“By Akun’s passing! Don’t do that!” Targon said to the bear. It appeared to be much larger when it was right next to Targon. It was on all fours, and its head reached up to Targon’s shoulders. He was sure it would tower above him if it stood on its hind legs. The bear just snorted and swung its massive head from side to side. “I don’t understand you, crazy bear!” Targon hissed loudly at him, the small fine drops now turning into a heavy rain, loud and pelting.
The bear pawed at the ground and rumbled a low sound yet again. “What?” Targon asked, leaning forward. Nothing. “I must be crazy myself,” Targon said, shaking his own head, “having a conversation with a bear in the rain, and a lopsided, one-way conversation it is.”
The bear looked at Targon for a moment, and Targon swore he thought the bear was actually trying to think of something to say. Finally, the bear took his huge paw and, with one swipe, put a mark into the bark of the tree next to Targon. The bear just stood there looking at him. Targon was at his wits end, not understanding the bear nor comprehending why the bear was following him. It could only mean the crazy old man must have put the bear up to this, which meant he had to believe the crazy old man could in fact communicate with the bear. Targon wanted to chalk it all up to coincidence back at his home, but here was a wild bear he would have tried to spear had he encountered it a week before, and it was looking at him not more than an arm’s length away.
“Druid, my ass!” Targon profaned just a bit, upset with himself for using such language with the bear. “I guess I’m going crazy, old bear,” Targon said, finishing his discourse and readying himself to leave, letting the bear do as it pleased. Indeed, half-ton bears often do as they please, Targon thought, so let him be!
The bear, however, shook its head from side to side as if making a “no” sign as a human would. This struck Targon as odd, and he looked at the bear again. He couldn’t understand any of its rumblings, and now it had stopped grunting and making noises and was using its head to communicate. “Impossible!” he exclaimed, looking incredulously at the massive bear. “Can you understand me?” Targon asked, leaning forward even more.
The bear’s head suddenly went up and down, and Targon stood back upright, not wanting to be too close to this particular animal. It had to be a coincidence, but there it was. Shock slowly came and went, and Targon got wetter and wetter from the relentless rain. The bear didn’t move, instead it just stood there looking at him expectantly, large raindrops gathering on its brown fur and dropping to the ground beneath him. Finally, Targon pointed to the top of the keep. “Up there bad man. You kill bad man?”
The bear shook its head from side to side. What good is the bear if it won’t help me with the sentry posted on top of the keep? Targon thought to himself, but before he could answer, the bear put its head down almost to the ground. “You kill bad man at bottom of the keep?” Targon asked, taking his arm and lowering it to the ground level where he had seen the pipe being lit. The bear’s head came up and nodded up and down.
“Blimy!” Targon exclaimed out loud, letting out a deep breath at the same time. He couldn’t understand the animal, but it could understand him. Targon had an idea. “Okay, bear, you kill bad man on ground, I kill bad man on top of tower.” Targon nodded his head, and the bear followed suit.
Targon took his bow off his back and nocked an arrow. He was still too far from the keep to make the shot, but he started darting from tree to tree, trying to stay out of visual sight from the top of the keep with the bear following him. When he got to within about fifty yards, he looked around the large trunk of the tree that was concealing him and saw two silhouettes. They were very faint, and he thought he saw the dark shapes of two tall but slender men. One of them for sure had a pipe and was smoking it while they both had retreated under an arch that was crumbling but provided protection from the rain. One stuck his head out and looked up at the offending rain, and in the faint light, Targon saw a brigand of Kesh.
Targon felt anger now rising in him, and he decided to act, bear or no bear. He could just see the top of the tower, so he braced himself and stepped around one tree trunk, taking several steps to clear his line of sight from the canopy of leaves, and pulled back hard on his bow.
Salina quickly caught up to Thomas and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Gently now and quiet. There is no rush,” she said in barely a whisper, and Thomas nodded and continued his pace, but a bit slower now, and he started to take deeper but slower breaths as well. Salina had seen her husband many times use some of the same techniques on his soldiers to calm them down, and she was glad she paid attention during her younger days when she oftentimes accompanied them on forays and patrols of the surrounding countryside. That was before she had Cedric, and though her time in the military with her husband was brief, she was using every tool she could to deal with the tasks at hand.
It took longer than she expected, and she was wondering if Thomas had gotten himself lost when finally she could just make out the faint outline of her son Cedric in the dark. He was standing and motioning for them to follow. She could hear the now louder rumblings of the Rapid River as it churned its recently melted snow from the mountains down and along its path all the way to the Western Sea. Cedric put his finger to his lips and motioned for them to lie on the ground. Together, the three of them started to crawl on the small rise toward the river.
As they inched themselves up over the small berm that was blocking the river from view, Salina gasped. There, on the far bank a good thirty yards away but clearly visible, was a large party of Kesh brigands. She saw several small fires and what looked like several small but crude tents laid out around the area. She could easily see a dozen of the cutthroats standing around the encampment, sentries most likely, and more movement within. There was a snort of a horse she could barely hear above the endless rumbling of the river, but she could not see it. She inched closer to Cedric, who was to her left while Thomas lay to her right. “When did you first see them?” she asked.
“Not long ago,” her son responded. “I sent Thomas back to get Will, though I didn’t expect Will to stay at the camp and you to be here,” he whispered, looking at her as he craned his neck to take another look.
“That was my idea,” she responded, somewhat happy he was thinking of her safety but mildly offended he thought her unable to respond. “How many have you counted?” She began thinking he may have seen more than her.
“At least twenty, Mother,” he said. It was hard to hear him since he spoke so quietly. “I think I saw two other groups, one headed south, the other north.”
“About a half hour ago?” she asked, trying to gauge the time it would take for Thomas to get her and then return.
“Closer to an hour. I had Thomas stay with me for a while as we watched them before I sent him.”
Salina had just taken a moment to digest this information when she saw torch brands arriving from the north of the camp. It appeared a patrol was returning or reuniting with the group of bandits they were observing. “Mother, look there!” Cedric hissed, motioning to the south with his hand. There was yet another group making its way north, back toward this main group, but they were farther away. “What should we do?” Cedric asked, his eyes almost as wide as Thomas’ eyes were, the glint of fear coming from them.
Salina understood then that Cedric was afraid, as were they all, but in the wild woods, far from the order and security of Korwell, Cedric would be no match for someone like Targon. She started to really miss the young hunter from the eastern wilds, and despite being younger, he would know what to do, but now that fell to her. Only her husband’s military service and discipline, which had rubbed off on her during their early years, kept her from panicking as well.
Salina motioned for them to follow her down the small berm, and she began to crawl backward until she could crouch without fear of being seen from the opposite shore. Her pretty dress was long gone, and the extra mud and dirt caked
on it hardly mattered. How much she had changed in just a few days. “Cedric, you keep watch on this group here. Send Thomas as a messenger if anything changes,” she whispered to them once they were all together. “I’ll return to the cabin”—all the city folk referred to the hunting blind as a cabin—“and warn the others. We can’t let them cross the river, if possible. Otherwise we will need to flee into the woods.”
She didn’t think anything could be worse than the thought of being pursued by Kesh bandits, but once she mentioned fleeing into the forest, both her son and Thomas’ eyes got even wider, and she didn’t think that was possible. She would have to have a word with Agatha about the stories she had been telling all of them regarding the Blackthorn Forest. “Understood,” Cedric answered finally while Thomas nodded.
She started back the way she had arrived, careful to keep the small berm between her and the opposite side of the river. She returned the same way she had arrived, by moving farther into the woods and away from the river before heading back north toward the blind.
She estimated the time at around a half hour in order to travel the distance between the brigand camp and the blind. She wondered just what her son was doing so far from the blind when she almost stumbled upon it in the dark. The only time she had left the blind after dark was the night before to get some water from the “Granite Pool,” which was what they called the small eddy of water where the large granite boulder lay that Targon and the men had slept on when they first had arrived.
The adults didn’t want the children getting too close to the river proper, and so, being that it was off limits, they all used the pool, which was calmer and safer than the dangerous river itself. When she returned, there was no faint glow of the fire to guide her back. It was very dark under the forest’s canopy.
“Halt! Super!” she heard the small raspy voice of Jons challenging her from the dark mass of trees and bushes where the blind was now well hidden in the dark.
“I don’t have time for that, Jons, and next time, stay quiet!” she hissed back, walking tentatively for the southern entrance to their small encampment, thinking now it may not have been such a good idea to let him enter the blind with the crossbow fully loaded.
“Put that damn blasted thing down before you kill someone!” Salina heard the crackly voice of Agatha, clearly reprimanding Jons. Salina understood that Targon was right about the city folk and noise in general. Agatha and Jons could be heard for at least a hundred yards, dark or no dark.
“Aw, no one plays by the rules!” Jons whined and then was quickly shushed by at least three different but unrecognizable voices.
Salina entered the encampment and found herself facing a crossbow held by Horace while Will stood with his sword outstretched. “Damn you, woman. You move silently like a thief. We thought you were one of them,” Will said, lowering his sword while Horace pointed the bow in another direction.
“Nonsense, Will. Even little Jons could hear me coming, but I don’t have time for this. We have trouble.”
“What is it?” Horace asked, uncharacteristically speaking. Perhaps the thought of his wife, Emelda, in danger and the children which he was becoming quite fond of motivated him to speak.
“Raiders from Kesh . . . lots of them!” she said, looking from man to man. “We can’t let them cross the river, and if they do, we will have to leave quickly.”
That was not something either man wanted to hear, and apparently, neither did anyone else in the camp. “We can’t leave here: we just got here, and where would we go?” Monique could be heard pleading.
The blind was built with arrow slits on three sides, and the crude door was built in two so that if necessary, the top half could be opened while the bottom was shut. That was the purpose of the hut, to draw game into the area near the calm drinking pool and shoot it, but now the slits were acting as small windows with one of them facing their encampment. Salina could just see the dark shapes of two faces, Monique and someone else by the look of it, probably Emelda keeping watch over her husband. Vines had grown over the blind by design, being planted there long ago even before Targon’s grandfather, Luc, had used it. “Well, into the forest, perhaps?” Salina said, not sounding very convincing even to herself.
“No!” Horace said, quietly but firmly. “I’m done running. I’m too old to go traipsing all over these here woods, and I won’t have them filthy cutthroats chasing after our kin children.” Referring to the orphaned and other children as “kin children” was an Ulathan mark of love and honor. Horace was stating he saw everyone in the group as his family or kin.
“What are you saying!” came a cry from the blind, and they could hear footsteps as Emelda ran out and confronted her husband. Yes, thought Salina, the other figure was indeed Horace’s wife. “You can’t throw yourself to your death! What about me?”
Horace looked at her and then placed the crossbow on top of some branches, forming part of the encampment’s ring. He walked over to Emelda and hugged her tightly. “You’ll be fine. Lady Salina is a fine woman and will see to it you are protected.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Emelda responded. “I can’t go on without you!” she started sobbing in his arms. They could hear chatting from the ladies in the blind, and, though they thought Amy was asleep, the little toddler started to cry. Salina thought for a moment that she was going to lose control of the whole damn group.
“Fine! No one is going to go anywhere, then,” Salina stated firmly, looking from Horace and Emelda to Will and then to the blind’s arrow slit. “If necessary, Yolanda, Monique, Celeste, and Olga will take the children into the forest, but only if we fail. The rest of us then will fight and make those murdering thieves rue the day they ever set foot in Ulatha!”
Will shook his head and slumped back down. The others seemed to take heart and courage from the lady’s strong words. They would fight and they would live and they would survive. Order and control quickly returned to the encampment, and preparations were made to settle in for the night. Thunder started to rumble from the north, and the smell of rain was in the air. Hope for now had returned to many in the group. Sadly, Salina wasn’t one of them. She had seen the Kesh numbers and knew in a fight, they would all die, every man, woman, and child, and so Lady Salina pulled out her sword and started polishing it . . . again.
Targon let loose his arrow at the dark shape on top of the ruined keep’s sole tower. He had been there many times before, even playing in the ruins of the old keep as a boy when his family was in the area picking mushrooms that grew in the deep, dark nooks and crannies of the destroyed structure. This time, he was there for blood and to wipe out the ones responsible for destroying his home and family. Targon could not tell if his arrow struck its target for sure, but he was confident it hit the lump of black mass he was aiming for.
He quickly nocked another arrow and turned both down and slightly to his left, letting loose another missile at the sentry with the pipe. His arrow barely missed, smashing its metal head against the tough granite wall behind the brigand. They were alerted now, but it didn’t matter. Before Targon could loose his third arrow, the bear let out an ear-piercing roar and charged the two cutthroats from Kesh. Targon looked for another target but didn’t see any, and the bear had stood on its hind legs when it reached the brigands, completely blocking them from sight. All he could see was the shining wet fur of the beast.
Deciding against any more arrows, Targon detached the arrow and quivered it while dropping his bow and drawing his axe. He ran up to the bear and yelled a battle cry, “Ulatha!” while jumping the last few feet and landing next to the bear just inside the archway. There was nothing for him to attack. The crazy bear had killed both bandits, nearly decapitating one of them. Targon wasn’t sure if they even knew what hit them.
Quickly with a bound, he ran into the ruined inner courtyard of the small keep and up the very same crumbling stairs the wizards of Kesh had used a few d
ays earlier. When he reached the top, he found his arrow had found its mark and was lodged in the third brigand’s shoulder near his heart.
Anger was starting to leave him now, as was his adrenaline, but he didn’t want to feel pity for the dying brigand. Walking over to him, he crouched down so the thief could hear him over the pelting rain. “Where are the slave carts?” he asked.
“Burn in hell, Ulathan scum!” the brigand replied defiantly, but then he started to wretch and cough. The arrow must have pierced his lung, Targon thought.
Targon was not raised to be mean nor born evil, but he had little time for mercy or compassion, so he gently grabbed his arrow, twisting it just a small bit. The brigand gasped in pain and started to heave blood from his mouth. Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to do, Targon thought, but I need to know where my family is.
“Where are the slave carts? The lock wagons?” Targon asked gently but firmly, no longer twisting the arrow but keeping his fingers wrapped around it.
The brigand coughed again and spat some more blood. “Long gone, scum. They left here yesterday and are deep in our lands now. They belong to us.”
Targon realized the slender man was barely older than himself, and now, pity started to well within him. “Why are there so few of you here, then? Where are your other raiders?”
The brigand looked at Targon with scorn, and then softened his visage once the pain returned. Bravado was one thing, pain was another. “You’ll find them soon enough. There is an entire company roaming these lands, and they will soon find you and kill you, Ulathan,” he said. “We were just a camp guard.”
Targon stood and looked at the brigand with a note of interest. This one talked more like he did, more like an Ulathan and not a Kesh, with their uneducated speech and bastardized words. Who was he? No matter, he had no time for this. “Tell your brothers I’ll find them first,” Targon finally said, pulling out his arrow and walking away as yells of pain came from the Kesh brigand.
Ranger Rising: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 1 (Ranger Series) Page 16
