“Well?” Ke-Tor asked not so kindly after he had entered.
“News . . . or, to be more precise, the lack of news,” Am-Ohkre responded, looking up from a small portable table with his critir placed on it, and motioned for Ke-Tor to seat himself on the other only chair opposite the Mage.
“What do you mean?” Ke-Tor asked, sitting and looking suspiciously at Am-Ohkre.
“I mean I have been unable to reach Sultain. It is as if the master orb is not there.”
“That is impossible. Am-Sultain is simply ignoring you,” Ke-Tor shot back.
Am-Ohkre paused a moment, placing his left hand on the critir and looking piercingly into the other wizard’s eyes. “No, not impossible, only implausible. Even if the High-Mage ignored my call, I would be able to see the Chamber of Seeing. Did you not know this?” the Mage asked with an arch of his brows.
Ke-Tor did not like being surprised. He did not know the Mage could actually connect with the master orb. Indeed, what few times Ke-Tor had needed to contact the High-Mage personally, he could never connect on his own, but rather had to wait for a response from the Chamber of Seeing. Either Am-Ohkre was being facetious with him or he was letting slip some key information on his own capabilities, at least as far as they related to manipulating a critir. Ke-Tor decided discretion was the better course. “Of course I knew,” Ke-Tor replied, “but I still think Am-Sultain is ignoring you.”
“You have not been listening to what I have been saying. I cannot reach the Chamber of Seeing in the Onyx Tower. Either the tower is not there or the master critir is not there. Either way, this does not bode well for Sultain. I am worried.”
“You, worried!” Ke-Tor replied, his face showing utter surprise and incredulity. “I find that hard to believe.”
Am-Ohkre sighed, much like a parent would to a wayward child. “I am not worried for the High-Mage personally. He can take care of himself. I am, however, worried for what this means for Kesh and our order. This does not bode well for us.”
Ke-Tor’s eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting . . . Am-Ohkre?”
“Nothing specific as of yet, but this does show that something is happening in the Onyx Tower, and whether it is benevolent or benign I do not know, and I do not like not knowing,” Am-Ohkre finished matter-of-factly.
“So we stay on plan?” Ke-Tor asked expectantly.
“For now, yes. We need to regroup and eliminate any resistance in Ulatha. We can ill afford any more frivolous losses. Any news from your . . . ex-apprentice?”
“No, why? Should there be?” Ke-Tor now asked, more annoyed, as the question itself was disturbing to him. Did the Mage know something about Khan that he did not?
“Just asking. I always thought the young man rather resourceful, if not just disrespectful. Cheeky sort of chap, but still a shame . . . his fate, I mean.”
Ke-Tor disliked, and even distrusted, the emotions and even the sympathies the Mage was giving to his apprentice. Ex-apprentice, he had to remind himself. “He failed me and he failed Kesh. Lost the better part of the Bloody Hand Company and almost lost Korwell, if not for our intervention. He was incompetent, insubordinate, and . . . and . . .” Ke-Tor’s face contorted, anger crossing his brow as he attempted to spit out his next words. “And yes . . . too cheeky for one of our order. He did not know his place. Zorcross will replace him and do a better job . . . I am sure of it.”
Am-Ohkre sat back in his rickety portable chair, taking his hand off of the critir where it had lay. He rubbed his beard on his chin and placed his hands in his lap. Ke-Tor could see the faint outline of a smile barely visible dancing across his mouth, and it was most disturbing. Finally, Am-Ohkre spoke. “I am sure Zorcross will do fine, but it will take some time for him to arrive, and that is a shame. Very well, we are done here. Return to your tent and prepare. We leave early tomorrow. There is something odd happening in the Earlstyne, and we must be rested and ready.”
Ke-Tor stood, staring at the Mage, not concealing very well his contempt. To be summoned and then dismissed like a mere apprentice was humiliating to him. He said nothing and returned to his lodging and prepared to sleep. He set a spell around his tent first, however, never trusting one of his fellow Kesh to protect him, and slept fitfully for the remainder of the night.
Targon was happy to see the old man when he finally showed up after dark. The butchering of the buck was done, and most of the meat was being cooked as they had no plans to preserve it for later. The garden was large and ignored by the brigands. They took what was already harvested or stored, and it was obvious they were pillagers, not gardeners. They would not crawl on their hands and knees to pull roots from the ground, and for that, Targon was thankful.
Agatha had resumed her charge of the others as she organized them into a self-contained group. Each was assigned with a task, and any laziness or slothfulness was not tolerated and was quickly remarked on by her sharp tongue and acidic remarks. Only Targon, who had permitted them to stay in his home and who had provided the buck after hunting all day, and Lady Salina were spared her barbs and criticisms. Even Will was called an “old loaf” when she caught him lounging around too much, despite the fact that his arm wasn’t healed fully.
The meeting between Elister and Lady Salina was brief and cordial but warm. She embraced him and thanked him profusely, but Elister just seemed to be more embarrassed at all the attention he was receiving and was quite taken aback when Karz hugged his legs and almost started to cry. Elister simply waved them off and said it was the least he could do, and very quickly, he exited the cabin after the formalities were finished.
The others remained inside, bundled against the cool air of the evening, and Elister preferred to sit on the front porch now with Targon, but this time, Cedric joined them as well after the impromptu meeting that had been arranged. Horace had returned to his perch at the end of the porch with his crossbow. He remained away a short distance from the three companions and resumed his silent vigil on the small homestead and cabin.
“You seem upset,” Targon remarked when they had all seated themselves on the porch using old tree stumps as stools. Elister had pulled a leather bag from his robe and lit up a long wooden pipe using some tobacco from the pouch. His pipe glowed red, and deep dark puffs of grey smoke blew out from his lips as he settled in.
“There is nothing like Southern Safron in one’s pipe. Good and hearty, gives a man’s senses a kick, you know?” the old man said in reference to his weed.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Targon said, smiling at the druid.
“Well, the weed I had was all dried out and stale. You know, several decades of storage will do that, so I was fortunate to find this little stash.”
Where did you get it from?” Cedric chimed in, seemingly happy to be taking in on the adult conversation and happy to be away from the women and ladies, especially Agatha.
“Took it from one of the brigands, you know?” Elister responded with a look over at Cedric. “I didn’t steal it, if that is what your look means. The poor man was asleep and wasn’t going to need it for a very long time, so I sort of borrowed it. He can stop by anytime, and I’ll happily replace it for him if he so desires.”
“Sleep?” Cedric asked, a look of confusion on his face.
“It’s a long story, Cedric,” Targon said. “I’ll explain later. I need to know if we’re safe here or not. I mean, I appreciate all your help and what you did for Lady Salina”—at this Cedric nodded vigorously in agreement—“but we need to plan for the near future.”
“Well, I think not,” Elister finally said after a good long pull on his pipe. “I’m afraid I went and did something rather rash.”
Targon felt uneasy but had to ask. “What exactly do you mean by rash? Are we in danger?”
“Well, with the Kesh nearby, you are always in danger, but I fear I have alerted their pesky leader to my presence.”
&
nbsp; “And how does that affect us?” Targon asked hesitantly.
“Well, I broke their little peeping glass, nasty intrusive device that it was, but they will probably repair it in time. Till then, however, I fear they have a better understanding of the forest and most likely will come here sooner or later,” Elister said, pausing to take another drag on his pipe.
“Is there anything we can do?” Targon asked.
“Well, there are many things one can do, but not all things are good to do. Doing the wrong thing, or even the right thing hastily, can turn out all wrong for the doer. I must give this some thought first. Oh, I learned Core is alive and doing well, but he was hurt a bit.”
“You mean that big bear?” Cedric asked in awe.
“Yes, the bear, young man. It seems he was hurt by the Kesh, and that really upset him. He won’t return till his anger subsides, and he appears to be killing any of the poor brigands he comes across.”
“How did you learn this?” Targon asked, amazed at how the old man seemed to know more about the happenings in and around the forest than he did or more than any human should have known.
“Well, I was fortunate this afternoon and Argyll showed up to tell me. He spotted Core as well as a few brigand survivors on both shores of the Gregus . . . er, I mean the Rapid River. I sent him to keep a watch for us and on Core.” Another drag and puff and the slowly stirring night air whisked the smoke away and down the porch toward Horace, who was waving his hand around, dissipating the offending smoke.
Targon thought for a moment and pondered the news. It appeared, if the old man and his crazy animal friends were correct, that the Kesh were all either dead or routed. He was sure there were survivors, as he remembered seeing at least one raft make it back to shore, but he couldn’t know for sure how many were there.
Cedric ran into the cabin for a moment and returned with his red leather-bound book and a candle. “Hold this,” he asked Targon, giving him the candle and opening his book, looking for something. Finally, he held the book near the candle and started reading:
“The Magocracy always took the form of a triumvirate, the Mage, the wizard, and the apprentice, and the three were always bound by three to form the nine, which formed the basis for Kesh society.”
Cedric cleared his throat and tilted the book to glean a bit more light.
“Always, the nine were led by the one. The one formed the ultimate representation of Kesh power and authority. To kill the one was to destroy the nine.”
“What in the blazes are you reading?” Targon asked, admiring the book, though it looked old and fragile and Cedric always kept it covered in a black cloth, wrapped and tied securely when he wasn’t using it.
“This is one of the few books of history that I could find in the old library. It was written by the ancient historian Diamedes a long time ago, but I’m not sure when. It says much about Kesh, and, of course, Ulatha, but more about how it was than now. I’m sorry, but I find it quite interesting.”
“Excellent, young man!” Elister said, smiling, removing his pipe to speak. “It is most refreshing to see one remember his elders. Have you read the whole book?”
Cedric smiled at the praise from the old man. “Yes, twice at least, but the pages are starting to rot, and I fear the book won’t last much more use. I’d like to transcribe it to preserve its history.”
“What does transcribe mean?” asked Targon, somewhat embarrassed at his lack of vocabulary in front of Elister.
“He means to copy the book, Master Terrel. He is a scholarly man and a gentleman. Very good, indeed! Can you read, Master Terrel?”
Targon felt the looks from Cedric and Elister, and even imagined old man Horace may have perked up at the question. “Well, yes, my mother taught me to read, but perhaps, not so well as Cedric.”
“Good for you! You’ll make a fine Zashitor if you’re educated in your letters as well,” Elister said, putting the pipe back in his mouth, clapping his hands together in delight.
Just then, Horace whirled and aimed the crossbow into the dark. There was a flurry of noise as a large bird flew in, flapping its wings violently and arresting its dive from the sky, finally coming to perch on the crude tripod of wooden poles that had been constructed nearby to hang the buck Targon had hunted. The bird gave them no notice and started to peck at the meat of a hind leg that remained hanging as remains to be discarded.
“Argyll, my friend,” Elister said, standing and walking over to the bird. “So good to see you again so soon.”
The bird finished picking at some meat and started to screech, bringing a feeling of dread and suspense to Targon, who also walked over with Elister but stayed behind the old man. He was joined by Cedric while Horace remained on the porch, and the door opened with Will standing there holding his broadsword menacingly.
“What did you say?” Elister asked, cocking his head and waving his hand behind him to keep his companions hushed so he could hear. “Where were they? Ah, yes, I know the place. How many were there? Hmm, not so many as last time, yes.” At this, the old man gently started to stroke the bird’s head and neck. “Go on . . . yes, I see. Good. You will? Thank you, Argyll. We will meet you at the killing shed near the river come the morrow. You, too, thank you.” And gently, the man pulled his hand from the bird, and it departed, taking flight just as quickly as it arrived. There was, for a moment, utter silence broken only by two words from Horace.
“Bloody hell!”
The night quickly came, and Khan looked over at Dorsun as he seemed to finally stir a bit, opening his eyes. They had spent most of the day allowing the injured man to rest and the weaker Talaman to make its effects felt. During the day, his own Talaman faded away, and the chill of the air was almost welcome. Khan felt the burning subside and his body return somewhat to normal, if not sore. The only real thing he saw halfway through the dull, boring day was another body of one of the Kesh brigands facedown as it floated down the river and out of sight. He thought it must have gotten caught on something upstream and finally dislodged, though he did not see any arrows or bolts sticking from it.
The entire day was filled with dread for Khan. He imagined more than once the rustling of the bear as it approached the campsite. Khan wasn’t stupid, however, and sat cross-legged facing the forest while Dorsun’s back was against the tree he was facing and much closer to the bear should it arrive from that direction. Always, Khan kept the river in his mind. It had nearly killed him once but had saved him twice. “How do you feel?” Khan asked his companion when the man finally looked at him.
Dorsun winced but nodded. “Better, Mas—Khan. What was it you gave me?”
Khan touched the last remaining blue Talaman around his neck. “Do you recognize this?” he asked, and Dorsun nodded in the affirmative. “I gave you one of my weaker Talamans. I had to use the greater one on myself as I was at death’s door not long ago.”
“Those are very expensive and very rare, Master,” Dorsun said, forgetting to call Khan by his name, habit being much too powerful for the elder brigand. “They are not lightly wasted on a lone soldier of Kesh.”
“Just Khan, please, and, yes, they are a bit pricey even when you can obtain them. Unfortunately, I only had three of them, two lesser and one more potent. The important thing is they worked. We both live, if not pleasantly, and we still breath, and any breath for a dead man is a good breath. I had hoped it would do more for you, but you still seem to be in some pain. Can you fight?”
Dorsun suddenly stood up and attempted to suppress a grimace of pain. He kept one hand on his abdomen as if supporting himself, and he took a few steps over to the small pile of items Khan had scavenged from the other two dead brigands. Dorsun had lost his spear in the river, but he took a nicely sized rapier and hefted it in his right hand, swinging it back and forth and making two quick thrusts into the air at the river. Finally, he lowered the blade point end into the grou
nd and lightly leaned on it. “This old dog still has some bite left in him, Master.”
Khan stood, partly happy Dorsun showed some major signs of life despite the pain, and partly because, well . . . Dorsun was showing signs of life and he was now armed. Khan thought for a moment that putting the blade to the veteran’s throat may have been a bit too melodramatic, but Dorsun seemed to have forgotten the act.
“Good. You seem more than capable, Dorsun,” Khan said as the moonlights reflected off the long slender metal of the blade. “More rest, however, is needed. We will head north at dawn and see what remains of our company. I need my staff, however, and we must retrieve what we can from my pack. There are items in it that are necessary for our future.” Khan was glad to have Dorsun with him and not against, as the Kesh chieftain looked rather wicked and most deadly swinging the rapier a few more times. The firelight cast illumination on his mostly black-clad frame, and the blade twinkled between the light of the fire and the light illuminated by the twin moons overhead.
Dorsun walked over to the tree and planted the blade deep into the grassy soil so that it stood upright on its own, and with some effort, he sat down with his back against the tree, gingerly touching his abdomen. “I feel pain still, but nothing I can’t handle. I think I will be fine by morning to travel, but what then? What do you plan to do when you have your staff, Master?”
Khan gave up trying to get Dorsun to call him by his familiar name. Perhaps better to let the man continue to know his place by using the moniker of respect. “I do not know yet, but if I can obtain my critir . . . you know, the Orb of Seeing my kind uses?” Dorsun nodded affirmatively. “Well, if I can secure that, then I will use it to plan our next actions. We lost an entire day today, and I worry another brigand, or worse, an Ulathan, will stumble across them if Gund did not carry them off already.”
“Do you think he did that?”
Ranger Rising: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 1 (Ranger Series) Page 27