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

by Salvador Mercer

  He took no satisfaction in what he remembered next. He couldn’t remember such bravery in all his thirty years of life as the lady in the blue dress killed Boxer, one of his lieutenants, with that heart-piercing stab, sacrificing herself so the ambush would succeed. He could still see the ashen look on her face as she toppled backward, crossbow bolts sticking from her torso. He was accustomed to seeing death, but usually it was on a battlefield filled with soldiers. The current campaign of wholesale slaughter against the civilian population filled him with disgust.

  “Should we move upstream, Master?” one of his lieutenants, named Gund, asked him, his hair dripping wet, leather coverings a dark black from the moisture.

  “Not yet,” Khan responded, looking up from where he sat, his hand searching for the glass orb he carried in a pouch firmly attached to his belt. “I need to inform the Arch-Mage first. Set a guard around me until I finish.”

  Gund nodded, motioning to the other two brigands, and they stood a few paces from Khan in a semicircle facing outward, alert for any sign of the Ulathans, or worse, the wild bear.

  Khan pulled the orb from its pouch, uncovering the wet, silky cloth from over it. He placed it on his lap as he sat and closed his legs together to cradle the orb. He rubbed the orb with his free hand and murmured the sage words to activate its magic. Khan was weak, however, in the arcane arts, and he could not contact the orb of his master, Ke-Tor, directly. He failed to mention this fact to his own trooper, as he didn’t want to have to explain the detailed working of the orb. Instead, if his magic worked, it would alert his mentor that he was trying to communicate with him. The constant strain of trying to maintain the link was intense, but he persevered for nearly ten minutes before finally he felt the stress ease and saw the orb start to glow. Soon, he could see the face of Ke-Tor within the orb.

  “What is it, Khan?” his mentor asked, looking bothered.

  “Bad news, Master,” Khan said, his voice quavering ever so slightly. “We have taken some losses in our pursuit of a large group of Ulathans near the Gregus.”

  Ke-Tor shook his head, a scowl appearing on his face. “What do you mean? This couldn’t have come at a worse time, apprentice!”

  Khan easily noted the contemptuous use of his title by his mentor, curse him and his ilk. Khan was no longer confident in their cause, but he tried to subdue his feelings. “We were ambushed as we crossed the Gregus by a group of Ulathans. We were scattered, and many of our troopers are either dead or missing. We need reinforcements or permission to return to Korwell and regroup,” Khan finished, not sure how he would reach the western shore now.

  Ke-Tor’s face suddenly contorted into a scowling, leering visage of anger and frustration. “You incompetent fool! You had four patrols to track down a simple group of refugees,” he said, pausing as his face turned red and the veins along his neck and forehead started to become pronounced. “What are our losses? How many troopers do you have left?”

  Khan sighed, closing his eyes briefly before answering. “Three left here, but I’m sure there are more scattered . . .”

  He never got to finish his sentence, as Ke-Tor started screaming at him using all manner of Kesh profanities and colorful metaphors. Finally, there was silence, and his mentor became still, eyes penetrating, brow furrowed, and his last words were very measured and calm. “You have failed, apprentice. You have lost nearly fifty of our soldiers and allowed a raggedy group of Ulathans to best you. Am-Ohkre will need to be informed immediately. Stay where you are till I return.”

  Khan didn’t want to let his mentor discuss the matter with the Arch-Mage so soon after being informed, especially after seeing his rant, so he quickly improvised. “Master, before you inform the Mage, may I inquire of our attack in the south? How did we fare there?”

  Ke-Tor’s calm visage again displayed a scornful frown, and he almost literally sneered at his apprentice before answering. “We were successful in routing the last of the armed resistance, but we took heavy losses. Many of our soldiers will not be returning to Kesh. We have returned to Korwell to regroup and were looking forward to your return with half of the Bloody Hand Company. That is a pity now. Am-Ohkre will not be pleased.”

  Without warning, the orb went dark, and Ke-Tor released Khan’s orb. Khan felt a chill run up his spine. He had seen other apprentices killed for less, and he did not relish what was to come next. He thought, however, of the irony of his mentor’s displeasure while at the same time informing Khan that they, too, had taken losses. He didn’t think much of their success if his masters were counting on the return of only half a company. That meant their losses must have been equally severe, but that would not spare Khan the Arch-Mage’s wrath. Khan just hoped he would live to see another day.

  Targon felt his arms burning and his legs starting to get heavier and heavier. At first, with the adrenaline of the fight, the lady felt as light as a feather. Now, hours later, the chemicals coursing through his bloodstream had diminished, and the constant pace started to take its toll on Targon’s body. Twice already Horace and Cedric together had helped carry her, giving him a much needed break, but he could see the strain on old man Horace as the punishing pace was sapping his strength, and Cedric, having been born and bred around the books and relative comfort of the city life was weaker and lacked stamina.

  Only a half hour after Horace and Cedric took over, their pace fell considerably, and Targon worried Lady Salina was not going to live much longer, so he quickly resumed the burden and pressed onward. Her wounds were beyond anything the Arella plant could heal. At their first stop, they ripped pieces of the lady’s dress off at the hemline and used it to bind her chest and abdomen, securing the crossbow bolts and staunching the worst of her bleeding.

  Yes, the blood. It stained his hands and white tunic, transforming from a warm red liquid to a nearly black gel. Her light blue dress showed less blue than brown dirt and mud and the reddish black of the congealing blood. Her face was ashen, a hue of pasty white Targon had only seen when his grandparents had died years ago, and looking at her face only urged him to greater effort. One of her boots had fallen off, and Thomas had picked it up and carried it along with a crossbow. Targon could clearly see the game trail now and moved faster hearing both Cedric and Horace’s labored breathing behind him.

  Finally, when he thought he could go no further, he cleared a tree line into a small meadow, and on the other side not more than fifty yards away, he ran into the other Ulathans and stared into Will’s face. He stopped suddenly, almost tripping and dropping the lady as he knelt on his knees, still carrying his burden. There was an anguished scream as Agatha and several others suddenly appeared from the far forest line and ran to meet Targon.

  “No, no no!” Agatha exclaimed over and over, arriving and kneeling in front of Targon, taking the lady’s head into her arms and cradling it to her.

  A shrill shriek of a child shook the air, and Targon looked up, past Will. “Keep Karz away: don’t let him see her like this.” Targon could see Monique struggling with Karz as the little boy tried to run to his mother. Emelda reached his group and hugged Horace deeply. Targon could only hope there were not brigands around as the group was screaming, crying, yelling, and sobbing loudly all at once.

  “What happened?” Will asked as he, too, knelt between Targon and Agatha.

  “No time to explain, Will,” Targon said, breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath. “We need to keep going. I need to find Elister.”

  “Who is Elister? The druid you mentioned before?”

  “Yes, only he can help. Now, let’s go.” Will tried to help, but his arm was still bandaged, and while he looked haler, Targon shook his head, refusing his help as he pulled Salina away from Agatha, regaining his feet and continuing along the trail. “About an hour more,” he said, looking over his shoulder as he picked back up the pace.

  The journey was sorrowful. Karz finally calmed down, and Cedri
c actually took turns with Monique carrying him. Amy was strapped to Yolanda’s chest, and Emelda and Horace almost ran hand in hand. Targon knew this trail well but had to leave it for the last few miles as it stayed alongside the river, and he was heartened to finally see Bony Brook in the near distance. Usually, when he crossed the brook, the terrain would be barren and treeless, with only a few shrubs between it and his home, but now there were brushes and trees scattered all along the brook, and he had to almost literally stumble onto his abode before he could see it.

  Will stepped forward and opened the cabin door with his good arm, allowing Targon to enter the main room and lay Lady Salina onto the makeshift bed he had used earlier. To Targon’s astonishment, the room was clean, if not still rustic, and a healthy fire was burning in the hearth. “Agatha, can you do anything for her?” Targon asked as Agatha entered and knelt at the bedside.

  “I don’t know, young man. I’ve done more than a little healing in my time, but not when someone was so close to death as our lady here,” she said, taking off her cloak and wrapping it around the bolts sticking from the lady’s body. “Will, hand me your cloak as well.”

  Will took off his cloak, and Agatha folded it, putting it under Salina’s head. “Is there anything we can do?” Will asked meekly, a look of concern easily visible across his brow.

  “Send Emelda in here with Celeste,” Agatha commanded without looking at them.

  Cedric entered the room. “Can I bring Karz in to see our mother?”

  “Send him in, then, but keep everyone out for the time being,” Agatha responded.

  Soon, Karz and Cedric were at their mother’s bedside. Karz draped his arms around his mother’s neck while Cedric took her left hand in both of his. Agatha barked some quick orders, and Celeste took off running with her flask toward the Bony Brook, taking Yolanda with her. Targon wasn’t sure where Yolanda put her daughter, Amy, but he was sure someone would be watching over the small child. Karz started to weep silently, and Cedric looked like he was about to do the same. Having done everything he could, Targon stood up and stepped a few feet away to allow Agatha room to work and Lady Salina’s sons space to grieve.

  “What in all of Agon happened out there?” Will asked in a hushed whisper, stepping over to stand near Targon, his eyes wide, a look of sorrow across his countenance.

  Targon proceeded then to relate the events that had happened to them since Will had left with the group. He took care to keep his voice low and mentioned more than once how things had started to go wrong but were corrected when the lady demonstrated her extreme bravery. “It was my fault.” Targon ended his tale as he looked to Will for some sign of emotion.

  Will shook his head in disbelief for a moment before responding. “Don’t take it so hard, lad. The lady knew what she was doing, and we all knew this would be risky. You did your best, and, to be honest with you, I hadn’t hoped to see any of you at all again. Ten-to-one odds are not something that inspire hope, son. All of you did well out there, and we have lasted much longer than I could have ever expected.”

  Just then, before he could respond, Yolanda returned with two flasks full of water. Agatha took them and looked around for something. “Targon, do you have any linen?” she asked, looking him hard in the eye.

  “One moment,” he replied, walking to one of the back rooms. The nice blankets they had were gone, but there were a few items still left, and he grabbed a rough woolen sheet from a corner in the room and took it to her.

  “Now, go on, out with you all. I need privacy for the lady. There is nothing more you can do here,” Agatha said. “You, too, Cedric. Take your brother outside and let us work.”

  Targon followed Will outside, who in turn had followed Cedric and Karz. Karz didn’t protest and was led hand in hand by his brother to the front porch where Targon noticed Amy sitting with Olga, and the rest of the group was all lined up along the porch edge, sitting with solemn, gloomy faces. Targon sat next to Will at the very end of the porch.

  “So this is your place, eh?” Will asked, looking around the wooded area, taking it all in. “Seems cozy enough.”

  “Well, it is, but the area was cleared until just recently.”

  “What do you mean by cleared?” Will asked, arching his brows.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you . . .”

  “Look!” Monique almost yelled, pointing to the edge of the small clearing where the cabin stood. Targon looked in the direction she pointed to, and there, standing at the clearing edge between two tall cedars, was none other than Elister himself.

  “Am I glad to see you!” Targon said, standing and quickly walking to the old man. “What are you doing just standing here? Have you been here long?”

  Elister seemed to be looking at the porch and counting the group. “You seem to be missing three of your guests.”

  Targon took a moment to understand, and then realization dawning on him, he motioned inside. “They are in the cabin. One of our party is hurt seriously, and we need your help.” Targon started to walk toward the cabin, but the old man stood still. “Well, what is it? Come on, let me show you,” Targon said in exasperation.

  “So many people. I could smell them from a mile away.” He looked worried. “Oh, but yes, Argyll told me of the battle, though I could not find Core anywhere. I do hope he is all right.”

  Targon realized the old man was just as concerned for the bear as he was for his fellow countrymen, but he felt impatient and it came out in his voice. “We don’t have time for this. Can you help her or not?”

  Elister seemed to come out of his daze. “Of course I can, Master Terrel, I was already here preparing things for you and your guests when Argyll brought me the sad news. I had to return to my abode to obtain something for her.” And with that, he started off toward the cabin door side by side with Targon in step.

  “Did you bring some grog for her?” Targon asked.

  “I do have some grog left in my flask here,” Elister said, patting the second of two flasks at his side lovingly, “but grog won’t be enough. I had to retrieve something a bit more potent.”

  Targon reached the door and opened it, peeking inside. “Holy mother of Claire herself, boy! Didn’t I tell you the lady needed privacy? She is not fit to be seen like this!” Agatha’s voice screeched from inside.

  Before Targon could respond, the old man elbowed his way inside and came right up to the makeshift bed where Agatha knelt next to Salina while Celeste was patting the lady’s head with a dry rag, soaking up some sweat from her brow. “We don’t have time for pleasantries, madam. Now, if you please, I must administer something to your patient. Step aside.”

  Agatha wasn’t used to being ordered about, but there was something in the old man’s bearing and the tone of his voice that was polite but much more compelling than Targon had heard before. Agatha seemed to take this in as well because she stood and stepped back, but only a step, keeping an eye on Elister and occasionally glancing back at Salina, as she seemed hesitant at the new guest’s arrival.

  Elister stepped forward, looking at Lady Salina. Targon saw most of her dress was now ripped open from top to bottom but still covered her where modesty would suggest. Her skin was a pale white. Shallow puffs of labored breathing came with long pauses between breaths. Targon could sense himself willing her to breathe again after each pause. Elister looked at him. “Fetch me that chair,” he said, and Targon grabbed the nearest chair and brought it to him.

  The old man took the chair and placed it at the head of the bed and then sat. He pulled out several rolls of cloth and took two of them, putting the rest back in a pocket of his cloak. He then removed three small vials of a dark-purple-looking liquid that were tied together, and slipped one loose of its cradle, returning the other two to his tunic pocket.

  Picking up two rolls of cloth, he poured a small amount of liquid from the vial onto the ends of each cloth tha
t were rolled much the way a cigarette would be. He sat these down on the pillow and then took the vial and pressed it to the lady’s lips, slowly pouring the remaining contents into her mouth. There was a slight involuntary gag as Salina coughed, and the old man took her head in his hands and elevated it ever so slightly. He then laid her head back down and turned to his pack, which he had dropped on the floor next to the chair, rummaging into it and then removing a light tan cotton sheet and a dark brown and green striped wool blanket. He handed them to Celeste, who now stood to his right. Looking at Agatha, he spoke softly but firmly. “Remove this blanket and her dress: they will infect the wound.”

  Agatha stared at him for a moment and then up at Celeste and finally at Targon before stepping forward and removing the blanket and depositing it on the floor. With a final look at Targon, she quickly pulled the dress away from the lady, gently lifting her back and then her shoulders. Targon quickly looked away, not prepared to see the lady in such a state of undress, and then quickly, the old man motioned for Agatha to remove the crossbow bolts. “Take them out now?” Agatha asked, a frown on her face but concern masked there as well.

  “Do it quickly, both of them,” came the druid’s reply.

  Leaning over Salina’s body, Agatha grabbed the bolt sticking from the lady’s abdomen, pulling it free, and then she pulled out the bolt sticking from her shoulder. Suddenly, the old man stood and, quick as lightning, inserted the soaked purple cloths into each wound, stopping the flow of blood. The old man sat back down and motioned for Celeste. Celeste laid out the soft, clean tan sheet, covering the lady’s body, and followed it with the equally clean wool blanket. He then laid his right hand on her forehead and closed his eyes. “Leave me till dark. Don’t disturb her healing,” he said without looking up or opening his eyes.