skills against you.”
“Your own tongue seals your death, fool,” bellowed the dark mage. “Now I cannot allow any of you to live.”
The squad leader started shaking as he realized that he might have pushed the mage too far. There was little doubt in the squad leader’s mind that the mage had the power to deliver on his promise.
“I do not doubt your abilities,” the squad leader shouted as he tried to stop his voice from quaking, “but there is a better solution for all of us. Even if you kill all of my men, I have already sent one back to my estate. All of our deaths will be even more spectacular to those adventurers. Heal my man, and I will leave and forget my way back here. That is my promise to you.”
There was no reply for a very long time. The squad leader used the delay to calm his trembling nerves. When the voice came, the squad leader jumped from the closeness of its proximity.
“Go back down the slope,” the dark mage ordered in a calm voice. “Tell your men to return to your home. You alone will remain to take your wounded back. Do it now before I change my mind.”
The squad leader looked up and could not see the specter upon the ridge. The voice had sounded closer as well. With a sharp intake of breath, the squad leader rose and ran down the steep slope. His men waited anxiously, and he instructed them to depart for home. The squad leader had expected scores of questions, but there was not a single one. The soldiers silently mounted and rode down the narrow trail.
The squad leader stopped next to the wounded man. His breathing was shallow and bubbles of blood formed on the dying man’s lips. The squad leader was unaware of movement until the dark mage knelt alongside him.
“Sit on the road and hold his head in your lap,” instructed the dark mage.
The squad leader instantly obeyed as he tried to peer at the face under the black hood. The mage’s face was hidden in the darkness of the hood, and the squad leader could not see it.
“What are you called?” the squad leader asked as the mage inspected the wounded man.
“I am not called at all,” answered the mage. “My name is Aakuta, but I have no need for it. In case you have not been able to decipher my pleas, I wish to be left alone. I will hold you to your word. If you mention my location to anyone, I will search you out and destroy you.”
“My word is my life,” vowed the squad leader. “I shall never give directions to this place, and I shall never return. Can you save his life?”
Aakuta ignored the question as he ran his hands along both of the man’s legs. He straightened the legs with a popping sound and then turned his attention to the man’s stomach. For several long moments, the squad leader watched the mage run his hands over the wounded man’s torso. The mage alternately grunted and sighed as he worked, and the squad leader had no idea if he was actually doing anything.
Suddenly, Aakuta rose. “Your man will be fine,” he declared. “He will awaken in a few moments. Help him onto his horse and leave this place. Do not return.”
The squad leader nodded solemnly and looked down at his wounded man. When he looked up again, the mage was gone.
* * *
The two riders were halted at the front of the Pikata mansion. The Pikata soldiers were well trained and surrounded the foreign riders without appearing offensive. The squad leader looked expectantly at the riders.
“We have come to speak with Lord Damirath,” announced one of the riders. “I am called Brakas and my traveling companion is Zygor. Please announce us.”