Ranger Rising: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 1 (Ranger Series)
Page 23
With a slight pause, Celeste and Agatha stepped outside, and Targon followed, bolting the door shut against the wind. He saw the entire group was seated in various positions along his front porch, and they were all looking at him now, even Celeste and Agatha, who remained standing, had turned to face him. Targon took a long moment to take in each look, returning each gaze, eye to eye. He saw sorrow, despair, depression, anguish, and deep sadness. Indeed, the entire group was melancholy and quiet, but he thought he also saw relief as if a great burden and stress had been removed. Finally, sure that he had communicated silently with each of the refugees, he stepped back, placing his spine against the door, and crossed his arms, looking forward. He would stand until he learned Lady Salina’s fate.
Khan sat waiting to hear from his angry mentor as he placed his arms in his hands and his elbows on his knees, facing the river, which was still swollen with the recent rains and additional spring snow melt. The roaring of the river as it flowed past the shore and rocks and boulders barely submerged was like a large, never-ending droning sound that threatened to drive the young apprentice crazy.
Finally, he felt the pull of the orb, and, grabbing it from his pouch, he laid it on his lap, replacing his elbows with it as he pulled it clear of its covering. There was Ke-Tor, looking rather satisfied considering the news, and he also had an odd gleam in his eye, one Khan was not pleased with. “Is Gund with you?”
“Yes, Master. Do you wish to speak with him?”
“I do,” Ke-Tor replied too quickly. Khan was sure he was suspect and thought perhaps his mentor wanted to hear Gund’s version of events, which, of course, was humiliating at the thought that he would not be trusted in front of the very troops he was supposed to be commanding. He called Gund over and stood up, holding the orb out toward the lieutenant, trying hard to catch a glimpse or sound of what his mentor was about to say.
There was some nodding but no talking until finally, the orb went dark, and Gund, who had been leaning forward more and more, had finally been released by the gaze of the wizard, blinking his eyes as if awakening from a dream. Khan took the orb and looked into it, turning it to face him, but it was dark. He shook it once and was upset his mentor had broken the connection without talking to him when he heard Gund speak. “New plan, boys.”
Khan looked up to see Gund turning toward him, drawing his weapon, and then suddenly the man kicked Khan’s staff out of his hands, swinging with his short sword. Khan dropped the orb and fell back, startled by the attack. A quick lunge and Khan turned to his right, exposing his arm, and the sword penetrated it, sending a piercing, stabbing jolt of pain into it. Just as Gund pulled the blade out, they heard a roar followed by a scream from one of the other brigand guards. Gund stopped long enough to look around, and Khan saw the large brown bear charging the other two brigands, quickly killing one with a swipe of its massive claws and trampling the other with a large cracking of bones, clearly heard even above the bear’s roar and the raging water of the river.
Khan scrambled to his feet. He had a split second to decide what to do: mauling by bear or drowning by water. Khan was never a good swimmer, though he had to cross a lake once before several times and practically dog paddled his way across, each time terrified the inky dark waters would suck him under. His hesitation only lasted for a split second, as the bear continued the charge right toward him and Gund. Khan didn’t even wait to see what happened next as he turned and jumped into the water, wading out quickly into the swiftest and deepest part of it, leaving his staff, orb, and pack on the shore.
There was another roar as the bear seemed to be in pain. Perhaps the short sword struck the bear somewhere tender, but the ear-piercing scream that came from Gund was one Khan had only heard before from men in the midst of dying. As the rapidly flowing waters of the Gregus sucked Khan out and down, Khan had no doubt Gund was now dead, and soon, when the air in his lungs gave out, he, too, would join Gund in the underworld. Khan’s last thought as the river swept him under was how dearly he had wanted to be a wizard. Now he would never know.
Ke-Tor was somewhat pleased with himself. The High-Mage, Am-Sultain, had been most displeased by the news in Ulatha. Ke-Tor had seen to it the failure in the South was neatly and cleanly laid at the feet of the imperious and aloof leader of the mission, Am-Ohkre. Am-Ohkre was too powerful, however, for Ke-Tor to handle by himself. Indeed, Ke-Tor knew he only needed to make arrangements for his own master, at the moment, to be removed from power. He didn’t need to see to it Am-Ohkre met the same fate as his apprentice Khan. No, a simple disfavor by the High-Mage of Kesh would do the trick, and, from what he could gleam from the communications between the two, the High-Mage had personally tasked the Arch-Mage with the success of the mission.
The situation was much more complicated. What his apprentice Khan did not know was that the remainder of the Bloody Hand Company had all but perished in Korwell. The Iron Chain Company had returned to Kesh with over thirty lock carts filled with prisoners and slaves, leaving only the Black Hand Company to maintain control over the newly conquered capital of Korwell.
After the mutually devastating Battle of Cree in the South, the remnants of the Kesh invaders returned north to Korwell only to find the castle itself was being contested by rogue Ulathans that knew a secret way into the structure. They had nearly taken the castle and had even killed the lone stone troll that was there before Ke-Tor and his surviving troops finally secured Korwell a second time. Only eight soldiers of the Bloody Hand Company survived, and Am-Ohkre was furious. “Where is that little rat of a wizard?” he had screamed when the tally was complete.
Ke-Tor had learned of Khan’s fate along with the losses of the other half of the Bloody Hand Company before his apprentice had informed him of the fact. He had put on a show of anger to distract his apprentice from the real danger.
Wanted the glory for himself, no doubt, thought Ke-Tor angrily. Then the arrogant fool had the nerve to ask how their battle fared! Ke-Tor did not know the extent of his apprentice’s mastery of the orb, but he suspected now that Khan held much back and perhaps saw their defeat at Cree prior to asking. Gloat, he wanted to, Ke-Tor thought again to himself, rubbing his hands together for warmth along the parapet of the tower’s walls. Even now, he was imagining Gund’s sword taking the pompous fool’s head clean off.
Khan was not the first nor would he be the last apprentice Ke-Tor found cause to eliminate in his lifetime. He would have to summon his newest apprentice, Zorcross, from the Onyx Tower. It would most likely take a fortnight for Zorcross to arrive, but the way things had progressed, Ke-Tor no longer saw a speedy end to the Ulatha campaign.
Speaking of which, he gleefully gloated over the news he had received earlier that day from Am-Ohkre that only Am-Shee survived the Rockton raids. Both the wizard Ke-Urns, his biggest rival, and his apprentice Sigture had met unseemly demises in Rockton. It appeared there was a Rockton spy in Kesh, and they were alerted before the Kesh assault. Casualties there had been high. Too bad Am-Shee didn’t perish as well. Ke-Tor could almost feel his ascendance to the ranks of the Arch-Mages, if only there was a position available, but Ke-Urns was a much greater danger to Ke-Tor, so the situation was one that met with his approval for the time being.
Ke-Tor took a moment to look around the destroyed ruins of Korwell. Am-Ohkre had ordered every building within bow range of the castle to be torn down and destroyed after the fiasco that had occurred the prior day. The razing of Korwell was slow going, and they had to use fire on most of the buildings, as they had few hands and only one stone troll remaining from the initial five that had started the campaign.
The Iron Chain Company had yet to return and weren’t due for another week. After securing the first load of slaves and prisoners, the two companies that had returned from the South, the Red Throat and the Iron Hand, were at half strength. Normally a company consisted of ten patrols of twelve Kesh each, ten soldiers, one leader, and one tracker.
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br /> For the Rockton and Ulatha campaigns, each company was reinforced with an additional two patrols increasing the company from ten patrols to twelve or one hundred and twenty swords to one hundred and forty-four. With four companies, that made it five hundred and seventy-six swords in all. Add the five stone trolls for specialized tasks, the three wizards, plus eight assassins and spies, and the entire composition of the Ulathan raiding force should have been enough to bring them victory. This, of course, assumed the element of surprise remained in Kesh’s favor.
Ke-Tor remembered the Ulathan reprisal raid of one thousand soldiers seven years ago. He remembered how hard it was to allow them as far as the first Kesh village of Ulsthor without responding, but Am-Sultain ordered the Ulathans be given free reign of the village. The battle was bloody, and many Ulathans perished, as well as most of the Kesh in the village. The few remaining survivors were prisoners or slaves, and the Ulathans freed them and then returned content to Korwell and disbanded. Most of the Ulathan forces were farmers, peasants, and tradesmen, soft in the art of killing and undisciplined but loyal. Korwell normally only maintained a garrison of just under two hundred soldiers, with half of them confined to the tower and castle itself. The other half was scattered across the far flung and sparsely populated land. There were not enough Ulathan soldiers to man all of their old fortifications, and the last two decades saw them quickly fall into disrepair.
This was Am-Sultain’s plan all along, Ke-Tor now observed, impressed. The many yearly raids were tapered off over the last few decades until the realms surrounding Kesh were lulled into a sense of false security. Spies were sent to many lands where they infiltrated those realms. Kesh wizards were known for their patience and long life. Fifty years was nothing for an Arch-Mage but represented a generation in other lesser men. Indeed, Sultain had thought this through nearly a century earlier, Ke-Tor thought. Very clever, indeed.
Ke-Tor heard the slight creak of the door and sensed immediately Am-Ohkre’s presence. A soldier was like a dark to Ke-Tor’s arcane senses, but when Am-Ohkre entered his presence, it was like a radiant source of heat and light to his nervous system. A wizard as skilled as Ke-Tor didn’t miss the aura surrounding an Arch-Mage, and indeed, from what most others had said, even a common Kesh could feel it, too.
“News so soon again?” Ke-Tor asked without looking, making sure Am-Ohkre would know his entrance did not go unnoticed.
Am-Ohkre did not respond immediately: instead, he walked over to stand next to Ke-Tor. Perhaps a bit too close, Ke-Tor thought. Indeed, he could now see the Arch-Mage with his peripheral vision, and there was no movement and nothing said.
Finally, Ke-Tor turned to face the Arch-Mage, but the Mage spoke first. “News indeed, wizard. Sultain is agitated at our lack of progress and our excessive losses.” Ke-Tor noticed the difference in speech between the plural form Am-Ohkre used when describing failure and the singular form he often used when successful.
“Only agitated?” Ke-Tor asked, masking as best he could his sarcasm in his tone, if not his words.
“Yes, agitated. We have new orders.”
“We?” Ke-Tor asked, now dropping all pretenses of smugness.
“Yes, you will accompany me to the Gregus due east of here and help me retrieve what remains of the Bloody Hand Company,” Am-Ohkre said matter-of-factly. “We need every sword now that we can get.”
“The Bloody Hand is all but destroyed or routed. It will take a week if not longer to find any survivors near the Earlstyne,” Ke-Tor said, alarm in his voice.
“Sultain appears to agree with you but demands the action. He thinks one of the Arnen may be involved and may have a bearing on what has transpired.”
“This would explain much if true,” Ke-Tor replied, pondering on the revelation, forgetting for the moment that he was going to have to accompany Am-Ohkre, “but then again, the Arnen are extinct. None survived the Great War.”
“The very same is said across Claire Agon of wizards and magic, but yet here we stand, no?” Am-Ohkre said, an arch of one brow and a telling look crossing his face.
The irony of the statement was not lost on Ke-Tor. “Yes, indeed, it would again explain much of what has happened in and around the Earlstyne, but we investigated it thoroughly three decades ago and found nothing there. Not even a presence of the Arnen.”
“Was it thorough?” Am-Ohkre asked, maintaining the arching brow of his left eye as he looked sideways at Ke-Tor, making Ke-Tor suddenly feel as if he was the last to be in on a bad joke. Ke-Tor had been part of that foray, and now he wasn’t sure how to answer the Arch-Mage.
“Am-Sunsi, Ke-Urns, and I searched the forest thoroughly after all the reports by our raiders. I am certain there was nothing to be found,” Ke-Tor now said, suddenly changing tact and dismissing any rumor of a surviving member of the Arnen. Ke-Tor would not allow Am-Ohkre to lure him into the possibility that his mission many decades ago had resulted in failure and was only conveniently becoming noticeable just now, thirty years later.
Am-Ohkre dropped his brow and looked down at what was left of the burned and cindered town of Korwell. “What news of your apprentice?”
Ke-Tor tensed for the moment he had expected. It was long a Kesh tradition that an apprentice of any wizard was fully under the care and discipline of his mentor. However, when an Arch-Mage was involved, a prudent wizard would at least tactfully inform, if not obtain the consent of, the Arch-Mage before meting out any unusual punishment. “Well”—Ke-Tor sighed—“Khan was released from my tutorship early.”
Am-Ohkre did not need to ask. No apprentice was ever released once mentored unless they had achieved the rank of wizard and were granted the title and its honors at a ceremony within the Onyx Tower. Am-Ohkre implicitly understood this to mean Khan was executed. The only question, really, was how. “By your hand?”
“No, I had Gund release my student,” Ke-Tor said, now realizing Am-Ohkre would mark Gund as one of his servants and not one committed to Kesh only or the Mage specifically.
“Such a shame. Your pupil had showed promise and skill,” Am-Ohkre said, shaking his head in disapproval.
“Unfortunately, he was very insubordinate as well, talked poorly of your designs, and openly criticized Am-Sultain’s war,” Ke-Tor said, trying to stay the Arch-Mage’s disapproval.
“Yes, he had a very unscrupulous tongue and a serious attitude that needed adjusting, but I thought him ready soon of the Onyx Ceremony,” Am-Ohkre said, stopping his head shaking and absorbing the revealing information. “I take it you called on a new apprentice?”
“Zorcross will replace Khan,” Ke-Tor said simply.
“That will take weeks,” Am-Ohkre said, raising his hand to silence Ke-Tor’s protest. “In the meantime, we must rally the survivors at the Gregus and collect your friend Gund and his soldiers. We leave immediately.”
“But we are weak and understaffed!” Ke-Tor said, shocked at the speed and magnitude of the decision. Whatever was out there, Ke-Tor felt it would be better if he could remain within the high stone walls of Korwell. “One of us should stay in Korwell to maintain its defense, especially after what happened here yesterday. We almost lost the castle again.”
“We will only take two patrols, one each from the Bloody Hand and the Red Throat, and the last stone troll stays here,” Am-Ohkre said with a final nod.
Ke-Tor preferred to have a troll near him when he traveled. The creatures were dumb but in awe of the Kesh wizards, and this gave him the leverage to manipulate and order a stone troll to do his bidding. Unfortunately, the awe was limited to the wizard caste, and it was not unknown for a stone troll to kill a Kesh brigand or two from time to time in an argument. For this reason, the trolls, unlike their immensely chaotic and uncontrollable hill brethren and their equally independent mountain cousins, were used commonly as personal bodyguards by the Mage class. “Would it not be better to take Grinder with us?”
Ke-Tor understood the Arch-Mage’s words were final and, indeed, most likely wise, but in the interest of self-preservation, Ke-Tor wanted the stone troll, Grinder, to accompany him personally. Ke-Tor would have to watch his back. “Anything else?”
“No, gather your things and meet me in the courtyard. The patrols are ready to go, and we go mounted for speed.”
“As you wish,” Ke-Tor said with an ever so slight bow, just enough to prevent the Arch-Mage from accusing him of disrespect but as little as possible to show his contempt, if not disagreement. Ke-Tor did not jump from the parapet wall this time, instead electing to use the stairs and retrieve his pack on the way down. He didn’t trust the magic of floating so close to the Arch-Mage, especially after such news. Magic accidents were known to occur more often in the presence of Arch-Mages and resulted in the high mortality rate amongst the common wizard. No, indeed, Ke-Tor would walk the three hundred and thirty-three steps to the courtyard below.
Targon had stood for a couple of hours at his front door, waiting patiently. He told Marissa to take Thomas, Jons, and Monique around back to his mother’s garden and see what they could find. He didn’t have the heart to say anything to Cedric or Karz, as Cedric just held his little brother in his lap and leaned against the cabin wall while stretching his legs out on the uneven and worn planks of the front porch.