Hermes shivered and noticed that Hork stood silently and motionless. The demeanor of the man unnerved the frail magic-user and he marked the moment as one to remember, but he still asked the Kesh military commander his question anyway. “So you approved of the trap and of Saxon’s death?”
Hork’s reaction was slow and measured, and perhaps his eyes narrowed a bit as he looked intently at Hermes. Hermes understood that the Kesh leader could also mark this moment as a negative one for the apprentice, and Hermes wished that he had not asked the question. Hork finally answered, his voice low. “If his death sets the trap, then it’s a good trade.”
The coldhearted comment sent a shiver down Hermes’ spine as he looked back to his master who had remained the entire time focused on his apprentice. “Master, what trap are you two referring to? It seems to me that we were trapped, not the other way around.”
“You have a lot to learn, my young apprentice,” Zorcross said, and Hermes thought that his master was young as well, so the comment struck him as odd, coming from one young man to another. “The sacrifice will allow for us to finally deal with these vermin, once and for all. In fact, we actually had a chance to kill the rebel woodsman. You said yourself that Saxon came within a sword’s blow of killing the man. In the end, we came up short.
“That doesn’t explain the trap, Master,” Hermes said.
“We were unlucky with Saxon,” Zorcross stated, looking intently at his apprentice. “We were, however, fortunate with the wagons. The Ulathans took one of them back to their hideout.”
“So, what does that mean? We lost our supplies and provisions and I do not see how giving them our resources helps our cause,” Hermes said.
“You have a small mind,” Zorcross said, a hint of a frown crossing his face as the outer edge of his mouth curved down ever so slightly. “We have sent them poisoned apples.”
Hermes’ eyes grew wide, and he forgot for a moment the offense at being bait earlier that day. The idea of the Ulathans eating poisoned foodstuffs was most pleasant to the man, and he briefly enjoyed the idea of the role he played in ensuring the delivery of the poison to the rebels. Then, as quickly as it came, it left, and Hermes narrowed his own eyes, looking at his master intently. “And if they don’t eat the apples?”
Zorcross seemed prepared for the question, and the hint of a frown was replaced with that feral grin that so unnerved people who witnessed it. “Then the assassin we hid in the wagon will lead us to their secret camp and we will kill them this very night.”
Chapter 3
Counter Trap
“Are you sure we have to burn all of them?” Yolanda asked.
The group had gathered around the fire and Targon had ordered extra wood be placed upon it. Once roaring, the order had come to throw the apples and barrel into the center of the bonfire. Targon would not risk bird or beast to eat of the poisoned fruit and suffer a disastrous fate.
A quick look from Targon to Khan, and the Kesh wizard nodded before Targon looked back to Yolanda. “Yes, better to be safe in this regard.”
“Such a shame,” Yolanda said, and several of the women nodded. “We could have cleaned them carefully.”
Apples were normally available with some southern trade, but trapped in the Blackthorn Forest, the diet of the Ulathan refugees consisted mainly of deer meat, nuts, berries, and occasionally mushrooms and wild cabbages. They tried to supplement a bit with their garden and grow carrots, potatoes, corn, and beets, but citrus-bearing trees would not survive the harsh winters that Ulatha was accustomed to.
“They picked a very pretty bait, didn’t they?” Monique asked from her position around the fire as everyone watched Will and Dorsun throw the large barrel onto the bonfire.
“Not as pretty as you,” Cedric said, giving her a smile to accompany his compliment.
“Stick to your books, young Cedric,” Agatha said, a slight scold in her voice as Monique blushed.
“Let them be, Agatha,” Salina said gently.
“Yeah, you old coot, leave them love birds alone,” Horace chimed in, never moving his eyes off of Dorsun who now stood next to Will, watching the fire consume the barrel, apples, and poison.
“Hush.” Salina raised an arm at Agatha and gave her a stern look, stopping the retort before it came.
There was an awkward moment of silence before Khan spoke, surprising the Ulathans. “I thought the young lady was enamored with the woodsman?”
Several of the women gasped audibly, and Monique turned a bright shade of red in her face before she looked around and ran into the cabin. “Now look what you’ve gone and done, Kesh,” Agatha said, gracing Khan with a scowl and running after Monique. Emelda and Olga followed after her.
“What?” Khan asked, looking around at his captors, a look of true confusion on his face. “I spent most of the summer watching the flirtations between the young lady and the woodsman. Am I wrong?”
“You can call me Targon,” Targon said, standing right next to Khan but not letting his eyes leave the fire and the burning barrel.
No one replied at first, and then Salina spoke. “Khan,” she said, stepping over to the young wizard and placing a hand on his arm. “We don’t speak of such things in front of others, especially when a lady is present. It is . . . shall we say . . . a courtesy that we afford to our women. Do you understand?”
Khan brought his hand to his chin again as if in deep thought. Targon always thought the gesture was more than a little peculiar. “One would have to be blind to not see the intended affection, but you are saying that despite the obvious, you do not as a culture speak of it.”
“Yes, that would be a close approximation of our society,” Salina said, smiling at the man despite the scowls from several other of the Ulathans.
Khan looked up and seemed to notice. “It appears that your kindness and willingness to explain Ulathan cultural and societal norms are not appreciated by your fellow countrymen.”
“They simply have suffered much at the hands of your people.” Salina’s smile became lost, replaced by a solemn expression that touched everyone that gazed upon her.
Khan scanned the group carefully and slowly before resuming his conversation with Salina. “For that I am most sorry.”
The awkward silence resumed as most everyone returned their attention to looking at the bonfire, and the silence was broken only by the occasional popping of miniature gas pockets that were released from their embedded prisons within the wood of the barrel and of the forest. The sound of the greedy licking fire seemed to be almost hypnotic.
Salina returned to her old position nearer to the porch and sat on an old tree stump, pulling Karz into her lap and holding him tightly. Cedric looked around awkwardly and then plopped down onto the ground not far away. Within moments, most of the group sat around the bonfire on wooden logs, stumps, or grassy ground. No matter how much trampling that occurred around the cabin, the grass seemed to grow every day. Only Targon, Will, and Dorsun remained standing.
“Amy, don’t stray too far,” Yolanda called out to her daughter, who was now running away from little Jons in a game of tag, weaving in and out of the trees at the edge of the clearing.
“Your young ones seem to have adapted quicker than the adults,” Khan said, looking at the children who played nearby.
“What’s that mean about us?” Horace asked, his bow moving from Dorsun to Khan from his perch on the porch.
“Nothing in particular,” Khan said, hardly giving Horace a look. This scenario had played out all summer long, and Khan was immune to it by now. “I simply noted that your progeny appear to have performed exemplarily considering the exacerbated tension that they were subject to, better than their elders.”
“Now how ’bout you give that to me in the common tongue?” Horace retorted, leaning forward.
He’s saying that the children have handled the stress better than the adults,” Cedric said.
“You speak Kesh?” Yolanda asked Cedric, awe in her voice.
>
This elicited a chuckle from Salina before she spoke. “No, Yolanda. Cedric has simply done a fair amount of reading, and obviously, this has helped him in understanding some of the words that Khan used just now.”
“I see his head in that book all the time,” Celeste said, nodding her head in approval and gracing Cedric with an approving look.
“He does,” Horace agreed.
The small talk was interrupted by Yolanda yelling across the small clearing. “Amy, get away from those trees now. Get back here to the fire where I can see you.”
“Do you think it is safe for them to being playing like that?” Celeste asked no one in particular.
“After what they’ve been through, I’d say getting lost in the woods would be of less concern to them than to us,” Will spoke finally, looking over at Jons and Amy as they skipped back from the edge of the trees toward the group.
“I wouldn’t let none of me kin near that forest if I had anything to say about it,” Horace said. “That damn ghost will be the end of one of our young’un if we’re not careful.”
There were several groans, and more than a set of eyes rolled at that remark. Agatha’s screechy voice came from inside the cabin. “Not you and that mysterious figure you been seeing all summer now. Is that what you’re yapping about again?”
“Just you shush, Agatha. That’s no way to speak to my man.” Emelda’s reply came from inside, and Targon found himself smiling as he looked to the cabin, finally releasing his gaze from the hypnotic dancing flames of the fire. He was content now that no poison would survive to harm any man or creature.
“Well, no harm in keeping the children closer to the cabin at night,” Celeste said. Yolanda nodded and Salina stroked Karz’s forehead, smoothing his bangs back from his eyes.
“I saw what I saw,” Horace stated defiantly and loudly enough for Agatha to hear him inside the structure.
“I saw it too,” Thomas said, running up and plopping down next to Cedric.
“What did it look like?” Khan asked, eliciting a few looks from the adults.
“Well,” Thomas started, “it was cloaked in black, had beady red eyes and a large walking stick.”
“Could it have been a staff?” Khan leaned lower to face Thomas.
“Enough, Kesh,” Horace said, ensuring his aim was centered on the young wizard. “Don’t go frightening that boy cause you’re too afraid of your own masters.”
Celeste and Yolanda nodded as Salina looked intently at Khan before he replied. “I was only asking a question.”
“Bad question, Kesh.” Horace bobbed his bow up and down a bit playfully, which drew a nasty look from Dorsun from the far side of the fire.
Will gripped his sword tightly and looked at Dorsun warily. “Horace, don’t rile up our guests right before bed time,” the tall guardsman said, his tone serious.
Targon had had enough of this conversation. “What is it you fear, Khan? You heard the story several times and practically saw what we saw. Your mage and our druid are dead. They killed one another months ago.”
“Not his master,” Salina spoke softly. “He escaped, didn’t he, Khan?”
Khan nodded. “Ke-Tor is alive, I am sure of it.”
“Surely he can’t be here, in the Blackthorn . . . can he?” Will asked, looking around and then returning his gaze to Dorsun after a quick nod at Horace to ensure the bow was ready.
The question hung silently for a time before Khan answered. “He could be here.”
“How do you know? Why would you think that, Kesh?” Horace asked, continuing to be a tad disrespectful to the wizard and not calling him by his proper name.
The faces looked at Khan intently, hate, loathing, fear . . . more than a little fear, yes, and perhaps something more. Pity? The Ulathans did not like the idea of a wizard trying to kill one of them as being anything close to appealing. Khan spoke softly, almost inaudibly. “I think I . . .”
“You what?” Salina asked.
Khan looked around again before focusing on Salina and her son. Then he spoke louder, more confident this time. “I think the old man is correct.”
“Correct about the ghost?” Salina asked, never taking her hands off the Kesh.
“Yes,” Khan said, his voice saddened. “He is correct because . . . I saw it too.”
The men lined up, standing at some form of attention, which Hermes thought was ridiculous for a group of killers and assassins. He walked behind his master as they inspected the group of twenty mercenaries and hired thugs.
“They will do nicely, Hork. Ahh, and this must be the northerner you secured.” Zorcross came to stand face to face with a tall man dressed in furs and leathers. A large handle of a two-handed sword stuck out from his back where it could be pulled with both hands, while a large spear stood erect at attention next to him, its base firmly planted into the soft ground. The man had long blond hair, angular features, and was muscular with intense blue eyes. He reminded Hermes of the Ulathan woodsman, only fairer in color in the eyes and hair.
“His name is Kaz. He doesn’t speak the common tongue, but Nob here can translate for us,” Hork said, coming to a stop next to Zorcross and across from a finely dressed man wearing a cotton shirt and a silk sash around his neck in a strange display of fashion that Hermes was not used to.
“Ask the northerner, Kaz, if he understands why he is here,” Zorcross said, not bothering to look at Nob, instead keeping his gaze and focus on the tall barbarian, who returned the look without fear.
Hork nodded at Nob, who began to speak. “Alish kazor na ilad de houk?”
The northerner nodded. “Krik Ahun, Krik flemink.”
“Kill the rebel, kill the Ulathans,” Nob said, a nod of his head to confirm.
“That is not what he said,” Hermes interrupted.
“Blimy if that ain’t what the man just spoke,” Nob said defensively. “You calling me a liar?”
Before Hermes could respond, Zorcross took his gaze from the northerner and centered it squarely on the insubordinate translator. Hork took a moment to read the older wizard’s expression before also giving Nob a stare.
“Did you just speak to my apprentice in the tone of voice that I think you did?” Zorcross finally asked.
Nob seemed caught a bit by surprise and stammered for a moment. His mouth opened and then shut twice before words finally came to him. “No, Master. I spoke the truth is all. No disrespect intended.”
The translator looked from Zorcross to Hermes and then back again before lowering his eyes to the ground.
“Why did you question the translation?” Zorcross turned to face Hermes.
“He said peasants, not Ulathans,” Hermes clarified. “Flemink is the word for peasants in the northern tongue.”
“You did not tell me you spoke the barbarian’s language.” Zorcross’ eyes narrowed a bit as he gripped his metallic staff tighter in his right hand.
Hermes felt the intense gaze from his master as much as he saw it. “I don’t really . . . you can say that I know a few words and that was one of them.”
Zorcross graced his apprentice with his gaze for a few moments longer before resuming his discussion with the translator. “What do you say to this, Nob?”
Nob looked up, one look to Hork and then back again to Zorcross. “Master Hermes speaks the truth, but the northerners always refer to the westerners as ‘peasants.’ I was just specifying which peasants.”
Zorcross waited a moment longer and then looked at the barbarian who had not moved during the entire conversation. The man seemed to be made of stone. “So what say you, Kaz?”
“Alish kazor . . .” Nob started, and then fell silent under the gaze of the others.
Then the large barbarian did move. He moved both of his hands to the base of his neck, flexing his elbows over his head, and pulled the massive two-handed sword from its sheath and presented it, flat blade facing Zorcross, and then spoke. “Krik Ahun.”
“Yes.” Zorcross smiled wickedly. “K
rik Ahun, indeed, my northern friend.” And Zorcross stepped back, allowing the mercenary and his crew to march toward the Blackthorn Forest, before turning to face his apprentice.
“Master?” Hermes asked tentatively.
“Go with them, Hermes. See to it that you don’t return without the head of that Ulathan woodsman. Do not fail me again . . . apprentice.”
Hermes took one look at his master and then started off at a trot to catch up to the raiders. He thought he would live through the day when he ran from the last battle. Now, he realized he still had time to die before all was said and done.
“Are you kidding me?” Horace asked, unusually talkative this evening yet sounding hopeful at the young wizard’s comment.
“Don’t go and encourage the man,” Agatha said, coming out to stand on the porch with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. “It’s bad enough to hear it from him, now we have the Kesh seeing things too.”
“Wait,” Salina said, handing Karz to Cedric and standing, brushing off her hands on her tattered dress, what was left of it. She walked quickly to stand next to Khan, looking at the young man intently. “You really did see something, didn’t you?”
Khan nodded. “I cannot say if it is the same figure that the old man has seen, but something lurks in the woods, especially at night.”
Targon reached over, grabbing Khan’s slender shoulder and turning the man to face him. “What exactly did you see? Could it be a fellow Kesh brigand, an assassin of sorts, or one of those mercenaries your kind seems fond of hiring?”
“I do not know what it is. It reminded me of Am-Ohkre . . .” Khan said, looking at the ground.
“But that’s not who you fear, is it?” Targon said, and Salina moved around to stand next to Targon so she could see Khan’s face as he looked back at them.
“I fear it could be my old master, Ke-Tor.” Khan looked furtively into the darkness at the mere mention of his old master’s name. “But it can’t be . . .”
Dead Druid: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 2 (Ranger Series) Page 4