Ranger Rising: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 1 (Ranger Series)

by Salvador Mercer

  “What did you call her?” asked Khan.

  “Who, Master?” replied Bolt.

  “A wood what?”

  “A wood-witch, Master,” replied Bolt, looking confused and unsure why he was being questioned in such a manner.

  “What exactly is a wood-witch?” asked Khan, both impatient and yet curious to find out what exactly had happened here and where this “witch” was at.

  “A druid,” responded Hork, cutting Bolt off. “Some of the boys here refer to the wood-folk as ‘witches’ when they mean druid.”

  “Rubbish, There is no magic outside of Kesh, much less in an outhouse of the frontier of the wild, but do go on,” he finished mockingly with a look of disdain crossing his face.

  “Well, uh, anyways, Master, we left Traps and Skinner here to torch the place and took off after the other huts along the valley, but theyz on the other side of this here river and I hadz to go all the way back to that der blasted bridge, you sees?” He looked over at Khan to gauge if he was following and possibly approving of his actions so far.

  “And . . .” was all Khan said.

  “Then the she-witch, er, I mean, druids lady, places a curse on me boys here and blinds them something fierce. I told them, I did, to gag her, but she somehowz got free and loosed the cart gate as well, and off jumped her little rat boy, he did, and jumped into this herez bloody river.”

  Khan thought for a moment more. “And what happened here?” He motioned to the two dead bodies of Traps and Skinner lying side by side in front of the little cabin where some other brigands had dragged them.

  “Well, he must have come back and slain them, Master,” Bolt replied, looking forlornly at the bodies of two of his soldiers.

  “Some ‘rat’ boy he must have been, eh, Bolt, to have bested and killed two of your foot soldiers?” Khan commented in a condescending manner.

  Bolt decided silence was the better choice than to try to defend the actions, or should he say inactions, of two of his troopers. Besides, he didn’t want the wizard, young though he was, to pry too much, else he might find out Bolt had ridden on ahead of the cart, eager to find himself some more spoils before they were all taken.

  “Let’s ride,” stated Hork. “Time to move out. Bolt, you stay here and torch the place when the signal comes, and see to it personally.” He looked him once over to put him in his place.

  “No,” responded Khan simply. “Leave the place as is.”

  “Two of our own lay slain, Master,” replied Bolt. “Surely the code demands revenge, no?”

  “Yes, it does, Bolt,” Khan replied, slightly rolling his eyes as if speaking to a child, “but this young ‘rat’ as you call him will most likely return here, back home where his cheese is, so to speak. Our forces are even now scouring across these lands, and he won’t have many places to hide. No, he will return eventually, and when he does, you can capture him. But if he sees the place burned down to the ground from a distance, he will not return and we cannot afford to have an entire company out searching for him. There is work to do.”

  “How ’bout kill, Master?” replied Bolt with a wicked grin on his face.

  “Not yet. Let us make him talk and tell us more about his escape. I want to know how they managed it from one of our sturdy lock carts. Not an easy task.”

  “As you command, Master,” Bolt responded.

  “Good, see to it personally,” replied Khan, wheeling his horse around and starting off toward the ancient trade road again, Hork and company in tow, leaving Bolt and a few other brigands of the Bloody Hand Company to set an ambush for Targon.

  Targon knew his family was far from where he was, and things were now far more complicated with the current situation he found himself in. He couldn’t just leave Marissa to her fate, and with her, he couldn’t cover near enough ground to look for his family. Still, he knew he had to warn the people of Korwell, though he felt for sure it was too late for that now, and at least look to see if he could find his brother, if not his mother and sister.

  “Wake up, Marissa.” He shook her in her sleep. The sun was just past high and starting its decent to the west. It would be a bad thing to travel with it in their eyes, but neither did Targon like the idea of just sitting for a few hours more to wait for the sun to set, and he had an idea.

  Stifling another yawn and pulling some straw from her matted hair, she replied, “Have you seen my family?”

  “Not yet,” he responded, afraid to say more. “I have an idea, though. Let’s go search for them. Can you do that?”

  “Sure,” she replied, a smile growing across her face.

  Targon looked her over. Thank goodness she had shoes, though he wasn’t sure when she found the time to put them on. Probably she was up early before dawn to tend to the animals, he thought as he looked at her some more and saw she was dressed simply but adequately for a day’s long work. “Okay, but we stay off the road and you can’t speak. Just whisper like me from now on,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. She just nodded, but the fire had died down to a smoldering heap of embers and there was nothing to be heard at all, not even the tweeting of birds.

  Targon led the way from the haystack over to the trade road, peering in both directions while crouching low. Seeing nothing, he darted across the road and into some tall grass and motioned for Marissa to follow. Soon, they were working their way south away from the road and slightly west away from the cabins to the south and east along the previous trackway Targon had come across. Thus, Targon hoped to travel south, and Korwell was indeed south as well but also west, and he didn’t want the sun in their eyes. He would turn west when the sun set.

  When it was almost dusk, they stopped under a low-limbed tree, affording some protection from being accidently discovered, and Targon pulled out two apples. Marissa hadn’t complained of hunger all day. She ate it quickly and to the core. “Good?” he asked her.

  “Yes, I was hoping we’d get something to eat. We had supplies, but I saw the thieves take everything, even the eggs in the hen house,” she lamented.

  “They took most of our supplies as well,” he responded, “but not everything. I managed to tuck away a few items from our second pantry that they missed.” And he handed her a piece of jerky as well as his flask for her to take a drink.

  “Thank you so much, Targon,” she responded, a smile on her face.

  Targon returned the smile and drank and ate. They waited maybe half an hour more when dusk turned into night before taking off, this time heading more west than south. After several hours, they both were starting to get tired. They walked over a small rise near a small running brook, and Targon thought he saw a very slight glow of light. “Get down!” he whispered in a high tone to Marissa. Marissa laid flat beside him as he peered out into the darkness across the brook. It isn’t that deep of a stream, he thought. There was just enough starlight to see rocks just under the running water. The glow from the far side of the brook was so faint, yet just inside a crevice on the far shore. Brigands? he thought to himself. Seemed odd they would be this far from the road, but he had to know.

  “Stay here,” he told Marissa in a low whisper. “I’m going to have me a look.” She just nodded and pulled herself closer to the ground. Targon edged back over the slight rise of the small east bank, crouching low, and headed north until the glow of the light was no longer visible. He then carefully approached the brook and walked lightly, careful to step and balance himself on each rock all the while making as little noise as possible. Once safely across, he took his bow from his back and nocked an arrow, creeping toward the light, which was now once again visible.

  It was a good thing he was quiet, because as he approached, he thought he could just make out slight murmuring as if someone was talking in a hushed tone. He was going to turn the corner of the rock draw when he almost stumbled on a sentry. There was a shadowy figure sitting behind a small rock, ju
st able to see over it, but the sentry wasn’t looking out. Instead, he was peering in as if trying to follow the conversation, and of all things, he appeared to have a book in his hands. Targon thought for a moment whether or not he should shoot the sentry, but something didn’t look right. Besides, he was so close to the sentry that an arrow seemed like overkill. Okay, we do it nice and quiet-like, he thought to himself.

  Slinging his bow over his back and sheathing the arrow, Targon took out his axe, twisting it in his hand so that the side of the large blade was now facing outward. Targon took four quick steps moving to the sentry, wrapping his left arm around the other man’s neck, covering his mouth with his hand, and at the same time, swinging the side of his axe across the sentry’s right temple. Targon was worried that if he didn’t use enough force, the sentry would cry out and send an alarm, but too hard and he could kill the man, which if this was a brigand, he didn’t mind, but the sentry seemed too small for one of the tall, lanky Kesh.

  With a small humph and a slight exhale, the sentry was down. Targon peered over toward where Marissa should be and was satisfied to see nothing. She stayed well hid, he thought. Another glance down and he pulled back the hood of the sentry. It appeared to be a young man, much the same age as Targon, but from the looks of the lad, he was from the city. He was not Kesh: Ulathian, for sure, one of his own people dressed in fine but dirty clothes. Well, fine from Targon’s perspective, as his clothes were actually made of cloth and not burlap. What was going on here?

  Targon belted his axe and grabbed his bow and nocked an arrow again. He wanted to be ready to run if he had to, but he thought he had come across some fellow people from the city and he needed to be careful that they didn’t kill him before they realized he wasn’t a brigand. He crept around the corner and saw the glow of a small fire mostly blocked by a large blanket hung over a section of rope tied across the small gully. He could hear voices now, and he crept slowly up to the blanket and peered around the corner with only one eye.

  There were several people there huddled around the fire, dressed much the same as the sentry was: fine clothes, robes, cloaks, and some blankets and linens. There were even some bowls and utensils and a pot hanging over the fire.

  “. . . but we can’t go back,” said a lady, elegantly dressed but no less dirty than the rest as she held a small boy in her arms, facing outward so Targon could clearly see the features of her face. She had high cheekbones and light blonde hair pulled up, exposing her ears. Her build was slender but fit. The boy she was holding had the same high cheekbones and blond hair.

  “Well, neither can we walk around the wilderness with half of Kesh roaming around these parts. It’s just a matter of time before they find us,” said a large man, his back toward Targon but facing the lady, and his clothes weren’t so fine, Targon noticed. More like those of a hired hand but with a chainmail shirt, he could most likely be a soldier.

  “I’m telling you this time it’s different,” pleaded the lady. “They came here for good, not just a raid, and I’m telling you they breached the castle. Korwell is dead!” Her face turned ashen, and she grimaced at her own words.

  “Well, if your man hadn’t turned tail and ran off with half the troops, we wouldn’t be out here now,” the tall, rough-dressed man said.

  “He was going to raise the alarm in the South, Will. You know good and well there is more at stake here than just our city, and where exactly was your duty post?” she replied, putting her boy down and standing up to face the rough-dressed man known now as Will.

  With a quick movement, Will stepped around the left side of the fire and came face to face with her. He easily stood a full head taller than her, but she stood her ground and met his stare. “And just what do you think you are implying, eh?” he asked, anger in his voice as he spoke louder. “I killed several of them Kesh scum before the main gate was taken. I had no choice but to run for it just the same as you!” Taking his finger and pointing it directly at the lady’s face.

  Targon had had enough. If the light of the fire didn’t bring an assassin, then surely the two of them arguing in the middle of the night would. He stood erect and came around the blanket, drawing his bow and, in one quick, fluid movement, unleashed his arrow between the two into the back wall of dirt in the crevice.

  “What the . . . ?” exclaimed Will in shock. Several people dove onto the ground, groveling and crying, while a couple of others ducked behind some small rocks in the crevice, though truth be told, there was scant room for them to hide anywhere in the tight confines they now found themselves. The lady pulled her son back behind her cloak and pulled out a small, slender sword from her belt sheath and stood facing Targon. Will was about to reach for his sword, leaning against a rock near the fire, when Targon spoke.

  “Hold! Don’t do it,” he said and, at the same time, stepped forward more into the light and lowered his bow in a non-threatening manner.

  “You’re no Kesh,” Will stated, eying Targon from head to toe.

  “No, he’s not,” said the lady, looking at first at Targon and then past him. “Where is Cedric?” she asked, looking concerned.

  Targon sighed, relieved the ordeal wasn’t more unpleasant for any of them. “If you mean the young man you posted as sentry, he is still there, but his head will hurt by morning.”

  Pushing past the others who were all now standing and regaining their composures, the lady walked past Targon, giving him a glance that could almost be felt. “I hope you didn’t hurt my son seriously,” she said.

  Reaching Cedric was relatively quick once past the blanket, and it took a second in the darkness to find him, but the lady reached down and started to stroke the young man’s dark hair and call his name. “Cedric, can you hear me? Agatha, fetch me some water and a cloth quickly. I think I see blood,” she said without looking back.

  “What the hell did you do to him?” asked Will, striding to stand next to Targon near the blanket as he watched the lady tend to her fallen son.

  “I gave him a nasty knock on the head. Some sentry you all posted, and lighting a fire was stupid,” he said, looking back at the glow of the small fire that even now seemed to be sending out a pulsating signal saying we are here to anyone watching. “Put it out now,” he stated rather firmly for being barely a young man in his own right and a stranger to boot.

  Will looked him over and grudgingly grunted in the affirmative while walking back to the fire and kicking dirt on most of it, and then he pulled out one brand that was burning. He grabbed a flask and dumped the water on the fire pit. It went dark with a hiss and a cloud of white steam rising from the fire pit. A very little light was left from the one brand, which was all that prevented them from being plummeted into pitch blackness, deep in the crevice. “Here, hold this,” Will demanded as he gave the low-burning brand to another man dressed in what looked to be a sleeping robe and a small cap.

  An older woman with water and a rag rushed by Targon, giving him an evil glance, and then knelt by the sentry called Cedric. “Here you go, me lady,” she said while offering the water and cloth followed by another scowling look back in Targon’s direction.

  “Thank you, Agatha,” the lady said as she dipped the cloth rag into the water and gently wiped the face and brow of Cedric, who was still lying unconscious. “What is your name, lad?” she asked while turning to give Targon a quick look, eyebrows raising just the slightest.

  Who is she calling lad? thought Targon, almost scowling at her, but there was something still gentle in the way she spoke, so Targon decided to forego any confrontation over his status with the group. “My name is Targon Terrel,” he said while slinging his bow over his back and securing it in place. “What is your name?”

  “I am Lady Salina of house Moross,” she stated, “and this here is Will Carvel of the king’s guard,” she motioned with a nod of her head at Will, who had walked back to the other side of the blanket covering and was looking i
nto the darkness.

  “You alone . . . Targyll?” Will asked, not quite getting his name correct.

  “It’s Targon, if you please, Mister Will, and no, I have one other companion,” he said, striding away past the ladies and Cedric, looking toward the little brook. “Marissa,” he called softly into the night, looking at the hill where he had left her a little while earlier. “Marissa, it’s me, Targon. You can come out now.” He took a few steps into the brook, careful to step on solid stones and not get his feet too wet.

  With a slight bound, he could just make out Marissa’s silhouette as she stood up on the small bank line, and lost it when she walked down to the brook. “I can’t see you well,” he said, looking for her and thinking he could make out her dress in the pale starlight. “Can you cross here?” He motioned with his hand for her to come over.

  “Yes,” she said. Taking off her shoes and lifting her dress, she skirted over to the other side with the water coming up to just above her knees at the deepest. Arriving on the other side, she opened her mouth in a large gesture of surprise and said, “Is everything all right? I could hear noises and some muffled screams. Did you kill anyone, Sir Targon?”

  Targon was just getting his eyes adjusted again to the night and could see her plainly now. “Don’t call me sir. I am a simple woodsman, not a knight, and no, no one killed here, but one careless sentry does have a rather nasty bump on his noggin,” he said, looking back over at the others, who, much to his satisfaction, were now much harder to see without the larger fire illuminating the area. “Do try to stay quiet, and don’t talk to anyone until we know more about them.” He looked at the small group gathered near the entrance to the crevice, curiosity now starting to overcome their fear.

  Walking back over to the ladies and Will, Targon presented Marissa to them. “This is Marissa. She lost her family to the Kesh bandits last night,” he said. He noted happily that poor Cedric had come around and was leaning against his mother’s side, holding his head but remaining rather quiet and docile. No doubt the bump on his head and being taken by surprise like that didn’t make him any more social than he already was.