Thomas slumped to the ground, dropping the bolt that he had grabbed to reload, and the bow fell on his lap as well. Celeste screamed and ran toward the stricken boy, heedless of the death and mayhem around her. Salina tried to shout, but her cries were drowned out by the ringing clash of steel on steel and the cries of death and pain all around her.
Will was hard-pressed but managed to kill two brigands and wound another. He was also backpedaling, trying to keep the many swords of the brigands at bay. Khan was grabbing a brand from the fire, and Dorsun lay face down next to Horace, who was reloading his bow. There was nothing they could do. Running to protect the boy, Celeste knelt in front of him, holding him in her arms. The spear impaled her back and knocked them both down on the porch.
Cries from inside the cabin were now louder than outside as Agatha and Emelda screamed, running onto the porch to attend to Thomas and Celeste. Seeing his wife in danger, Celeste dead, and the others quickly falling was too much for the old man. Horace cocked his bow and took a breath, releasing it at the brigand fighting Salina a mere dozen feet away. At point-blank range, the cutthroat had no warning and no time to avoid the missile, and he fell dead instantly.
“Help the others!” Horace screamed at Salina, simultaneously reaching for a bolt from under the bow and giving Dorsun a kick to revive the man.
Then they all saw the barbarian as he entered the clearing. Standing taller than any man they had ever seen, the wild-looking warrior held a spear in one hand and used the other to motion orders at the brigands who were still pouring from the forest. The hilt of a humongous sword stuck from his back and hinted at what was to come. His loud voice boomed through the night. “Ahouk detor. Krik flemink.”
Several brigands screamed loudly some sort of war cry and ran toward the front of the cabin and the vulnerable Ulathans. Only Will stood in their way, and he was sorely pressed to keep the three whom he engaged from killing him. A dozen Kesh brigands streamed by the tall guardsmen, ignoring him and his fight, focusing on the other Ulathans, death and murder in their eyes.
A small man appeared behind the barbarian as well as what looked like a young man, dressed in a manner similar to Khan, holding a staff in front of him. He peered through the gemstone on top, focused on the ground and not on the battle at hand. A tall, feral-looking brigand paced behind him.
The effect on Khan was immediate as the young wizard stood raising the brand in front of him and glared at the other wizard who was just now noticing his counterpart. The small scout of the brigands pointed at Khan and said something to the wizard with the staff who looked across the clearing and locked eyes on Khan. What passed between them was not pleasant. The staff was pointed at Khan, and in return, Khan threw the fire brand at the charging brigands, outstretching his arms and moving his hands, yelling, “Agon ynitchtoi!”
Khan manipulated the charged particles of Agon’s atmosphere, willing them to flow in a stream from his hands past the airborne firebrand, igniting and spreading a sheet of flames at the brigands. The effort was muted without his staff; he couldn’t focus the stream, and the burning air became nothing more than a brief display of pyrotechnics that ended in a loud bang.
The fire didn’t harm the brigands, but it did something nearly as important. It bought the Ulathans a few precious seconds of time as the brigands dropped and scattered, panicked momentarily by the display, something they weren’t expecting, and it distracted the opposing wizard to the point that the spell he was casting was ruined. Only the barbarian seemed immune to the display, standing like a rock in the background.
Dorsun shook his head, standing and assessing the situation. Seeing Khan next to the fire and vulnerable, he ran toward the man, stooping to pick up a brand himself.
“Grab a sword,” Khan ordered, motioning to the ground a few feet away where the fighter who was fighting Salina had died, shot by a bolt from Horace. Khan took the brand from Dorsun, holding it out in front of him.
A third brigand fell to Will’s sword, but the efforts had become too much. After several cuts and lacerations on his arms, a Kesh sword found its mark in the right shoulder of the Ulathan guardsman. Will kicked the offending brigand away, and the blade came free as the brigand fell backward under the force of Will’s boot.
Blood poured from the wound, and a glancing blow on Will’s left leg left the man stricken, falling to the ground on his knees, exhausted from the near constant combat. Salina yelled at the brigands around Will and ran forward to engage them.
This put her and Will in a strategically bad position. They were near the wagon, which protected their left flank and had the fire at their backs, but the cabin, porch and all, was far to their right, opposite of the bonfire, and the brigands had a clear path toward it. Nothing was in their way to stop them from killing the rest of their companions.
Will pulled himself along the ground, placing his back against one of the wagon’s wheels. Horace yelled something and shot a bolt under the wagon. It struck a brigand’s arm that was holding a sword, and the brigand yelled in pain, dropping his blade and crawling back. Will struck feebly under the wagon, hitting something, brigand, wagon, or dirt, and then closed his eyes, grimacing in pain.
“Are you all right, Will?” Salina asked, swinging her slender sword quickly, forcing a pair of brigands back a foot or two.
Will opened his eyes and caught site of Dorsun running toward them. “Watch out,” Dorsun said.
Dorsun reached the brigand’s dead body, picking up the man’s Kesh blade. He swung it in a pair of figure eights, loosening up his sword arm and reacquainting himself with the feel of steel in his hands once more.
Salina shuddered, realizing now that their captivity would be for naught if they wanted to reunite with their fellow Kesh as her eyes locked with the Kesh chieftain’s for a moment, and Dorsun smiled a wicked grin. Turning, he looked to Khan, who nodded, a motion toward the cabin, and Dorsun leaped between his fellow brigands and the Ulathans huddled on the front porch.
This greatly surprised the Kesh brigands as they weren’t expecting to see one of their own, much less a chieftain, striding forward from the light of the fire, sword in hand and anger in his eyes. The mercenaries cared less, paid to fight whomever they came across, and this Kesh-looking soldier was just one more enemy to be killed. Only this one lone man stood between them and their prize.
Khan grabbed a second brand from fire and threw it at the first brigand he saw, clearing a path for himself between the two battling parties. On his left, slightly to his front, was Will and Salina near the wagon. Much further, to his right, was the cabin, Dorsun, and a large group of brigands. Behind him was the bonfire and behind that was Horace, still seated and still dealing out death and pain with the crossbow that he had become so proficient at using.
Khan strode forward between the two groups now. He had only the one brand left. It would not be powerful enough to do much of anything to anyone, except perhaps for one person. One person who was already afraid and was already flustered by the combat around him. Khan eyed his colleague, the other Kesh wizard, and walked to meet him. He had one shot at this before he died, and he intended to maximize his chances by getting as close as he could to his adversary before dying.
The barbarian saw everything that transpired, and he nodded in agreement. He approved of the way his enemy fought. They fought with honor. Perhaps “peasants” wasn’t a word he would use when he sang his praises over them. Instead, he would honor them by calling them warriors, for they fought well and would die well.
“Krik ahouk,” he yelled, lifting his spear, hefting it once to balance its weight, and narrowed his eyes on Khan, preparing for the killing throw. That was when a roar came from the forest. Core had returned.
The large brown bear ran from the far west side of the clearing, completely surprising the Kesh raiding party. A brigand, standing in the way, was mercilessly crushed beneath the bear’s front paws. On his back rode a child, a girl of about twelve, dressed in leathers with a wick
ed yet familiar-looking knife in her hand. Hermes recognized her immediately and, more importantly, recognized the fact that he now stood between the bear and the barbarian. Thinking only for his life, he ran forward, trying to clear the line of the bear’s charge, and ran headlong toward the Ulathan wizard striding toward him.
What happened next occurred simultaneously and Salina struggled to keep track of what was happening around them. Salina was heartened to see Core return, but this was quickly tempered by the events that unfolded in quick succession. The barbarian’s eyes grew a bit larger as he wasn’t expecting the bear to be that large, but he had experience in hunting the large brown ones, especially those of the hard north.
Changing his stance from Khan to the bear, Kaz shouted once then charged the bear, stopping suddenly and planting his spear into the ground, using his heavy boot to brace it, he pointed it down toward Core who hit the spear at a high rate of speed, impaling it into his massive body. This knocked the barbarian down as Core’s body toppled onto the large brute and Marissa was thrown head first over both of them, flying through the air to land a dozen feet away, limp and unmoving.
Then, just as suddenly, the two wizards came nearly face to face. Well, they were still a couple of dozen feet away, but they locked eyes on one another, and Hermes raised his staff to defend himself. For the second time that night, Khan hurled his last remaining brand right at the other Kesh wizard and raised his hands, focusing as tightly as he could. He willed the charged particles into the streaming flame from the stick, and they ignited while he focused them as best he could toward the other man.
The results were the same. Hermes’ eyes went wide in fright, and he tried to cover himself with his hands as the small sheet of flames rolled over him, singeing his robe and hair. They did manage to ignite the small tassels on the brim of his hat, and they burned brightly, refusing to release their grip from the wizard’s hat.
Hermes swatted at them, shaking his head from side to side, trying to extinguish them. Khan had no more weapons, not even a knife to defend himself. Facing death, he did the only thing he could think to do. He ran right at the other Kesh wizard, reaching him in a matter of seconds and grabbing the other man’s staff in the process.
“You meddling fool!” Hermes yelled at Khan, now ignoring the last flaming embers of his tassels and concentrating on keeping ahold of his staff as the two men struggled with it. Both of them had both their hands on the staff, pulling and tugging it in all directions.
“Release your staff and run back to your lap dog,” Khan said, his voice menacing, his tone like acid, dripping with hate. “Tell your master, Ke-Tor, that I will be back to finish him off once and for all.”
Hermes suddenly stopped struggling, though he never released his grip on his own staff. “My master is Zorcross—” The man stopped for a second and then corrected himself. “Ah, Ke-Zor is my master, and he will deal with you soon enough.”
“Zorcross?” Khan seemed to cease his struggle on the staff, also not releasing his hands from it. “That pompous apprentice is a wizard now?”
Hermes tugged on his staff, hoping that the diminishing battle for it had loosened the other man’s grip, but it hadn’t. “What is it to you . . . you . . . you . . . What are you? You look like one of us.”
Khan quickly released his grip on the staff, one hand at a time, and secured his handhold just on the other side of Hermes toward the outside of each end of the staff. “I held the apprenticeship that Zorcross holds. I was the right hand of Ke-Tor,” Khan said, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes at Hermes.
“You!” Hermes’ face contorted, completely understanding now. “You are the traitor! You are Khan, the backstabber. You . . . you should be dead.”
Khan scowled, his eyes now like snake slits. “I will be dead, and I will take at least one other wizard with me!”
Hermes frowned, not understanding the remark, but he did understand what was happening to his staff. A Kesh staff was designed like a magnet to channel the charged particles of the atmosphere that rained down from above. When calling forth the spell of combustion, it was the usual practice to hurl the ball of fire away from the staff. It could, however, be channeled within the staff, and that was exactly what Khan was doing.
Khan closed his eyes and relaxed, willing the power into the ends of the staff where his hands were located and channeling them toward the center of the staff where they met. At that point, the metal began to glow a slight orange in color as its metal superheated. Hermes understood right away what the other man was doing.
“Are you mad? You’ll kill us both!” Hermes said, now pulling wildly on his own staff, feeling the heat as the metal conducted it easily along its length. Soon the pain was intense and flames sprung from the middle of the staff. With one last desperate attempt, Hermes kicked Khan, trying to free his staff.
Khan took the kick in his stomach, exhaling sharply, and opened his eyes to grace Hermes with a look of hate. Then Khan smiled, one of those Kesh wicked grins that unnerved most other races of Agon, but this time Hermes did not like being on the receiving end of it. In the final straw that broke the camel’s back, Khan kicked Hermes in the groin, and the combined pain of the kick along with the burning of his hands were too much for poor Hermes. He released his grip on the staff, turned, and ran.
Khan released his grip almost immediately as well, and the flaming staff fell to the ground and began to cool instantly in the brisk night air. Khan knelt and sunk his hands into the soft grass and soil beneath him, willing the burning pain to stop.
The battle around the cabin had slowed as most of the brigands took a moment to observe their leader and the large brown bear as they both had fallen and then the intense battle between the two Kesh wizards as the staff ignited and then was dropped as their wizard took off running for the forest. Despite being leaderless, the brigands were the more disciplined kind, bolstered by the mercenaries who understood the art of war. Combat would resume.
Salina couldn’t believe the epic struggle between the two Kesh, and when it was over, she was hard-pressed to save Will. A last bolt by Horace helped as one of her attackers fell to the ground, a bolt sticking from his torso.
Dorsun’s blade moved like lighting, swinging to and fro. The long summer absence seemed to do little to blunt the man’s skill with a blade, especially a Kesh one. Still, he was outnumbered, and only a few items thrown from the porch at the brigands managed to keep him alive for a few seconds longer. The half-dozen killers he faced were too many despite the fact that he had also killed two of them.
Salina despaired, not knowing if her son Cedric was alive or dead behind the cabin, but not seeing any sign of him didn’t bode well. She saw Karz in the doorway, being shielded by Emelda as Agatha threw her last projectile, a heavy wooden stick used to stir their stew when cooking. Dorsun would receive no more aid from the porch.
“Go on, Salina. Leave me be. Protect your son,” Will cried out, swinging at a brigand’s leg that came too close to them.
Salina thrust once with her blade and then swiped at a brigand who tried to counter-lunge at her before she could respond. For a split second, she looked at Will and then back to the porch. Leaving Will meant certain death for the fallen man, but not assisting Dorsun . . . well, that looked like certain death for her son and the rest of her fellow countrymen. It was not a decision she wanted to make. Luckily for her, she didn’t have to make it. Targon returned.
“Save me!” Hermes yelled as he nearly ran headlong into the crazed, charging Ulathan woodsman. The large, young warrior leaped from the forest. His right hand wielded the deadly wooden axe he had witnessed in action earlier that day, and tucked under his left arm was a small child. A toddler, in fact, bloodied and unconscious. The small girl was being carried easily as a man would a small sack of potatoes.
Targon used his axe against the scout who was nearby, and the man fell dead, blood covering his magical glasses. A quick pull of the axe prepared it for another blow, and Her
mes ran into Nob, who was more surprised than he was.
“Master, kill the woodsman—” were the last words Nob ever spoke. Hermes pushed the translator forward into the path of the charging Ulathan.
“Aaahhh!” Nob yelled, not prepared to be sacrificed so easily. Nob raised his sword above his head, and the axe came down hard on it, pushing it into Nob’s skull. Nob’s days of translating had ended. The man fell dead in front of Targon.
Hermes screamed, a high-pitched cry of fear, terror, and despair, and the wizard’s apprentice ran as fast as he could toward the forest, disappearing from sight.
Targon never slowed his charge, and as he approached Will and Salina, he threw Amy toward the seated guardsman and used his free hand to grab the sword of the first brigand he ran into. Literally, he ran into the man, wrenching the sword free, using his axe to hack a second brigand dead. Spinning his body, Targon used the momentum of his run and spin to free his embedded axe and secure the Kesh sword with his left hand.
Two more brigands died, one by the sword, one to his axe, and a third felt Salina’s sword as it pierced the other man’s heart. Without stopping, Targon ran toward the rear of the remaining half-dozen cutthroats and became a whirlwind of death. Four more fell to the fierce Ranger before the others fled.
One last look and the great northern barbarian had freed himself from under Core and had made it to the tree line, holding his rib cage where he had more than several ribs broken by the large bear. With one last defiant look, the barbarian yelled, “Krik Ahouk,” before disappearing into the forest not far from where Hermes had left.
The battle for the Terrel homestead was over. The Ulathans had won, but at what cost?
Chapter 5
Decisions
“This isn’t fair,” Emelda said, cleaning Thomas’ body on the porch. She had a bowl of hot water and a rag and was seated next to the boy. She had removed his shirt to clean his wound after having cleaned his face. His body lay motionless in death; his facial features almost seemed as if he was at peace.
Dead Druid: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 2 (Ranger Series) Page 6