Aakuta: the Dark Mage by Richard S. Tuttle

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.”
    One of the Pikata soldiers ran up the steps of the mansion and disappeared inside. The squad leader asked the riders to dismount and had their horses taken to the stables. While Brakas and Zygor waited, Bursar Wicado approached the mansion from the stables. He looked