Targon wasn’t sure if the wounded brigand would live or die, and he didn’t care. He just wanted to find his family. He descended the broken stairs and saw the bear waiting for him. He looked at his shattered arrow, the one that had missed and struck the stone wall, and left it. He had to find them, and in the rain, man and bear headed for the road and started running east.
Khan was growing angry and frustrated. The pompous Arch-Mage and his own mentor, Ke-Tor, had left earlier to press the attack on Ulatha’s southern holdings after the swift surprise attack on its capital. He was being treated as a child and expected to babysit the pillaging troops under his command. Well, actually, they were under Hork’s command, or even his lieutenants, but they were supposed to take orders from the mages. They usually followed orders only when it suited them, if they were coerced, or if they were in fear.
The Kesh had suffered heavy losses taking Korwell, and that was expected as it was the only fortified town in the entire realm. The rest would be easy. So it was they had expected little resistance once the little self-proclaimed king was killed and his castle taken. Reality was different, however. First, there was the worrisome fact that the attack, while timed for surprise brilliantly, left a large mounted patrol outside of the castle when it commenced. Their intel on the matter suggested the captain of the king’s guard, Bran Moross, was leading it himself. He was one of the few men the Kesh feared, as his counter-raids had killed many a brigand over the last two decades. Reports had it he was rallying the Ulathans in the South, and that was unacceptable.
Then there were reports that here and there, across the pleasant but simple realm of Ulatha, the inhabitants were not quite as passive as the Kesh were led to believe. “They will fold like a leaf in your hand,” he remembered Ke-Tor telling him in the weeks leading up to the assault. Well, some of these leaves were acting more like thorns and fighting back. Nothing major, but many minor incidents and even casualties occurred, and that was not good for Kesh. The Ulathans didn’t know it, but the last decade had been particularly hard on Kesh, as what little food and supplies they did have were dwindling, and the population was diminishing. Kesh needed an infusion of food, supplies, and, yes, even slaves to survive. So much had been lost in the last millennia.
A scout had arrived from the surrounding area and informed him a large group of Ulathans had fled and successfully routed one of the many patrols searching the area. Khan had left immediately with a brigand chieftain named Dorsun. They found the patrol, nine dead and three that had deserted. There appeared to be only one Ulathan casualty, though there was blood everywhere, so he wasn’t sure if they had wounded anyone else in the attack. Dorsun’s men wanted to hang the corpse of the slain Ulathan, but Khan prevented it. Instead, he ordered the deceased Kesh to be buried with rocks as well. No graves were dug that day.
Khan had one tracker who found tracks that they followed east. The first set of tracks were easy to follow. These were harder, but it was impossible to hide well over a dozen tracks in such rough terrain, but then came the real problem. They followed the tracks to the Gregus River where they entered the river at a place where it was impossible to cross. The bank started shallow enough, but in the center of the river, the water was flowing faster than a man could run and it was deep, deeper than what even a horse could safely ford, and the river’s current could drown both beast and rider.
Khan ordered scouts both upstream and downstream, but they had to return after searching only a short distance due to the failing light. They had set camp and posted guards to watch.
“Where do you think they went?” Dorsun asked, looking out from the large tent cover that was acting like a porch facing the river. “Surely they couldn’t have crossed that?” he said, sweeping his arms wide to encompass the huge, roaring river.
“Doubtful,” Khan said, bringing his hand up to his chin. It was dark, and thunder rolled across the skies: black clouds formed to the north and were quickly sweeping southward toward them. “Probably walked in the river downstream to prevent us from tracking them. We may have to call for dogs.”
“Should have brought them with us,” Dorsun said, looking at the younger man intently. “By the time we get them here, it will be too late.”
“The hounds would not have mattered. The coming rain will have washed away any scent or tracks as well, and if there is no scent to follow, then the only way to hunt them down is to do so by sight. Wake me at dawn.”
“Very well, young master, dawn it shall be,” Dorsun said.
Khan turned, entering his tent and closing the cover while contemplating the fate of the unknown refugees, who so far had shown themselves to be very dangerous, most likely soldiers and a leader or two with them. Perhaps warriors of great renown. Little did he know, the group had more women and children in it than men and the group was so close to his own hunting party.
Dorsun walked from the wizard’s tent to the center of the encampment where he had a crude map laid out on a large rock. It showed the Gregus River and the Earlstyne Forest, and they had finally reached them both, but he was not happy, either. The map showed only one place to cross the river: far to the north where they had traversed it half a week earlier along with one other bridge much farther to the south in enemy territory, which was still controlled by Ulathans. Either this group of Ulathans they were tracking was still on the west bank of the Gregus or there was an undisclosed place along the river to cross it. Either way, he was determined he would find out and find them in the process.
Targon ran most of the night in the rain with the large brown bear following him closely. Not far from the old keep, the ancient trade road began to rise and climb the sharp spurs of the Border Mountains. He could see where the road would take him: a cleft in the mass of rock that was looming above him. Even from his home farther in the valley, the mountains appeared large and menacing, but here, on the actual slopes at the base of them, in the rain, they seemed almost frightening.
The rain did not let up, though it did fall in slower sheets and at times almost paused, but then it picked back up and pelted him as he ran. It was darker than normal, as the stars were blotted out by the many dark clouds swirling above his head. Dawn arrived, and the sky lightened only slightly. There would be no rays from the sun reaching Ulatha today.
Targon had long ago stopped running, but continued to walk at a steady pace. Road was a kind word for where he was walking. There were no stones, no paving, just dirt and some rock laid into the crevices where at some places, the original road did show culverts, bricks, and pavers, but most of it had washed away long ago and was lost to memory. Still, he found he could follow the road easily, and while the rain washed away any tracks, he was certain the road could handle the large lock carts the Kesh employed.
Targon took shelter near a large bush not far from the road, trying to press himself against a small rock overhang that was only waist-high. The road had veered southeast from due east as it climbed the shoulder of the mountain. The bear—What was its name? Carrot or something similar? thought Targon—had also left the road and seemed to be huddled in a rocky draw between a small tree and a large granite rock. Targon drew his knees tightly up to his chest and tried to sleep briefly. He dozed for a bit, but not long, and continued his climb all day. Soon, the faint light began giving out altogether as the dragon’s fire set and Targon started to approach the high mountain pass. His legs burned and ached from the quick journey, and the mountain slopes were merciless to his body.
Finally, he stopped. Just above the tree line, and it was above because even this lower pass was higher than where the coniferous trees could grow, he spotted a fire. Not a wood-burning one, but rather two oil-based fires in towers on a crude wall about fifty yards across covering the entire pass, and two small but covered crude towers with some sort of shallow-looking shiny metallic pans strung below each tower. The pans were both smoking and putting off light and heat. He could see the silhouette
of sentries standing guard in dark cloaks. He froze for a second, wondering if he had been spotted, but nothing happened. Targon retreated a dozen yards to the nearest tree and hid behind it, peering out. Nothing. How did they build something like this without the king knowing? Targon thought to himself.
The old keep had been used as a base, allowing patrols to foray into the pass and beyond, but there hadn’t been a garrison there in decades. There had never been a structure built in the mountain pass, so this took Targon by surprise. It appeared the Kesh weren’t worried about just getting into Ulatha, but also keeping anyone out of Kesh appeared to be one of their primary considerations.
Targon snorted in derision and departed back down the road. Obviously the guards were facing inward nearer to the warm fire while he was shivering from the cold rains. It wasn’t winter anymore, but neither was it summer, and the rain was cold and the wind even colder. About a half mile down, he veered northeast and started to climb for the mountain meadow he had been to before. He remembered it was also a low spot in the formidable mountains, and he hoped to cross there. It was actually not far from the pass, but clambering over razor-sharp rocks and slick stones took much longer than using the road. After a couple of hours, he finally reached the old meadow and walked due east with the large bear in tow.
One last climb twenty feet straight up and he stood on a cliff edge looking down into Kesh. It was dark, and he couldn’t see anything really, except the ledge and the long plummet over one hundred feet to some rocks and boulders below. When he was here before as a boy, they had stayed on the western end of the meadow, which was over a half mile wide across the peak itself, but the eastern end had another sharp, large ledge where Targon stood. He didn’t see any way down and wasn’t sure what to do when he heard the bear snort twice and then finally literally growl at him.
“What is it, Carrot?” Targon asked, turning around and looking twenty feet down at the bear. They were both soaking wet, and Targon still managed to shiver, despite his exhaustion and lack of food. Maybe he did need his pack, after all. The bear motioned with his head and swung his entire upper body back and forth to the south. This was frustrating for Targon, and most likely the bear as well. “All right, you big oaf, I’m coming!” Targon practically yelled above the roar of the wind as it whipped up again, and rain kept pelting them and the rocks incessantly.
Targon climbed back down, and the bear took off heading southwest back the way they had come, but about only one hundred yards later, the bear veered south and into a small cleft where there were many bushes, brush trees, and meadow grasses growing. The bear began to eat some wild berries, and Targon grabbed two handfuls and stuffed them into his mouth, one handful at a time. They were delicious, but he was sure they would taste bitter if he had any of his senses left about him. His hunger would make anything taste good at this point. The bear, seemingly done foraging, headed south around a few rocks and into a small draw in the rock. There, just out of sight, was a dark hole, a cave of some kind barely discernable in the dark.
“Nice smelly, dank hole you found there, Carrot,” Targon said, shivering and thinking he would die soon of hypothermia. His cloak and clothes were wet, as were his boots, and he had no means to start a fire and no way to change his clothes. He felt he could have died on that mountain that very day.
The bear entered the cave, and Targon followed, bending over at the waist. The cave was barely as tall as the bear’s back just beneath Targon’s shoulders, and it was shallow. The cave was really made by a few large boulders that had fallen there from the peak above, and then over a few centuries, dirt followed to fill in the cracks, and grasses and moss had covered the rocks until a small space was all that remained inside the hollow. It smelled feral and animal-like, but Targon didn’t care. It was three times as wide as it was high, and so the bear shook his shaggy coat and spun loose as much water as it could and then lay down, curling up with its back to the cave entrance.
Targon took off his boots and cloak and even his tunic and pulled some dry leaves and grasses around near the bear and then lay down. The bear actually moved a bit to get closer to Targon, and he found himself huddled inside the bear’s massive four legs, pressed against the bear’s abdomen. He felt warmth there, a wet warmth but warmth nonetheless, and he prepared to sleep, hoping he would wake up alive and not dead.
Salina slept poorly that night, worried for her son Cedric. She awoke and found herself sitting where she had dozed off outside with her back against the blind. Horace’s light snoring could be heard, and Will was sleeping as she was with his back against the blind in a sitting position. The entire group had finally fallen asleep, and it was quiet again. She could just barely sense that maybe dawn was in the air, but the first drops of rain started to hit them and she stood up and woke both Horace and Will, and the three of them entered the crowded blind.
Everyone was huddled together around the floor with almost no space for them to sit, much less lie down. The wind whipped through the open arrow slits, and some rain entered with it. It was pretty miserable and not much more comfortable either, but it beat being outside or in the hands of the Kesh. Salina motioned for Horace to sit down near the door, and she whispered to Will, “I’ll head out to check on the boys: you stand watch here.”
Will just nodded but looked pale. Salina quickly left after gathering her cloak and sword, and headed south. After a bit more than a half hour, she finally reached the place where she had left her son and Thomas the night before, but they were nowhere to be found. She looked around and then lay down on the berm and started to crawl to its crest and peered over.
There she could see the fires burning and the tents of the bandits. Somehow she felt relieved they were still there but scared they were as well. She felt a hand plant firmly on her shoulder, and she stifled a yell. “Who—!”
It was Cedric, and he was drier than she was. He had crawled the berm and lay down next to her. “Shhh,” he said, motioning with his finger to his lips. “We are over there,” he pointed south a ways, and she could just barely see Thomas smiling at her from inside a large tree. The tree was hollowed out at its base, and the two had taken shelter there when the rain started. “They haven’t moved all night.” He yawned.
Salina felt so proud of her son, knowing he had stayed up the entire night to keep watch on the bandits. “You did well, my son! Is Thomas all right?”
“Yeah, he slept half the night but just woke up when I spotted you crawling in the mud. You’re going to need a new dress, Mother, when this is all over.”
“I’ll need a good bath as well,” she said, smiling. “Is there anything I should know, to tell Will?” she said, thinking her son may be more forthcoming in his answer if she invoked Will’s name.
“Well, there wasn’t much movement all night, but a small group of them just left and headed back west, though I couldn’t tell how many for sure. I just saw a few dark shapes heading up that embankment there.” He pointed toward a small rise behind the Kesh camp.
“Fine, well done, my son. Head over to Thomas and tell him to join you, and I want you both to return to the cabin and get some rest. There are a few nuts and some cabbage we left for the two of you. It isn’t much, but you’ll need something.”
“You plan on staying here by yourself?” Cedric asked, not believing what he was hearing.
“Have Thomas send Horace with a sword. We’ll watch together.”
Cedric looked at her for a long moment before nodding and motioning for Thomas. They soon left and headed back to the cabin. Salina took her place in the hollowed out tree and found it pleasant enough. At least it was dry and, though it faced north, she could sit with her back to the east side, look out, and just see the bandit camp from her vantage point.
Not long after they had left, Salina started to see some movement in the bandit camp, and soon, two large groups of about a dozen or so brigands in each left the camp. One group headed
south and away from them, and the other headed north, toward them and the ford. Salina felt her blood run cold. Shortly thereafter, Thomas and Horace appeared.
“Horace, I need you to keep watch here and go back to the cabin if they break camp. Can you do this for me?”
“Yes, my lady, but what’s going on? You look pale like you’ve seen something dangerous.”
“I have, about twelve of them dressed in black. Remember, go back only if they break camp. If we have to leave, I’ll return to fetch you and we go together from here into the woods, agreed?”
“Agreed.” He paused for moment and then reached out tenderly and touched her arm. “Do take care of Emelda for me.”
“You can do that yourself. No Ulathan dies today. Not on my watch!” Horace saw her demeanor had changed. Her hollow words from the night before may have calmed the women and children, but Horace knew too well from experience that she had lost hope. Then she was gone, her and Thomas heading back to the cabin, and Horace thought she was much like her husband.
Khan was woken by Dorsun as requested, maybe a tad late, but he had a poor sleep despite the elaborate tent and bedroll. At least he was dry, he noted with a sad look outside as he saw what he had heard earlier . . . rain. “Dorsun, ready two patrols now. One goes north, the other south. Tell them to travel for half a day and then return and report. They’ll need to hunt on sight for now.”
“Consider it done, young master,” Dorsun said with a sour face. His troops would not like the rain much, either, but Khan didn’t care. The refugees were either here or they found a way to cross, and if they crossed, his troops would follow, but he needed to know where they were.
Ranger Rising: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 1 (Ranger Series) Page 17