“Doubtful. I did not see his demise, but I heard the bear and I heard his scream. I do not think Gund survived nor his other two companions. I can only hope, however, that my possessions do not draw the attention of any of our enemies.”
“I feel warm,” Dorsun said.
“It’s the Talaman. It will do that for a day while you heal,” Khan said, folding his arms.
Dorsun stood and took off Khan’s cloak that he had worn all day, draping it over Khan’s shoulders, surprising him. He then walked over to the supplies, which included the cloaks of the dead brigands, and grabbed both and then hung them over the nearest branch. Dorsun then rummaged through a pack and found some dry beef and split it in half, offering one piece to Khan, who took it and started to eat. Dorsun took a bite and sat back down. “Leave the provisioning to me, Master. You took watch all day, so I will watch tonight. Get some rest, and I’ll wake you before dawn.”
It was getting late and Khan yawned, agreeing with a nod of his head. He curled the cloak around him and laid his head on his makeshift pack that he had taken earlier in the day, and used his arm to cushion his head like a pillow. “The bear is still loose, Dorsun. I seriously doubt that blade of yours would do much more than anger it, so if you even think you hear it, wake me and we run for the river.”
Dorsun smiled and nodded in agreement and then looked around before grabbing the rapier and laying it across his lap as he took another chew on the dry beef. Khan closed his eyes and listened intently for any sound that the brigand chieftain would stand and try to kill him. The image of Gund leering as he stabbed at him with his short sword filled his mind, and he chilled at the thought of how simple it would be to kill someone such as himself.
He realized there was a greater need for trust and loyalty if one were to survive, a lesson he did not truly understand before now. Finally, thinking on this, he let his guard down and decided that one way or the other, he had to trust Dorsun with his life. Either tonight or in a future battle or situation, the time would come sooner or later where the man he had just saved could turn on him. Better to find out now and let it happen then to worry every night and at every encounter for Dorsun’s rapier to pierce his body. Having made the decision, Khan quickly fell asleep.
Many of the refugees gathered outside to discuss the old man’s strange behavior, while a few of the ladies stayed indoors out of the chill night air as the sister moons wheeled and danced overhead.
“Talk, I said. The man was having a talk with that bird!” Horace was relating to several of his companions in astonishment.
“Falcon, actually,” Elister chimed in from a short distance away while he waited patiently for the group to come to some type of a conclusion.
“I saw it happening, I did!” Will added, nodding in agreement with Horace.
Agatha was with the group and eying both men with a healthy dose of skepticism, and then scrutinized Elister. “Sounds like more of that magical mischief, if you ask me. He even looks like one of them there sorcerers with his staff and hood and all.”
“Come on, I’m not even sure you would know what a sorcerer would look like,” Olga chirped back, drying her wet hands on a rag she was carrying.
“Quiet! All of you,” Targon exclaimed loudly, holding up both his hands to the small group that had gathered around him. Once sure that he had their attention, he cleared his throat and spoke somewhat formally. “I think it best to allow Elister a chance to explain what is happening right now. Elister, if you don’t mind, please,” Targon said, stepping back a bit and motioning with one of his hands for the old man to join them.
Elister sighed and then took a big drag on his pipe before walking over and removing it from his mouth. “Now calm down, everyone. I find it hard to believe I am the cause of all this commotion. There is nothing to worry about. Argyll . . . theeee biiiiiird . . .”—he said this with a long tone rather creepily as if accentuating the vowels of each word—“has simply informed us of another group of guests that appear to be not so kind, if I may say so myself. They will be at the edge of the Gregus . . . Rapid River by evening tomorrow.” There was a long pause of silence as everyone waited for Elister to finish. Not seeing any questions forthcoming, he continued. “There appears to be two of those sooorceeeereers with them,” he said, again stretching out the word for emphasis so the city folk could understand.
After a pause, there was much discussion between the various companions until finally Agatha hushed everyone and looked at Elister. “So what does this mean for us, Mister Elister? Are we in danger? Must we leave?” There were more murmurings about this and many comments made about having just arrived from their long trek in the wilderness, and quite frankly, Targon felt it all a bit melodramatic, but then Elister answered.
“Well, I think most of you will be fine, but I don’t think it wise to allow them to cross the river. One of them I know, and he is most unpleasant and would simply make a mess of our fine forest. I’ll need some help, however, if we are to deter them from being our guests.”
“Why is the old man always referring to the brigands as guests?” Marissa asked, tugging on Targon’s tunic to get his attention.
“It’s a long story, Marissa,” Targon said to her, and then he turned to Elister. “What kind of help do you need?”
“Well, there are less than two dozen of them, and I need to keep them away so I can have a nice chat with this unpleasant fellow, perhaps even a bit of privacy?”
“Fine, I’ll see to it. When do we need to go?” Targon asked.
“Tomorrow morning before noon would be fine,” Elister responded. “They have an entire day to travel yet, and we have only a half day. If they stay on course, they should actually arrive at the same camp where the other brigands set up on holiday. We can meet them there.”
“Holiday!” Horace asked, looking incredulous.
“Not now, my love,” Emelda said, pulling on Horace’s arm. “Come with me, sit, and let me fetch you some tea.”
Horace wanted to wave her off but allowed himself to be guided back to the porch, and sat down while Emelda went into the cabin to fetch some tea. Horace kept the crossbow, however, at the ready in his right hand, leaning it against his shoulder for good measure.
“Elister, we will leave with you just before noon, then. We will discuss who we want to go and let you know. Will you stay with us?” Targon asked, his tone sincere.
Elister took a long breath on his pipe and then nodded. “Yes, I think I will, but I’ll stay here on the porch tonight. It is a fine evening for the pipe, and the air is clean and fresh, brisk but not too cold.”
“Good, then, it’s settled. All right, everyone, let’s get inside and discuss who will accompany the old man . . . Elister tomorrow,” Targon said, motioning for everyone to enter the cabin. Even Horace joined them despite the crossbow and lack of tea, leaving Elister alone on the front porch.
Once everyone was in the common room of the cabin with Jons, Karz, and even Thomas up in the loft, Targon relayed everything to Salina, Celeste, and the others that had remained inside. Emelda had brought tea to Horace and was offering to make some for anyone else that wanted it, but most seemed uninterested, as if a great burden was back on their shoulders again.
“Is this another fight, then?” Will asked after plopping down on a chair at the lone table in the room, sighing as he finished his sentence.
“It certainly sounds like one,” Agatha piped in. “I don’t think the lady has the strength to wield a blade again.”
This brought many conversations again, with Cedric the loudest, insisting his mother stay at the cabin. Targon hushed them before speaking. “I think no one decides for another. We all decide for ourselves. Agreed?” Everyone nodded in the affirmative. “All right then, I will be the first to decide and declare that I will go with the old man.”
There were several nods of approving and murmurings of agre
ement. Targon now appeared to the refugee group as the most capable, strongest fighter and defender they had. It seemed almost taken for granted he would go.
“I will go as well,” Lady Salina said from her seat near the hearth, and looked around. This was immediately followed by more yelling and shouts, but this time of disapproval. There was some arguing amongst each other, but Agatha’s voice, as usual, rose above the din.
“Holy mother of Agon, my lady! It’s the fever, I tell you! The fever is making you delirious. You don’t know your own mind! Once is enough, my lady, please, I beg of you!” And with that, Agatha took a knee and grabbed Salina’s hand in her own and gave her an imploring look.
Cedric also walked over and squatted beside her. “Mother, you can’t. Who will look after Karz?” There were several nods of agreement before Will silenced everyone.
“Quiet now! Let the lady choose for herself, as Targon said.” Will motioned around at everyone. “Take a seat!”
Several of the group sat back down, Will’s booming voice commanding respect, and then Salina spoke again. “All right, everyone. I didn’t know you all felt so deeply about my safety, and for that, I am most grateful. If it will appease everyone, then, I will stay and help look after the children, for in this they do not have a choice, but rather must stay here. That I think we can agree upon?”
“Yes!” Agatha said, standing and looking around. “Karz, Amy, Jons, and where is that girl . . . there, Marissa, and yes, you, too, Monique, you all stay safe here. Much too young to be outdoors this time of year anyway!”
“I’ll go if I want to!” Marissa shot back, standing from her seated position. “You can’t tell me what to do, old lady!”
There was a gasp and a few chuckles as Agatha’s face contorted and turned a bright shade of red. “Who are you calling—”
Salina cut her off. “Now, now, both of you, please! This is neither the time nor place for bickering. Now, come, child,” Salina said, waving for Marissa to step over to her. “Tell us why you wish to fight. Would you not feel safer here, with us?”
Targon was impressed with how calmly Lady Salina conducted herself. He thought he saw real leadership there, not like the kind they thought he had. I have a lot to learn, he thought to himself as he listened to Marissa’s reply. “I want to find my family. They killed my papa and took my mother and brother.”
“That is a very noble idea, Marissa, and I can understand you completely. What would I tell your family, however, if they returned and you weren’t there? Can you understand the situation from their point of view? It’s your decision and none of us will stop you, but you’ve been such a great help to us city folk, and we are so thankful to have you and your help. Will you not stay to help us further? I will stay if you stay.”
Everyone fell silent for a moment, and Targon thought he saw Marissa’s lips just ever so faintly curl up into the beginnings of a smile. “Agreed, Lady Salina. I will stay if you stay, then.”
Targon sighed, as did several others. The room was quiet for only a second before Emelda spoke. “Oh no, not again, Horace! You just stay there in that seat and quit thinking you’re thirty years younger!”
“Ah, your old coot has a death wish, Emelda. Best to just let ’em be! Besides, he is one of the only few men we have, anyway, so better if he went.”
“You’re damn right, Agatha,” Horace piped in, hefting his bow in his arm for emphasis. “Master Targon, count me in.”
“Me, too. I can’t let a grandfather outfight me, and I’ve done enough sitting and running as it is for a soldier.” Will smiled.
Emelda frowned at Agatha and then sighed and continued to pour hot water into several cups that remained. Cedric stood from his squat where he had been looking at his mother and listening to their conversation. “Well, I will represent my family,” he said.
“That makes four of us: that should be enough,” Targon remarked quickly, hoping to silence anyone else who thought of volunteering. He had quickly changed his mind about this idea of volunteering after having Marissa declare her intent. Again, he thought, I wasn’t thinking well about the words I said. A real leader would have grasped that. It seemed a good idea when he said it, but now he was regretting it.
“The rest of us shall stay here, then, by your leave, Master Targon,” Salina said, pulling Marissa to sit on her lap and stroking her hair. “We will wait for you.”
Targon nodded, wondering if Salina was thinking much the same as he was. He was glad Thomas and Jons had kept quiet. Perhaps the sight of Lady Salina, all bloodied, pale, and close to death, may have tempered their rambunctious spirits, as they wisely remained silent in the loft, though he was sure they were listening. “Fine, then, we are in agreement. Will, Cedric, Horace, and I will accompany the old man tomorrow and see what we can do to keep those brigands at bay.”
Everyone nodded in agreement, and they broke up into smaller groups, interacting and discussing things with one another and preparing for sleep. Targon looked around at his home a moment longer and sighed heavily before exiting the room to inform Elister. It looked like the bloodletting would never end.
Morning rose quickly after the twin sisters had set, and the brigand camp was alive with activity. Ke-Tor fumed, as usual, astride his mount as he waited for Am-Ohkre to finish discussing minor details with Arkhale, the lieutenant who had accompanied them from Korwell since Hork had been assigned to oversee the defenses of Korwell in their absence.
Soon, they were mounted and riding quickly overland, passing several copses of trees that gave Ke-Tor a creepy feeling. No doubt the remnants of that accursed Earlstyne Forest, he thought to himself. At one point, their scout and tracker dismounted to check some tracks and found some blood on the ground and on a few leaves.
“Fresh?” Arkhale asked.
“No, more than a day old,” replied the tracker, looking up at his leader.
Am-Ohkre nodded but said nothing, and Arkhale motioned for the scout to remount and continue on. They stopped once for lunch, nothing extravagant. There was a small pond that had collected rainwater, and they allowed their mounts to drink. Finally, as the day drew to a close but before sunset, they could hear the Gregus River’s roar in the near distance. Am-Ohkre had only used his critir twice that day and didn’t pull it out yet.
Ke-Tor was somewhat jealous at the silent rapport Am-Ohkre had with the brigands. He spent entirely too much time with them and was much too comfortable around them. Ke-Tor had to watch as silently, the Arch-Mage motioned with his hands and the brigands moved out single file with weapons pulled or drawn.
“What are we doing?” Ke-Tor hissed at Am-Ohkre as they moved toward the river spread out like a skirmish line armed and ready for battle.
Am-Ohkre frowned at the man. “You spend too much time in your books and scrolls, Ke-Tor. Have you not been paying attention?” When Ke-Tor just looked more confused and said nothing, the Arch-Mage continued. “The scout heard voices up ahead near the river. We approach to engage in case they are the Ulathans.”
Ke-Tor nodded but wondered at how he was supposed to have gleaned all that just by the hand signals they were passing with one another. Yet another reason, he thought to himself, to hate the Arch-Mage more intently.
Within minutes, the lead scout put his hand up in a fist and then lowered it. “Hoi, all clear!” he shouted back, and then he disappeared over the crest of a small ridge. Soon, they had all gathered along the shore of the Gregus River, and Ke-Tor noticed, with some ill contempt, they had literally approached the old brigand camp from exactly behind it. Another slight? Another way to show Am-Ohkre’s superiority over his junior? Ke-Tor fumed but was impressed nonetheless.
“Well met,” Arkhale said to a slightly taller and leaner brigand who had blood stains on his leathers and looked tired and more than slightly disheveled.
“I am Ropes,” said the lean man, taking Arkhale’s arm hand to el
bow in the traditional Kesh greeting.
Arkhale released the man and looked around. A few small tents were set up in an area that was much larger and could have handled many more, though there were no signs of other Kesh. A quick count showed seven other Kesh in black leathers besides Ropes. “What news, Ropes? Where is Dorsun?”
There were looks around, especially amongst the Kesh survivors they had stumbled upon. It was understood that in the presence of a wizard, one did not ask for a Kesh lieutenant or even a chieftain like Dorsun. Though they did not know it, they understood implicitly that something unpleasant had happened to the young wizard. “We were ambushed, we were, by those Ulathan scum.” And with this, Ropes spat on the ground, a bit of blood mixed in with his spittle. “We lost three of our four patrols either to their arrows or the river or . . .” At this, the man hesitated and looked around as if seeking some sort of approval or confirmation from his comrades and then finally said, “The bear.”
Ke-Tor looked at Am-Ohkre and then at their men. The other seven troopers were nodding in agreement while most of the newcomers seemed to be shaking their heads in disapproval or even disbelief, but it was Am-Ohkre’s response that was the strangest. “A large wild bear that acted less wild and more purposeful?”
There was a pause, and no one spoke till Arkhale nudged Ropes, who seemed entranced at the Mage’s words. “Yes, Master, exactly, but how could you know?”
“About the wild animal I know nothing, but about the Arnen I know much. It is just as I feared. Sultain may be correct in his assessment. Arkhale, set up camp here and post double sentries and send scouts both upriver and down. Tell your men to stay armed and alert. The Arnen and his ilk are not so far off. I can . . . sense them near.”
The words of the Mage quickly took effect and, falling in with their new masters, the brigand group went about setting up camp in the rays of the setting sun. Ke-Tor waited impatiently for his tent to be set second, again behind the Mage’s tent, and then watched as Arkhale and Am-Ohkre listened to a full accounting of the events of the past several days. Ke-Tor listened in as well and compared the account from Ropes with what he had gleaned from Khan. They matched up fairly well, but he thought there was less detail in the reports he had from Khan, perhaps too much optimism?
Ranger Rising: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 1 (Ranger Series) Page 28
