Dead Druid: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 2 (Ranger Series)

by Salvador Mercer

  Saxon sailed through the air at the mighty woodsman, taking a swing as he approached. The Ulathan fighter simply ducked, having dropped the Kesh sword, and using two hands on his huge wood axe, he swung horizontally, cleaving both the body and the armor of the mighty armored mercenary in two. Saxon would fight no more.

  “Time to go, my lord,” the quartermaster said to Hermes, obviously not having carried out the wizard’s orders. Without waiting for an answer, the man ran toward the front of the wagon train as crossbow bolts flew through the air at them. They were Kesh bolts, but aimed at the Kesh, so Hermes understood that the Ulathans were using their own weapons against them.

  It appeared the small girl was not injured or dead after all. She stood now on the mound that the large Ulathan warrior had vacated, waving their command baton in the air back and forth, hooting and hollering at them. She was far away, but a few of the choice words she was using seemed most unladylike to the somewhat-cultured Kesh wizard. What really upset the wizard was that the axe-armed woodsman had jumped from the rocky mound and was now running at full speed directly at him. Hermes looked around and found himself alone, so he knew the wild, crazy woodsman was running toward him.

  More shouts of death, and Hermes turned his mount to face the road and his wagons. Despite the fact that his quartermaster failed to convey his orders, the few remaining drivers and bowmen on the carts were now embroiled in a ferocious battle with the Ulathans.

  Two warriors were killing his men with ease. The first was a tall man, wearing what looked like the tattered uniform of an Ulathan officer. The man swung a broad sword in wide sweeps, impacting wagon and brigand alike and wreaking havoc with most every blow.

  The second was a slender female with the colors of the Ulathan nobility wrapped around her neck and waistline in a sash. She swung a slender sword, often thrusting it into his troops, and used her small boot to kick their bodies as she pulled her weapon from their torsos. The sight of the two demoralized his troops, and several started to run west toward the safety of the old keep.

  Several crossbow bolts shot through the air, hitting several of his last surviving troops and leaving the wizard in effect alone now on the battlefield with at least a half dozen angry Ulathans. Perhaps a few of his fleeing troops managed to dodge the bolts and continued to flee west. With another tug on his horses’ reins, Hermes turned his mount to face the forest.

  In the distance, he saw Saxon’s horse lying immobile on the ground, certainly dead or dying, and the large bear was coming to, shaking its shaggy fur, attempting to stabilize itself as it got to its feet, all four of them. The wizard was amazed that the bear still lived after such a forceful collision. The war cry from the woodsman, however, brought Hermes’ focus back to his immediate danger.

  The Ulathan woodsman had crossed nearly half the ground now and was barely over a hundred feet away. Hermes could see his intense blue eyes now, burning with a visible anger, no expression of fear on the man’s face, despite the fact that he was charging a Kesh magic-user.

  Hermes leveled his staff at the man and waited for him to come within range of his fireball, the most feared weapon a mage or wizard could deploy. The ball of fire would harness the charged particles of Agon and ignite the very air in front of the man’s staff, while the power of the wizard’s will would hurl that fire in the direction that the staff was pointing to.

  Some mages could bend the fire into a bolt of lightning, but for an apprentice like Hermes, it was hard enough to compact the fire into a tightly knit, burning ball. His mastery was less than ideal, and if the mage was flustered or his magic not done properly, the fireball would not do much more than singe the hair from an opponent, and if fired prematurely, it could fan out into a sheet that lost its potency.

  Hermes was going to have to take that risk as the charging woodsman was quickly covering the ground between them. With an intense concentration, the wizard pointed his staff at the Ulathan, saying, “Ogon!” and willing the particle stream at the man who raised his axe over his head and hurled it directly at the Kesh wizard.

  The axe sailed through the air, flying through the ball of fire faster than the magic could hurl it. Hermes had to maintain concentration on his magic, and the axe prevented that. With a duck of his upper torso and a lowering of the staff, the Kesh magic-user narrowly avoided the impact of the Ulathan’s axe. His fireball, however, petered out, and the flames dissipated as the charging woodsman pulled out a large knife and jumped through the thin sheet of flames, crossing his arms in front of his face as he did so. Nothing would stop the Ulathan now.

  At this moment in time, Hermes decided that he was fairly certain the charging Ulathan woodsman was going to run right through any ball of fire . . . if Hermes managed to keep it in a ball and if Hermes managed to summon another one before the rapidly approaching warrior reached him.

  With a series of spurs, the horse reared and then ran, turning toward the west and leaving the field of battle. Hermes looked over his shoulder at the figure of the charging Ulathan warrior and noted that the man slowed when it was obvious that he could not catch the fleeing Kesh wizard, and then, to his horror, he watched as the man ran onward to retrieve his axe from where it had landed and then continued toward the last of the fleeing brigands of his company and started to hew and hack them down. The Ulathan woodsman was covered again in blood, and the blood was not his own.

  Hermes fled for his life.

  “That was wicked,” Marissa said, coming to a stop near Targon at the edge of the road. “Are they all dead?”

  “Not all,” Targon said, looking around at the death and mayhem from their ambush. Several carts were still moving wildly as their oxen tried to run from the flames of their burning wagons. Jons and Thomas were running after some of the carts, trying to free the beasts from their burdens. “Why are they being allowed to run freely on the battlefield?”

  “There’s not enough of us, son,” Will said, walking up from the north side of the road, wiping his sword with a rag that was far too crimson for any of their tastes. “You know that the women tried to keep them back, but those boys have minds of their own.”

  “Really?” Targon said, a nasty snort escaping from his nostrils.

  “The fight’s out there, son,” Will said again, sheathing his sword and discarding the wet, bloody rag. He pulled off his pack and laid it on the ground, opening the top and finding another rag and tossing it to Marissa. “Use this.”

  Marissa took the rag and wiped her face and hands clean of the deer blood that was on her, and then discarded the rag in the same manner that Will had done. “Thanks.”

  “I find it hard to believe that those two are willing to cross Agatha,” Targon said without snorting this time.

  “Ah, yes.” Will let himself smile and nod his head. “Perhaps they followed us exactly because they wanted to get away from the old . . .”

  “Go on,” Marissa said, putting her hands on her hips and standing, facing both the taller men in her party.

  “Ah, the . . . Lady Agatha, that’s it. They wanted to get away,” Will finished, his voice faltering.

  “Afraid she’ll tell the old hag?” Targon said.

  “Yes,” Will answered, looking at Targon with suspicion. “I don’t understand how you don’t fear Marissa telling her what you said.”

  “It’s a city-country thing,” Targon said.

  “As in?” Will asked.

  “As in, you’re city folk, and we’re country folk.” Marissa nodded.

  “That’s just not right,” Will said, shaking his head. “Please keep that woman off my back, both of you.”

  Targon and Marissa laughed, which brought a few frowns from their fellow Ulathans who were putting out fires and picking through supplies that had fallen from some of the carts. A large brown bear was moving from body to body, sniffing at each Kesh brigand in turn.

  “Is Core all right?” Targon asked Marissa.

  “Yes, he took a nasty hit to his side and had the
wind knocked out of him, but other than that he’s doing well,” she answered.

  “That’s not natural either,” Will said, walking away toward a group of Ulathans who were approaching from the east alongside the road and giving both Marissa and the bear a sidelong look.

  “What’s so funny?” Lada Salina asked, walking up to both Targon and Marissa.

  “Nothing,” Marissa said, smiling at Targon and then skipping away toward one of the carts that Thomas and Jons had stopped and were struggling to get the reins and leather gear off the oxen and free them from the wagon, which was now smoldering and no longer burning.

  Salina gave Targon a look that expressed a desire to hear more. Targon cleared his throat and changed the axe from one hand to another. “Like she said, nothing important. Shouldn’t we be clearing the area, not lingering out here in the open?”

  “You sound worried for a change,” Salina responded, gracing Will with a smile, and the tall city guardsman nodded at the slender Ulathan woman before walking off to help gather what supplies they could.

  “Worried, because this is the first time we are lingering on the battlefield. I don’t feel comfortable out here,” Targon said.

  “Well, that’s because this is the first time we’ve defeated one of their supply trains,” Salina said, taking a moment to look around at the death and destruction around them before returning her attention to Targon. “Before, it was all ‘hit and run’ with the emphasis on run. What do you make of it?”

  “I don’t know,” Targon began, looking up and feeling content to see that Argyll, their falcon-scouting bird, was far to the west, circling over the remnants of the brigands. If a counterattack was on the way, their flying scout would be above it helping them to locate their Kesh enemies. “Either they are weakening or we are getting better at setting these ambushes.”

  “I think it’s a bit of both,” Salina said, giving Targon a nod and a smile. “You have become a very effective warrior, Targon. I’m sure your family would be proud.”

  “Which is another sore spot with me,” Targon said, returning his gaze to the ground.

  “I understand. We all have lost. I won’t burden you with my feelings as you know I miss my husband, and my sons miss their father. All you need to know is that we feel your loss with you and we are most thankful for your help and protection,” Salina said solemnly, locking eyes with Targon and showing her sincerity and then adding, “Something, however, weighs upon your soul, Targon. You carry a heavy burden and you speak less these days. Will you not share your thoughts with me?”

  Targon returned her intense gaze and almost gave in to the desire to tell her about his discovery months earlier. The true guardian of the forest needed to remain a secret for now, however, and Targon shook off the desire to tell her about what lay under the hill in the heart of the Blackthorn Forest. Instead, he turned his attention to more urgent matters. “Do you not fear for your sons?”

  Salina seemed to be wise to his ploy but granted him this chance to change the subject yet again. “I am concerned, yes, of course, as any mother would be, but Agatha is with them and Cedric will not sleep till we return. They will keep a close watch on our Kesh . . . guests.”

  “You seem to want to trust them? Do you?”

  “No, trust is not the right word. Rather, I sense no real evil the way I do when I’m around these brigands, though that Kesh Commander Dorsun seems like the type to cut your throat in the night, if given the chance.”

  Targon nodded. “Yes, he’s definitely a killer, but he seems to have honor, unlike most of his kind. I don’t trust either of them, brigand or wizard. I also think those ropes won’t keep them from escaping if they really wanted to.”

  “Perhaps, but the crossbows give me some reassurance,” Salina said, looking back at the forest, and Targon easily read her thoughts. “They also show a healthy dose of fear and respect for that bear of yours.”

  The Kesh wizard Khan along with his bodyguard Dorsun were tied by their ankles to a metal ring attached to the corner of the Terrel family cabin. Salina’s sons, Cedric and Kars, were there, along with the older ladies, Agatha and Emelda, and Yolanda with her daughter, Amy. Kars was too small to do much, but the others were guarding the Kesh with crossbows. At first, Core had stuck around to keep an eye on them, but he was needed if they were to ever prevail against the brigands. The key to guarding the Kesh was in the fact that the Kesh captives never knew how far away the large brown bear was at any given time.

  “I wonder what happened to them. They seem to have an unnatural fear of Core,” Targon said.

  “I wouldn’t call it unnatural when you’re on the receiving end of your bear’s snout,” Salina said, her eyes looking intently at Targon.

  “That’s twice now you inferred that Core was my bear.”

  “He isn’t?”

  “He was Elister’s bear. Well, better to say he was Elister’s friend. I just happened to come into the picture slightly ahead of you and your party.”

  “It makes no difference to us if you refer to Core as yours, the druid’s, or even Marissa’s. The fact of the matter is that he listens to you . . . he obeys you.”

  “Perhaps he simply agrees with me,” Targon said, allowing a sigh to escape from his lips. “That Kesh wizard, or apprentice, whatever he was, seemed to run too easily. I fear they will bait us into their own trap if we’re not careful,” Targon said, changing the subject.

  “You just don’t know what it looks like to see you coming with that axe. I don’t blame him for running; it was in his own best interest.” Salina smiled.

  “Now you’re just flattering me,” Targon began, his cheeks catching a bit extra blood flow. “I was certain for a moment he would hurl his magic fire at me again when I was unarmed.”

  “Certain, and yet you continued to charge,” Salina said, her face becoming contemplative as she gazed at Targon, more than a hint of admiration in her tone and posture.

  “I simply wanted to get close enough to throw my knife at him before he crisped me black was all.”

  “Ah-huh,” Salina said, giving a coy look before continuing. “It worked, no matter what you think. That was very brave of you, Targon.”

  “Brave or stupid?” he countered.

  “It looked brave to me.”

  Targon changed the subject yet again. “I had no idea Marissa had such acting talent. Still, it amazed me they fell for it. It was so obvious that she had the bolt tucked under her arm, and any idiot could see the deer’s blood had almost congealed and hardened. It was closer to black than red.”

  Salina smiled again, understanding the young woodsman’s discomfort when discussing himself, especially in flattering terms. “From behind the wagons, it actually did look like the bolt was sticking from her torso and the blood looked real enough.”

  “But you were many stone throws away. It should have been obvious to the brigands nearer to us, not to mention it was on her face. Why she put blood on her face is beyond me.”

  “Does it matter? It worked, and that’s what counts. What I’m more interested in is how she can understand those animals. Either that is real magic or she has some kind of special talent or ability.”

  Targon nodded, remembering the faint sound of the bear for so brief a time before he couldn’t hear it again. Sometimes he wondered if he actually heard what he thought he heard, but in the summer months since that time, Marissa had spoken to both the bear and the falcon with ease. Most of the Ulathans accepted it, but a few felt it wasn’t natural and spoke in hushed tones that it was some sort of sorcery from Kesh that had infected the young girl.

  “She is special, of that I’m sure,” Targon said, looking at Marissa as she helped the boys free the oxen who were already running along the road at a slow trot, seeking to put as much distance between themselves and the Ulathans.

  “Come, Targon, let’s help sack whatever supplies we can and get back to the cabin. I don’t want to leave those Kesh with my boys longer than I have to.�
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  “Agreed,” Targon said, holstering his axe and heading toward the nearest wagon. “I think, however, that we should load one and take it with us.”

  “Do you think that wise? Won’t they be able to track something that large to your homestead?” Salina asked as they approached a wagon that seemed to be the center of attention and indeed, it had the focus of most of the Ulathans now. Even Horace had reached it from his battle position in the forest.

  It was just off the road, both oxen still harnessed and attached to the wagon’s yoke. Jons had run over to it, as had Marissa, and they were calming the animals. The barrels in the back were unharmed, perhaps the only wagon that had escaped fire as it was at the very rear of the train.

  “Fall is almost here, the leaves are preparing to change color, and the first snows of winter won’t be far behind. With so many mouths to feed, I’m fearful that the provisions we’ve stored up from our small garden won’t last us through the season. Besides, the forest has taken care of our tracks for us in the past. I expect they’ll do the same now,” Targon said.

  Before Salina could answer, Marissa started to run toward them, a look of concern on her face.

  “What is it, Marissa?” Salina asked as the young girl reached them.

  Marissa pointed over their heads high above where the large falcon was now circling closer to them. “The Kesh, they’re coming!”

  Chapter 2

  Trojan

  “What do you mean destroyed?” Zorcross asked his apprentice, coming from around the desk to face the man.

  Hermes shuffled his feet and gripped his staff tighter, feeling somewhat relieved that his master had left his own staff in the corner. “The Ulathans hit us again and set fire to the wagons. We only just survived and returned to report.”