“Yes, mostly for the Kesh, but bad for us as well.” When Elister saw a confused look on Targon’s face, he added, “The guardian needs managing is all, and that is what I have been doing for centuries. It won’t do now to have him woken prematurely and without purpose.”
“I’m afraid to ask,” Targon said sheepishly.
“No matter now: let’s move on and approach this group from the forest.” Elister took off at a brisk pace deeper into the forest, heading south. After the better part of an hour, the group slowly started walking from tree to tree until they heard and, shortly thereafter, saw the Rapid River just beyond the forest’s edge. Targon instantly recognized the place and looked for the hollow tree near the river’s edge where they had taken shelter before.
On the far side, clearly visible, was a Kesh camp, and its sentries were observing the area and river as well. Elister closed his eyes and pressed his hand upon the bark of the large oak tree he was leaning on, and Targon watched intently as the old man seemed to sway to and fro with the effort. Then they heard a loud, booming voice, clear and gentle yet strangely amplified in a mystical sort of way. “I know you are there, Arnen, so you may as well come out and face me. You may be able to thwart the High-Mage of Kesh, but your powers pale when compared to my mastery of the critir. Do not hide behind the poor citizens of Ulatha or your mighty oak trees. Come out and let us discuss your surrender.”
Targon, Cedric, Horace, and Will looked at each other, mouths wide open, but Elister remained attached to the oak tree, continuing to sway. Finally, after a moment of silence and swaying, Elister spoke. Softly and musically, his voice carried on the wind and soothed the companions as they heard it. “Indeed, Master Ohkre, Arch-Mage of Kesh. Welcome at long last to the Earlstyne. So good of you to have come in person instead of sending your minions. Perhaps a discussion of your surrender in these lands, which do not belong to you, would be appropriate.”
“Tsk, tsk.” They all heard the disapproval of the other voice as it boomed across the field, artificially loud, and while lulling in its pleasant tone, it seemed more abrasive after hearing Elister speak. “These lands are not for the Arnen either, but enough bickering. Come out and show yourself . . . druid.”
Elister opened his eyes and then turned to his companions. “Be prepared for the second wizard and keep the Kesh occupied. I’ll deal with the Arch-Mage personally.”
“You can’t be serious, old man!” Will said, reaching out and grabbing Elister by the arm before the druid could turn and walk toward the riverbank. “It’ll be suicide to go out there!”
“The Earlstyne is my ward, and I’ve slept enough. Time to deal with this threat once and for all.” And Elister turned to Targon, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Dareen would be proud. Remember to care for the Earlstyne and your companions.” Suddenly, the old man released his hold on Targon, and, using his staff to navigate the tree roots and mossy dark ground, he quickly moved toward the river.
The companions hurried forward while Targon motioned for Will to stay behind him and for Horace and Cedric to take up positions on either flank with their crossbows. Once in position, they hurried to catch up to the old man as they marched in a line across the forest floor, finally stopping at its edge and watching as Elister stood alone with his staff in one hand and his other raised head high, palm out, as if in greeting.
“Hail, Mage, and well met,” Elister said simply, his voice no longer carrying as it once was, but still he spoke loudly to be heard over the roar of the river and from across the wide expanse.
“At last, the Arnen shows himself! See there, Ke-Tor, that was not so difficult to flush out the Earlstyne interloper. Now come, Arnen, and let me release you from your service. Return to your ancestors and rest in peace.”
Targon had taken his bow off his back while he walked and had pulled his first arrow, nocking it. He could see clearly now the man that was speaking. He was tall, even for a Kesh, and had a bright blue robe on that glittered in the noonday sun. His head was covered with a pointed hat with a strange golden tassel on it, and he had a strange orb set up on a tripod in front of the chair he sat on. His right hand was on the orb, and in his left, he had a long slim staff made from some kind of dull grey metal that gleamed in the sunlight despite its dull color. The staff was adorned with a large diamond-like stone. In fact, it looked like it might be a diamond, if Targon remembered his mother’s tales of the jewels and gems Sir Baldwyn had thrown into the night sky to distract his princess’s evil red dragon, but he couldn’t be sure as he had never seen a diamond before.
There was another man equally dressed and garbed with another metallic staff and ornamented with a similar but smaller stone, red in hue and color this time. The brigands were scattered along the riverbanks, and Targon quickly counted a dozen crossbowmen on the other side. He realized they were outnumbered six to one, or four to one if he included himself and his bow. Many of the other brigands had spears, and a couple had wicked-looking javelins. He did not fear the spears really, as they were too heavy to reach across the river, but the javelins looked just as lethal as the bolt bearers. Targon knelt to make himself into a smaller target and used his tree as cover for over half his body. He was satisfied to see Horace and Cedric had done the same, and he felt Will’s hand on his shoulder as the man stood directly behind him but behind the tree.
Elister lowered his arm and responded. “Now is not the time for hubris, Master Ohkre. Return to Kesh and leave these lands, and your life will be spared.”
The familiar use of the Mage’s name twice now seemed to anger him, and he took his hand off the orb. Using his own staff to lean on, he approached, standing from his seated position to the river’s edge, and looked menacingly at Elister before responding. “Enough, Arnen. You are not the first, but you will be the last!” And suddenly, the Mage pointed his staff at Elister, moving his lips and saying something that could not be heard, but its effects were seen immediately.
A giant ball of fire, much like the one Targon saw days earlier at the same spot, flew across the river, but this fireball was much bigger and flew faster. Targon cringed, thinking the old man would be incinerated before his very eyes, but just as quickly as the ball of flames flew across the river, he saw Elister raise both his hands as if in chorus, staff clenched tightly in his left, and a huge wave of water leaped from the river, intercepting the fireball in midflight.
The result was a spectacular hiss as untold volumes of the water was instantly transformed into steam, clouding the area above the river instantly with a semitransparent glaze of water vapor. The brigands did not hesitate and launched spears and bolts at the old man. Targon screamed, letting loose his first arrow, aiming at the brigand closest to the enemy Mage, and he was satisfied to see his arrow hit the mark squarely in the man’s chest, causing him to fall.
Quickly, the air was filled with various missiles as the two parties unleashed on each other. Several bolts seemed to hit the old man, but Targon saw no discernable wounds, and at least two of the bolts snapped and broke upon impact. A second fireball crossed over the river and was, in turn, repelled much like the first. Elister started to whistle a call into the air while continuing to hold his ground. The second wizard wasn’t fighting at all, but rather watching intently his companion, occasionally flicking off a bolt in midair from Cedric or Horace that came too near.
A spear landed close to Targon’s feet, and he could feel Will’s hand steadying him on his shoulder. “Can you hit that spell caster?” Will asked.
Targon aimed his next arrow directly at the blue-robed man with his white hair and bushy white beard, and pulled back as far as he could on the bowstring. His arrow went true to his mark, and the other man looked like he was about to do something again with his staff when he waved it downward, and Targon watched his arrow change direction in midflight, landing in the dirt by the shoreline a good twenty paces short of his target.
“Akun,
take the man!” Targon exclaimed in dismay as he watched his arrow fall short. “He is protected by some sort of foul sorcery, Will.”
A huge flock of various birds filled the air, flying from the forest in all directions. They were composed mainly of large black crows flying chaotically as if a large black velvet curtain descended from the skies. They swarmed many of the brigands, and Targon saw there were many other birds intermixed with the crows. He saw owls, finches, hummingbirds, and ravens, as well as a few of the milder Clairtons his mother favored so much. Many of the birds fell to bolts and spears as they were cut down, but they continued to harass the brigands, pecking at their eyes and clawing at their faces when they could.
Targon took hope and changed his next target to a larger brigand, who was cutting down large numbers of the avians with his slender but wicked-looking scimitars that he held in each hand. His arrow flew but dropped and hit the brigand in his chin, causing the man to drop to one knee and look around. Suddenly, the air around the brigands crackled, and a large blue light flashed across the sky as if lighting was suddenly brought down from the partly clouded sky. Many of the birds dropped as if struck dead in that instant, and soon, Targon could smell the stench of burned flesh and feathers waft across the river.
“I can’t see anything!” Cedric called from his place of concealment a dozen yards south of where Targon was located. Targon looked over and saw that Cedric had dropped his bow and was dabbing at his forehead with some sort of rag he had in his hands. Blood was dripping from across his brow where a nasty head wound bled profusely from the near miss of a crossbow bolt.
“Will, can you help Cedric?” Targon asked, turning this time to face the veteran warrior.
Will looked at Cedric, who was slumped down, back against the tree, somewhat sheltered from the river, though several bolts and a spear were lodged in his tree on the riverside. “I’ll take care of it. Keep shooting those scum!” Will responded, running as fast as he could to Cedric’s aid, dodging a couple of bolts as he ran.
Targon returned his gaze to the battle that was raging across the river. The returning fire from the bolts had lessened, as at least half the brigands with the crossbows had been killed or maimed, either from return fire or from the huge flock of birds that had suddenly appeared. The birds were seriously depleted, and what remained of the flock continued to harass the brigands sporadically.
“How are you doing over there?” Targon cried out to Horace, who he could not see on his right somewhere amongst a denser copse of trees.
“Damnest thing I’ve ever seen!” Horace cried from his place of cover. “I guess we can dine on poultry tonight, young master Targon, eh?”
Targon chuckled despite the chaos and bloodshed going on around him. He had to give Horace credit for seeing right to the heart of any matter in any circumstance. Targon loosed one more arrow, which went long this time at the same brigand that was down on one knee. “Can you hit those two boltmen on the far right?” Targon shouted over the din of battle. “They are crouched in those alder brushes near the riverbank.”
Horace didn’t respond initially, but Targon was gratified to see three bolts fly from where he thought Horace was concealed in the bushes. “I think I got one of them bastards, though his mother won’t be missing him,” Horace yelled out triumphantly.
There was a sudden flash of light, and then BOOM! Targon felt his ears pop, and the loud cracking sound rolled over him. Targon looked at Elister and saw the ground falling back down to the riverbank where he stood. Something had hit the ground and flung it into the air. Again, but this time Targon witnessed it, a bolt of lightning flew from the Mage’s staff impossibly fast, but just as quickly, the ground in front of Elister rose up in a solid mass, several yards thick, and grounded the electrical bolt in a fury of flying dirt and dust. Elister was momentarily clouded by the debris, and Targon could barely make him out as he stood there facing west across the river. The sound of dirt, pebbles, and loose rock pattered down across the ground, landing near him and in the canopy of tree leaves overhead.
Targon was in shock. This could have been his fate had he crossed into Kesh and met with one of the sorcerers there that were not supposed to exist. Obviously, Elister was much more than a crazy old man, well, still crazy, but powerful beyond what Targon could have imagined, especially after meeting the man. He had to help him, but how?
“Enemy! Our side!” Targon heard Will’s shout, and Targon turned, looking south past Will and Cedric, whose face was streaked red with blood. There, across a small clearing, stood two men, both Kesh in features, but one was armed with a slender sword dressed in black leathers, looking fierce and dangerous, while the other man . . . he knew! It was the very same who had hurled his own fire magic across the river from the raft days earlier. Things just kept getting worse.
Khan and Dorsun had traveled most of the day and found themselves resting not far from their old camp, but on the eastern shores of the river instead. They had just finished eating a poor meal of dry meat, overly salted, along with a pear each that was the last of their fruit, when loud voices began to come from the north. The two men could not make out what was being said, but Khan instantly recognized the distinct artificial sound that a critir orb made when used to vocalize one’s voice across a distance. He could almost fancy the voice belonging to Am-Ohkre.
Then the voices subsided and soon were replaced with faint screams and shouts. Dorsun grabbed their packs and pulled out his rapier while Khan followed, gripping his staff tightly. Soon, the sounds became clearer, and Khan shuddered as he heard the death screams of Kesh brigands. There was something else, too, a loud rambunctious cawing of birds and the beating of many feathers. Smoke and water vapor drifted downwind on the false currents provided by the rapidly flowing river alongside them.
“Battle, Master!” Dorsun said, wide eyed, turning to look at Khan as they moved quickly, almost at a trot, through the sparse trees, trying to keep near to the river’s banks.
A loud sonic boom rattled both men, and again, Khan winced as he recognized the effects of a lightning bolt hurled from an Arch-Mage of Am-Ohkre’s stature. Khan knew the air was almost literally split asunder from the intense heat of the bolt. Again the boom, and the men ran faster but paused more often at various trees, looking around them to see who was involved in the battle.
Finally, after the sky was almost blotted out by a dust cloud, the two men came into a small clearing and could just make out their former companions on the far shore Khan recognized as being their former camp. The air was littered with dust, debris, and a small flock of ravens and a few other birds that seemed to be attacking the Kesh. Khan saw a young Ulathan slumped against a tree with his back to it, and the tree had many bolts and even a spear in it, while another older Ulathan man was on one knee tending to him. It looked like the younger man had a nasty head wound that was bleeding profusely. The other man stood, seeing them. His reaction was immediate, and Khan heard him shout as he looked back and then drew his broadsword. Khan was impressed, as the sword looked nearly as long as a man was tall, or at least as tall as an Ulathan, and the blade of the sword was the thickest he had ever seen on a blade.
“Master, look!” Dorsun said, pointing across the river at Ke-Tor, who was standing near Am-Ohkre. Khan saw his old mentor standing and watching the battle between another oddly dressed man on his side of the shore and Am-Ohkre. It seemed the old man had a very weathered look, even a tired look, about him, but it was the Arch-Mage’s face that told the story. Khan had never seen Am-Ohkre that upset before. His face was contorted in rage, and the diamond on the tip of his staff glowed a bright white, a sure sign that immense amounts of magic had poured forth from it at the Mage’s command.
Khan didn’t care anymore for the two men that battled across the river one against the other. Now his eyes narrowed, and he focused on Ke-Tor. “Dorsun, guard my back!” Khan shouted, ignoring the Ulathans and turning to face the
river while raising his staff and murmuring the words of his most powerful spell.
Targon watched as Will ran to the Kesh that had suddenly appeared on their side of the river. The man with the rapier was as tall as Will was, and, while stocky for a Kesh, he was more slender than the Korwell sergeant. His blade was slender, though just as long as Will’s, and with quick movements, the brigand dodged Will’s first blow while lunging his own blade at Will’s chest.
“Watch out!” Targon cried, almost helpless to do or say any more. Only one bolt flew out at Will as he ran, missing him by falling behind. Once engaged with the Kesh, the two men circled and parried blow after blow with the Kesh man yielding ground to the heavier Ulathan. No more crossbow bolts came from the river at Will. Obviously too dangerous as they could just as easily hit their companion from such a long range.
Targon looked at Elister and saw the man bend over slightly at the waist, leaning on his staff. Obviously the last two magical blasts of electricity had drained something from the old man. Targon saw the surviving Kesh being waved over toward the wizard who had engaged Elister. Once near him, the birds flew around the Kesh group but could not penetrate the area around the man with the staff. The other wizard looked at Targon and then farther south at Will. Targon was too far away to be sure, but he swore he saw the other man’s expression change to one of utter surprise. Then the man’s face started to glow as it reflected light, and Targon realized a ball of fire was hurled at the man from his side of the river.
The ball of fire almost reached the man when he knelt and wrapped his cloak around his body, lowering his head inside of it. Only the tip of his spear protruded as the ball of fire engulfed him. The man disappeared for a moment until the flames sputtered out, and Targon saw the ground burned black around the man. His cloak was no longer blue but now sooty black, with only a smudge of blue to tell what color it was before the attack. Smoke stirred from the cloak and staff tip and wafted up into the air. Several birds were also incinerated in the attack, as they were too near to get clear of the blast.
Ranger Rising: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 1 (Ranger Series) Page 30
