“You can’t mean that! We just met. What are you talking about?” Targon asked, slightly panicked.
“Now, now, don’t worry yourself over someone such as myself. I am old. Old and tired, Master Terrel, and I feel it in my bones. Soon, I feel I must rest the eternal sleep of my ancestors and return to our mother. Now don’t you go making sad faces at my remark. I still have some life left in these old bones,” Elister said, standing, and Targon stood to face him. “I must leave now. I feel I’ve rested enough to travel. I’ll either return or send word . . . Well, I’ll return personally, then, seeing as how I don’t think you, much less the city folk inside, will understand the messenger I send. I should be back by tomorrow evening. Remember my words, and do allow the young lady her rest. She should be awake in the morning if you don’t disturb her.”
Targon nodded, not saying anything at first, and then hesitantly, he embraced the old man and pulled back. “She will rest, I promise. Thank you for your help . . . Elister. You are a good man.”
“Thank you for saying.” Elister smiled and grabbed his staff from where it was leaning against the cabin wall. “Rest easy tonight. You are protected at least for this evening.” And clutching his robe tightly around his waist to ward off the chill that was growing as the night progressed, Targon watched the old man walk south and disappear into the forest, and then he turned, opened the door, and entered his home.
Khan saw the twin sister moons, Sara and Tira, as they rose and chased the dragon’s fire across the sky. It was dark and not long after sunset, but the moons and band of milky white illuminated the ground where he was lying. He couldn’t believe he was alive. Unfortunately, he was still on the eastern shore of the Gregus at the edge of the Earlstyne forest, only much farther downstream. How much farther he did not know and did not care. He was only elated to be alive. What a miracle it is, he thought to himself.
Khan remembered the pull of the river and the intense pain from Gund’s stabbing wound in his left arm. He only knew how to dog paddle, and even that he was unable to do as his arm would not follow his commands. He blacked out several times, if he remembered correctly, and after a long time was somehow able to grab onto a tree limb that was hanging in the water. He could not pull himself out and several times almost let go. Only when he found the primordial strength that one obtained when facing certain death was he able to loop his legs around the branch and ever so slowly, half in and half out of the raging water, he edged himself to the shore until he could drop his feet and trudge out of the clutches of the Gregus.
He remembered he passed out again for who knows how long. When he came to, he was shivering with cold. His strength was sapped, and he couldn’t stand. He thought one or more of his ribs was cracked, and his left arm was not only lacerated with a deep, open, gashing wound but he was sure it was fractured as well. Death was waiting to take the young man to the underworld.
With great effort, he pulled his good arm up to his necklace chain made of pure gold where there were three small but dense porcelain balls with the same sheen and size as a pearl. The larger one was red, and it was flanked on either side by two smaller blue ones. His staff, his pack, his orb, and all his supplies were lost, except for the lifesaving magic in the small pearl-sized balls. He had no choice. This was the exact reason he had the magic necklace. He would have preferred to use one of the two blue healing balls, but he knew he was beyond the power they had to heal. No, if he was to survive the day, he needed to use his one and only healing Talaman. He took the small red globe and yanked it from the necklace and then placed it in his mouth and swallowed before he blacked out again.
Now he was alive. He knew he had awoken in Agon and not the underworld because he saw the twin sisters in the night sky. Mages didn’t normally have healing magic. They required the administrations of a powerful cleric or shaman from a nurturing civilization. Kesh was not known for nurturing, but rather for destruction. It had cost Khan more than he cared to remember to obtain his Talaman, and he had hoped to never have to use them, but today showed that hope to be in vain. Khan sat up and realized he must have crawled from the river’s edge to the base of a tree that had a pile of wet leaves around it from last year’s fall season. The leaves clung to his wet robe and were stuck to his skin and in his hair. He should have died from hypothermia, but he felt hot. His body was burning intently, and he gingerly stood and removed his robe, throwing it over a low hung branch to dry with both arms.
Yes, both arms. His wounded arm bore a nasty gash where Gund’s short sword had penetrated all the way to the bone and fractured it. Now it was sore, but he swung it around his shoulder and stretched it, feeling his blood coursing through the arm, heat coming off of his body in huge waves. It was dark and there was a chill in the air, but Khan did not notice. His Talaman was working and would do so for a full day. Khan quickly stripped out of his wet clothes and returned to the river to drink. He was thirsty: the heat was so intense he was sweating and had lost a lot of fluids, not to mention blood. He drank in long swigs until he felt the intense thirst finally relent and his skin felt warm and not so hot. He returned to the tree and sat at its base, removing his boots and leaning them upside down against the tree. He was now dressed only in his breeches. His trousers, tunic, cloak, socks, and boots were all off and either hanging on the tree or set on the ground. He doubted they would be completely dry by morning, but when his Talaman wore off, he didn’t want to be wearing cold wet clothes, if he could help it.
He felt no hunger, however. Thirst seemed to be his only discomfort outside of some soreness where he had suffered the worst wounds. He felt his chest and gingerly touched his ribs where he thought they had broken on his right side. He felt the customary soreness one felt after healing quickly, but no pain. All seemed intact.
Anger. Now that he could think past his own survival, he found himself mulling over the reasons for his ex-mentor’s actions. He could not fathom the reason behind them. Certainly there were losses, but he was sure there had to be more troopers in and around the area. It would be a simple matter to regroup. No, something else must have happened adding to their prior history to cause the attempt on Khan’s life. Khan was no fool. He knew full well the dangers of being associated with certain wizards, and indeed with this one in particular. He felt rage as hot as his own body, which was under the influence of the Talaman. He would seek and obtain his retribution one way or the other, but how?
He looked around in the dark, listening to the river’s roar nearby. He could hear an owl hoot and the faint dull sound of insects chirping in the dark. He could not go south downstream: that would only take him closer to the last remaining lands of the Ulathans, and he was pretty sure they would kill him on sight. He could not cross the river west: it was impassable. East was the Earlstyne forest, and the thought of walking in there unarmed was as close to suicide as he dared to imagine. No, despite the attempted assassination on his life, he could only hope to return north and see if he could regroup, perhaps find a way to discuss the situation with Am-Ohkre. Better yet, return to Kesh ahead of his rival Ke-Tor and plot to have him eliminated upon his return. He had some resources in Kesh stockpiled for just such an occasion, but the immediate need was to remain alive.
He was on the wrong side of the Gregus River. He was alone and without provisions or his staff, which he needed to work his magic. There was that wild, enraged bear loose on this side of the shore, and finally, he had to deal with the fact that there was an armed and deadly group of Ulathan rebels also in the vicinity. He thought for a moment of his odds to survive and gave himself a one in three, if not a one in four, chance. He wanted to better those odds, so he determinedly decided his first course of action when dawn broke was to head north and seek out his staff. Gund had kicked it away, but the bear intervened, and if the Ulathans didn’t discover it, he could retrieve it as well as his orb and provisions. That was his plan.
He folded his arms then and noticed across
the river on top of a lone tree was a bird. It looked like an eagle, and it was looking intently at him or near him. After some time, the bird took flight and disappeared northeast over the river and forest. Khan suddenly felt a shiver come over his otherwise raging hot body, and he was filled with dread. Something was watching him.
The night was quickly over. Dawn broke over the Border Mountains, and Targon woke from his makeshift bed on the floor near the hearth. He could hear the early morning birds tweeting outside as Agon warmed and came to life. He saw Marissa, already awake, sitting near the fire, stoking it with the poker. It looked like she had added a couple of logs that were stored near the hearth by either side. When the brigands raided their home, they took mainly provisions, animals, and foodstuffs. Targon realized, despite the hearty meatless stew they all ate last night, there was scant food left for today, much less this morning.
Targon rubbed his eyes and walked over to Marissa by the hearth, who was still stoking if not playing with the fire embers. “Good morning,” Targon said, stifling a yawn.
“Morning,” Marissa replied sadly.
“Something wrong, Marissa?” Targon asked, now concerned.
“I miss my family,” she replied simply.
Targon realized suddenly that the fire in the hearth reminded him of the night he had met her: her house had burned down before their very eyes. The thought of the fire and solace in the early morning must have led her to thoughts of her family. He knew it would do the same to him. “I do, too,” he said, kneeling by her and putting his arm around her tenderly.
Targon gave her a moment and then decided to do something for the group. Quietly, he left the cabin after grabbing his axe and bow where he had left them by his bedside. He didn’t want to disturb Lady Salina’s sleep where she lay all night, along with Agatha, who was now tending to her. Monique, Olga, and Celeste were also in the same small room his mother and Ann had used. Horace and Emelda shared his room with Yolanda and her daughter, Amy. Cedric, Karz, and little Jons were all up in the loft. Targon could hear Cedric’s breathing, though he couldn’t really see them from his vantage point. He’d have to half climb up the crude ladder against the wall or step all the way back to the doors to the rear rooms to be able to see any part of them. Will, Thomas, and Targon had slept in the main room on the floor. Cedric had insisted on sleeping with his brother, and Thomas complained quickly that the loft was too hot for him and had come down shortly after everyone retired for the evening.
The cool air of dawn slapped Targon in the face, but it felt good. He loved the outdoors. Despite the warmth of his home, it had felt a bit stuffy with so many people crammed inside. Quickly, he ran out to Bony Brook, running alongside it to the southeast, heading a bit deeper into the forest. Soon, he found what he was looking for: The latest warren of rabbits near the area a couple of stone throws away from the brook. With sixteen mouths to feed, he was going to either have to be very lucky or hunt all day. Targon drew an arrow and strung his bow and took aim.
Ke-Tor couldn’t believe their luck, or lack of it, to be more precise. They lost another half dozen soldiers to a group of Ulathans that were hiding in one of the castle’s storehouse sheds, even though they were supposedly searched well. Am-Ohkre delayed their departure by two more days to make sure the castle was secure. He had used his critir orb to magically search the castle grounds, and he ordered Ke-Tor himself to set several defensive spells on key doors and corridors. By the time they had finished, three more Ulathans were found and executed, and both sorcerers had to rest to recoup from the exhaustion their magic use had caused them.
They were finally rested and ready to depart early the next day. Ke-Tor had tried several times to use his own critir to contact his apprentice’s orb. The call would be very compelling for Khan to ignore, such was the way the orbs worked. The weaker-willed individual would eventually succumb to its call, unless he was either dead or a good distance away from the orb. Ke-Tor had actually connected with Khan’s orb and peered through it but saw only dirt and grass. Why Gund would not bring the orb back to him as ordered troubled the conniving wizard. Ke-Tor felt fairly confident that Khan was dead, but the lack of information from Gund was most bothersome.
“Problem, Master?” Hork asked as he approached the tower.
Ke-Tor looked over at their brigand leader and appraised the man, taking his measure. Was he with Am-Ohkre or another? Could he be trusted with a task? Ke-Tor decided to roll the die. Fortune, after all, favored the bold. “Take two of your swiftest scouts on our fastest steeds and send them due east to the Gregus River. Look for either Gund or my apprentice Khan. Have the scouts watch them only. One watches and the other returns to report. We will be leaving shortly, so your men will have to go now. Tell no one about this,” Ke-Tor finished, with an unspoken threat hanging in the air.
Hork looked around for a second to see if they were truly alone. Hork knew Ke-Tor to be one of the most ruthless wizards in all of Kesh. Seeing no sign of Am-Ohkre, the brigand chieftain nodded and walked away, ready to order the scouts to leave. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he’d find out in good time. He always did.
Ke-Tor watched the approaching dawn and waited for Am-Ohkre to make his appearance. He’d make the Arch-Mage climb the stairs first, however. One way or the other, he would see to it this fiasco was laid at the old man’s feet. Let him disrespect the High-Mage personally and see what follows.
Am-Sultain rose before dawn and ascended to the High Chamber of Seeing within the Onyx Tower. His old apprentice Ke-Grenson was waiting for him.
“Ready for Ulatha today, Master?” Ke-Grenson asked cordially. The two had spent most of the prior day observing their raids in Rockton using the high critir permanently set within the Chamber of Seeing. The high critir was, as legend goes, said to have been the first critir ever made by the wizards of Kesh. It was the master orb, the most powerful of all divination devices the Kesh used. It was three times the size of a normal portable critir and set into a basin of clear water penetrated only by three large iron prongs, which held the critir tightly suspended above the clear water. The orb worked best when one wizard could activate it and maintain the activation and the other wizard could guide the orb to see things happening as desired by the user.
“Most ready, my old friend. Am-Ohkre has made a mess of the Ulathan campaign, almost as much as Am-Shee has the Rockton. Time to see if they can turn things around or if I need to send you there to take over.”
Ke-Grenson nodded and approached the high critir and started his spell of activation, murmuring the arcane words and using his hand to charge the orb to life. Am-Sultain waited for the large critir to glow, and he approached it with his arms outstretched, willing the vision within to bend to his will and direction. The orb showed flashes of battles past as he started to control the direction in which he wished to view. The orb at first moved in accordance with his wishes nearer to Korwell. He could see the crenellated towers and darkly dressed figures moving along its walls, but before he could slow the vision or move it in closer, the Ulathan castle was gone and the orb’s vision was dragged violently back to the east. Am-Sultain looked up from the orb at Grenson to see if he was doing something, but instead saw the elder wizard’s face contort in effort and even pain as he fought to maintain the orb’s power of seeing. Suddenly, the blurred landscape that was flying by was replaced by a face.
Am-Sultain looked back at the orb and into a set of sparkling blue eyes. The man’s head was bald with a ring of white hair along its edges, but short, not flowing past the neckline. There was a white beard, short but well-trimmed. A brown cloak with a hood hung about the man’s shoulders, and the tip of a gnarled deep brown staff was in the man’s right hand. It was adorned with what looked like a simple piece of grey granite, flecked with specks of white and black. This was no wizard of Kesh: indeed, the staff alone gave that away. The Kesh used metallic staves as straight as an arrow adorned with expensi
ve and wildly powerful gems at the top. It was the signature accouterment of a wizard.
A sudden feeling of dread accompanied the vision of the old man. He was stocky and robust, much like an Ulathan. The man’s eyes pierced the High-Mage’s defenses. Am-Sultain cried out, “No!” Ke-Grenson opened his eyes as he started to lose control of the orb. Suddenly, in a flash of blinding white light, the orb cracked and a wave of air pressure flattened the two sorcerers as they landed on their backsides.
Am-Sultain came to within the dark chamber. His friend and old apprentice Grenson was slowly moving, moans of pain coming from his lips. With great effort, the High-Mage crossed the room, almost stumbling, and lent a hand to his friend. Grenson stood, wiping his mouth, as blood coursed down his chin, staining his beard, from having bitten his tongue so hard.
“What was that?” Grenson asked feebly, shaking the disorientation from his head.
Sultain looked him in the eye until he was sure Grenson would understand him clearly. “That, my dear friend, was one of the Arnen.”
The sun was finally rising in the sky, and its warmth shook off the chill of the forest air. Khan was walking not far from the Gregus, upriver, looking hesitantly and sometimes expectantly at the forest just to his right. He refused to walk within the trees, though occasionally he had to cross several that reached to the very riverbank itself. He stayed close to the shore and watched his step gingerly. As predicted, his clothes were damp, but not wet, and with the Talaman only starting to wane, he was still warm and bundled his cloak around his waist, preferring to walk in his trousers and tunic only.
He could not shake the feeling that he was being watched. It was unnerving to him, and he oftentimes looked across the river, behind him, or into the trees to his right, but always he kept moving north. It was during one of his scans that he noticed the first Kesh body all the way across the river. The body, dressed in black leathers, was floating face down near the far shore, apparently stuck on something as it twirled and bobbed around a central point. Not that he knew every brigand in his old company, but even if he did, there was no way to make out who it was lying facedown.
Ranger Rising: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 1 (Ranger Series) Page 25
