Targon looked back to Will and saw the Kesh fighter was sparing with Will, keeping him away from the younger wizard who stood a few paces behind him downriver. The younger wizard’s face contorted, and he pointed his staff again at his fellow wizard across the river while another slightly smaller ball of flame was flung from the tip of his staff and crossed the river.
“I’m almost out!” Targon heard Horace yell, seeing another brigand near the Arch-Mage fall dead with a bolt sticking from his neck.
Targon winced, wondering how they were going to make it out of there alive when he nocked another arrow and took aim at Will’s opponent. He was much closer than the brigands from across the river, but still Targon hesitated as the men circled and danced around an invisible central point with the clanging of steel on steel as blades met.
The other man seemed much older for a brigand, and he must have spotted Targon as his circling stopped and he suddenly shuffled from side to side, keeping Will between himself and Targon. Targon admired the skill of the man as he fought a seasoned Ulathan soldier, and not just any soldier, a sergeant of the gate, and at the same time kept Targon at bay with his bow.
Targon was just about to yell to Will to either duck or hold still when out of his peripheral vision he saw the water in the river rise as if floating, yet still streaming as fast a man could run. Targon lowered his bow and turned to watch as the entire river floated at least ten feet off the riverbed, creating what looked like a circular tunnel along the bottom of the river. The Mage motioned for the remaining brigands to follow him, and they started to walk under the roaring river and into the riverbed itself, leaving only the other wizard, wrapped in his smoking cloak, on the far shore.
After the second ball of fire petered out, the crouched man stood quickly and pointed his staff at Will, or more specifically, the man behind Will and his enemy and shouted, “Khan, you insolent fool! Die!” A bolt of electricity, much like what Targon witnessed earlier but not nearly as potent, crackled across the river faster than the balls of fire. The young wizard held his staff out in front of him, and the bolt hit his staff, rebounding high into the air and out of sight but knocking the younger man onto his back, and he dropped the staff, his hand blackened and burned.
The younger wizard cried out in pain and attempted to crawl over to his staff when Targon saw the older man across the river level his staff again, pointing it in their general direction. The man’s hair and beard were blackened and falling from his head, while smoke continued to waft from his cloak and body. Targon suddenly shifted his stance and took aim at the lone remaining wizard with his staff leveled and released his arrow with all his might. He never saw what happened to it.
As the Mage and brigands crossed under the raging river, Elister had stepped up to the riverbank itself, right where the water had risen up and flowed over an invisible tunnel. Above the roar and din of the electrical bolt, yelling brigands, and raging water, he heard a distinct voice come from the Kesh Mage. “NO!”
As they exited from the tunnel and attempted to step onto the dry shore of the nearside riverbank, the Mage reached out with his staff, trying to hit or poke Elister, who in turn used the end of his granite-tipped staff and smote the Mage’s staff. A brilliant flash of white light erupted, blinding everyone within range of sight. Targon raised his free hand after releasing his arrow, and used it to block his eyes. Before he lost consciousness and before his hearing was fully bloated out by the loud blast of noise that deafened his ears, he half fancied he heard the soft words of Horace from nearby. “Bloody hell!” Then darkness took him.
Targon slowly felt the light returning to his closed eyes. He felt something on his chest and noticed he couldn’t really hear anything. The river seemed to be muffled as the sounds slowly came back to him. He struggled to open his eyes and was looking at the sky peeking through the sparse canopy of tree leaves where he had fallen near the mighty oak that had been protecting him from the Kesh bowmen. The light hurt his eyes, and he squinted them shut again in pain. Slowly, he remembered what had happened. He tried one more time to open his eyes and was greeted by the blurred image of a Clairton that was chirping on his chest as it pecked at something around his neck.
Instinctively, Targon reached up and felt his mother’s gift, the carving he had made still connected by Monique to her silver chain. It felt oddly comforting in his grasp, and he allowed his head to rest again and closed his eyes, resting and not caring what was happening around him. After a long time, he started to feel not just a sense of urgency but a sense of curiosity. What was so powerful that it had knocked him out? The bird chirped and sang a few notes and then gently flew away into the trees.
Targon struggled to stand. The entire area looked familiar, and indeed much as it had before, except near the shoreline where he had last seen Elister. The entire area was devoid of anything: it was scoured black and sooty from some sort of apocalyptic blast. No, there still standing was Elister, but not moving. Targon struggled to stand and held his hand above his brow to block the afternoon sun as it streamed into his eyes. Things were blurry, but he was sure he spotted the druid, staff in hand, standing still at the water’s edge, which had resumed its normal and natural course.
Turning his attention farther north, he couldn’t see Horace anywhere, but he wasn’t that concerned, as he hadn’t seen the elder Ulathan for the entire battle, and he was one tough old buzzard. Targon had dropped his bow, and it lay on the ground with its string broken and the entire bow limp and impotent. He drew his trusty axe and walked over to Cedric lying prone, facedown in the dirt amidst the roots of a gnarled old tree. He gently turned the young man over and was relieved to see he was still breathing. The blood from his head wound had finally congealed and stopped.
Standing, he left Cedric where he lay and walked over toward Will and his opponent. Before he had gotten more than a few steps, he heard the rustling of leaves and brushes, and his heart almost stopped. He held his axe out blade forward and prepared for battle, but just as quickly, he saw Core, the large brown bear, come trotting out from the brush line near a tree not far from Will and the Kesh. The poor bear was bleeding from his left rear flank and was making faintly heard moaning sounds with his muzzle. “Don’t do that, Carrot! You scared the spirits out of me, for sure!” But secretly he was happy to see the bear, as he felt very alone despite the prone bodies.
Bear and man walked toward each other and met near where Will lay face up, and again a sigh of thanks as Targon saw the man taking shallow breaths. Targon knelt by the bear and allowed the bear to nuzzle his massive head along Targon’s shoulders. Ever so faintly, Targon startled as the bear growled softly, and in his head, he thought he heard a word, but one that made no sense to him. There it was again: Elly.
Targon rubbed the large bear’s head. It feels like a furry anvil the blacksmith used in Korwell, he thought to himself, looking around for the sound of the voice. Again came the voice: Elly. Targon looked around, startled, but realized the voice was inside his head, though it sounded much like external noise. He was sure whatever blast had occurred had rattled his brain, and he was hearing things. He took one last look around and left Core and stepped over to the Kesh fighter.
Yes, fighter, Targon thought, not brigand. The man deserved at least that much as his skill and bravery had impressed Targon. It wasn’t any man that could stand and face down Will Carvel and his broadsword. Agon herself knew Targon would be loath to face Will in battle. Better to hit someone of Will’s size and strength from afar with a pointy arrow.
Targon knelt and flipped the Kesh over onto his backside. Again, labored breathing. Well, at least the blast hadn’t killed everyone. Targon opened the man’s black cloak and found two knives of Kesh design tucked into his belt. Targon took both of them and stuck them into his own belt, blades down. Remembering the night his family was taken captive, he moved down to the man’s boots and found another dagger, a very slender one, tucked and ev
en strapped into his right boot. Targon removed it and finished his search.
Targon saw the man’s rapier lying nearby. He walked over to it and, lifting it onto his boot, he kicked it into the nearby brush and out of sight. Feeling better about the situation, he moved to the last prone man lying nearby in his blue robe, burned hand clutching the metallic staff. The ruby gemstone on top of the staff still glowed a dull red, and Targon almost touched it but didn’t as he could feel heat coming off of it. The man was lying on his side with his bottom arm outstretched and clutching the staff. Targon moved around, squatting in front of the young man without touching him. He saw his face pale and clean shaven except for the faint stubble of a beard on his chin that had yet to really grow. He looked unarmed, but Targon feared touching him. He was very pale, and if he was breathing, it was not noticeable.
Targon decided to take no chances, and, using his booted foot, he tried to kick the staff free, but the other man’s grip was too tight. In the end, he had to bite his lip and pry the staff from the young Kesh man’s fingers. It felt surprisingly light to hold, and the metal was dull grey but warm. Targon didn’t fancy holding the Kesh instrument and very quickly walked over to their hollowed tree near the river and dropped the staff inside of it where it would remain hidden till he could think what to do.
Elly . . . Elly dead.
Targon spun around and looked for the voice again sounding so real, yet it had to resonate from inside his head, as there was no one there to speak the words. Only the bear. Targon paused, looking intently at Core, who had walked over to him looking forlorn and sad, if that could be said of a bear, and Targon knelt, looking into his eyes as the bear shuffled its massive paws in the dirt and hung his head.
“Carrot, was that you?” Targon asked, looking at the bear intensely for any sign of intelligence.
The bear looked into Targon’s eyes, growling softly, and immediately Targon heard the strange voice. Elly.
Targon fell to his knees, dropping his axe. No, the bear wasn’t speaking in the common tongue. There was nothing but the coarse animal growl of a member of the ursine family, specifically a brown bear, but it was Core speaking to him. How odd, Targon thought to himself. Both odd and amazing as the voice sounded much like a small child speaking inside his head.
“Carrot, who is Elly?” Targon asked, looking intently again at the brown bear.
Elly, do-ed. Elly, friend, came the response as the bear shook its head from side to side and shuffled its front paws even more, finally lying down to rest with its massive head between its front legs.
Targon felt a chill run over his spine, and he picked his axe up and ran over to the river’s edge where he saw Elister standing. There was no sign of any Kesh, but there was something wrong with the old man. Targon stopped, squinting at Elister’s form. He could see no flesh. He slowly approached the old man from the side, and as he got closer, he realized the entire figure was a flat grey, as if the same color as stone or dull mountain granite. He reached Elister and put out his hand, touching the figure of the old man.
The body felt cold and coarse to the touch, much like a rock would feel that wasn’t fully weathered. The staff, the man’s features, and even his clothes and wisps of hair, all were a dull, flat grey. The man had petrified? Targon didn’t understand, but there it was. Elister the man was no more, and instead a stone-like statue stood there as if guarding the Rapid River, staff erect in his right hand and his left arm out as if blocking something. Targon walked completely around the figure before he was startled again.
“Bloody hell!” It was Horace, and the man approached, a bit wobbly on his feet. His eyes were wide open as he took in the same sight. He was bleeding from one of his ears, and the left side of his face looked burned, a bright shade of red.
“You seem to say that a lot, Horace. Didn’t your mother teach you how to utter damnations in any other way?” Targon asked, trying to be light-spirited with the old man, but Horace wasn’t having any of it.
“By Agon’s lover, Akun, lad, what happened to your friend?”
“All right, I’ve not heard that one before, but in all honesty, I have no idea, Horace. He stands as I found him only just now. Are you hurt?”
Horace reached up, touching his ear and wiping away some dried blood, but he was otherwise unarmed. Targon did not see the crossbow he wielded earlier anywhere nearby. “No. I seem to be intact, and unless we are both dead and in Agon’s bosom, then alive would be the word I would use.”
Targon looked from Horace back to Elister, or at least, the statue of Elister, and then scratched his head. “Did you hear any voices in the last several minutes?”
“Voices?” Horace asked, puzzled, and then he looked like he might understand. “No, no voices, but bells and whispers from angels, yes.”
Seeing that Horace’s mood had lightened, Targon looked over to where Cedric and Will were still lying on the ground. “Can you see to the others?” he asked Horace, motioning to them with his free hand. Horace nodded and started walking toward Cedric. “Wait a second, take this,” Targon said, reaching into his belt and pulling out a dagger, offering it to the elder Ulathan.
“Not necessary,” Horace replied. “I used up all my bolts. I’ll grab the youngsters bow and use that, but I will take your flask. I seem to have lost mine.”
Targon put the dagger back in his belt and offered him the flask that was still attached by a leather cord. “Be careful, the Kesh are still alive, both of them.”
“Kesh, eh?” Horace said, looking surprised, arching his eyebrows. “I didn’t know there were Kesh on this side of the river. I was too busy with the spectacle them two old men put on for us, but don’t you worry, lad, I’ll see to them Kesh if they are alive.”
“Don’t kill them, Horace, not if they don’t threaten us,” Targon said, hesitation in his voice.
“Understood, lad, I’ll see to it they can do no mischief, then.”
Targon watched as Horace quickly covered the ground to where Cedric’s feet were visible, sticking out from the old tree, and he gave a sidelong look at the bear deciding he had to know for sure. He walked over to the bear and knelt beside the massive form and stroked the bear’s head, feeling pity for the animal.
“Elister is dead. Do you understand me, Carrot?”
The bear instantly raised its head and let out a long mourning call that wasn’t a growl, but was more like a long howling sound.
“You do understand me, I see. I need your help, Carrot. Can you help me?” Targon asked, stroking the massive anvil-shaped forehead of the bear.
Core help Tar, came the response, and despite preparing for it, Targon still felt a tinge of surprise and awe. Had something happened to him during the battle? He continued to stroke the animal’s fur and was glad to have come to some sort of understanding with the animal at last. The gentle moment was broken by Horace’s yell.
“Lad! Come quick, they are moving!”
Targon stood and saw the men starting to stir but were still disoriented, including Will. Targon gripped his axe and ran toward the men, calling for Core to follow.
Horace had gotten there first and stood over the Kesh fighter with Cedric’s loaded crossbow aimed squarely at the brigand’s head. Will had sat up and was rubbing his eyes while the Kesh brigand looked around, blinking frequently as if looking for something, grabbing at his belt.
“You won’t find them nasty blades there, Kesh,” Targon said, and then the man reached to his boot, but Targon spoke faster. “Your boot blade is gone, too. Don’t do anything . . . foolish,” Targon finished, hefting his axe.
“Master?” the man said, looking around and seeing his companion. “Master, you live?”
The man ignored Horace’s instructions to stay still, and he literally crawled the few feet over to his companion, who was just stirring and coming to. Targon felt a hand on his leg.
“What h
it us?” Will asked, blinking a few times and grabbing his sword, which had been under him.
“I think the two older men killed each other,” Targon responded sadly.
“You mean that likeable old Elister fellow is dead?” Will asked, standing and bracing himself against Targon.
“I’m afraid so,” Targon replied, and once he was sure Will wasn’t going to fall, he let the man loose and walked over to where the two Kesh were on the ground, the older man helping the younger man to sit up.
“I’ll be fine, Dorsun, thank you. Can you see Ke-Tor from here?” Khan sat up with help from the brigand called Dorsun. “Where is my staff?” he suddenly asked, a note of panic in his voice as he looked around.
Targon kept his axe at his side but visible, and stepped over near the man. “Your staff is in my keeping, wizard. What is your name?”
“Don’t get too close to him, lad, he’ll fry you for sure with that sorcery of his!” Horace exclaimed, slightly adjusting his crossbow to aim it at the younger Kesh and stepping a tad closer.
Both brigand and wizard looked at Targon with an expression of surprise on their faces. “Could it be the same—”
“Quiet, Dorsun,” Khan said, his eyes never leaving Targon’s face. “Let me do the talking.”
“I can hear you, you know. I’m standing right here. I’ll ask only one more time, wizard, what is your name?”
“My name is Khan. This is Dorsun. Obviously we are from Kesh, and I’d like my staff back, if you don’t mind.”
“Can you imagine the arrogance?” Will said, leveling his sword at the younger man’s head. Dorsun pushed the blade to the side and pulled Khan closer to him, away from the blade and bow.
“I’d say he’s rather more used to giving orders than taking them,” Horace chimed in, still holding his crossbow aimed at the younger man.
Ranger Rising: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 1 (Ranger Series) Page 31
