“Aye, my beloved, ’tis not fair at all that the young die and us old folk live on,” Horace said, his tone filled with sadness. Grief was visible on the old man’s face.
“Celeste was old . . . well, older at any rate, and she did not deserve to die,” Monique said from where she sat nearby on the porch with Karz in her lap. She thought she had heard Amy and ran into the forest only to miss the entire battle, returning right after it concluded. Cedric had sighed in relief upon her return, fearing that she had been killed or captured.
“Monique, take Karz and Jons into the cabin. This is no place for children,” Salina ordered, motioning toward the front door.
“I saw it all happen. No need to shoo us back into the house when we were here,” Jons whined, putting his hands on his hips. “I want to kill those Kesh for what they did to Thomas.”
“Monique, NOW!” Salina ordered, moving forward and literally pushing Jons into the cabin where Amy and Yolanda were. Amy cried softly and Yolanda’s soft voice hummed soothingly to her, and in fact, the humming sent out a soothing tone to everyone on the porch.
“Let me fix the blanket,” Emelda said for a moment as she stood, gently laying Thomas’ head on the wooden plank.
“I’ll get it, my love. You just tend to young Thomas there,” Horace said, moving to pull the old burlap blanket completely over Celeste’s body. It had covered her head and torso, but her bloody legs were protruding and this didn’t sit well with Emelda.
“What happened around back?” Salina asked from where she stood just off the porch, facing most of her fellow Ulathans.
Cedric was sitting cross-legged on the porch. He looked down and then shrugged. “Two cutthroats tried to get in the backdoor. I managed to knife one of them, but he fell on me, pinning me to the ground so that I couldn’t move. The other one nearly killed me till he came and saved me.” Cedric motioned to Khan who stood nearby, watching as Olga tended to Dorsun’s wounds.
“Who, Khan?” Salina asked, looking at the Kesh wizard.
“Yeah, he blasted that brigand, but good. I thought I was a goner for sure when I fell and couldn’t get back up again. They don’t look that heavy till one of them falls dead on you,” Cedric stated.
“That’s impossible,” Salina said, her voice full of doubt.
“What do you mean, Mother?” Cedric asked.
“Khan was here in front of the cabin the entire time. He couldn’t have been assisting you,” she said, looking intently now at her oldest son. “Did you knock your head on a rock or something?”
“No,” Cedric said, standing and looking around for a moment, and then he gingerly rubbed the back of his head.
“What did you see?” Horace asked.
“Now don’t you go there, Horace Winster,” Agatha said, using the man’s full name as she continued to work on Will’s stitches. He had been cut and lacerated so many times that she was running out of thread and the poor guardsman looked pale, on death’s doorstep.
Horace looked around for a moment. “Should we wait for the lad to come back?”
There was silence for a moment before Salina spoke. “He may be gone for some time, Horace.”
“Aye, chasing them killers down may take some time—” Horace said, being interrupted by a call from the clearing as Targon approached in the dim light.
“Not so long tonight,” Targon said. “They ran straight for the river and their tracks disappeared there.”
“What was you going to do if you found them?” Olga asked, continuing her lesser work on Dorsun, who was standing, as opposed to Will, who was lying on the grass near the porch.
“You don’t want to know, Miss Olga,” Targon replied.
“What about Marissa and her bear?” Agatha asked, never taking her eyes from the stitching she was doing on Will’s chest. “Will they need tending to?”
Targon took a moment to look toward the tree line about a hundred feet distant. Marissa had come to and crawled over to Core and lay beside his massive head, stroking it gently. “I don’t think so. Core is hurt pretty badly, but neither he nor Marissa want any aid or company right now.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Horace said, shaking his head and giving Celeste’s blanket one last ceremonious tug, lining it perfectly with her body in a show of respect.
“Yeah, she yelled at us to go away when we approached,” Olga said, finally gracing the girl and the bear with a look, and Dorsun followed her eyes as well.
“Is it safe for her to be that close to the tree line?” Dorsun asked, looking to Targon for an answer.
“What’s it to you, Kesh?” Horace asked, his tone a bit condescending.
“Now, Horace, you apologize right this instant,” Emelda scolded her husband. “That man saved your life.”
“Well, he saved all of your lives,” Khan said, motioning to the Ulathans on the porch.
“No need to remind us,” Horace said, softer this time.
“Khan,” Salina began, “I’m sorry if we come across as angry or ungrateful for your assistance this night, but we have two of our dearest loved ones dead at the hands of your countrymen. Surely you can understand the pain and anguish that this causes us?”
Khan nodded, looking around. “Ex-countrymen.”
“Master?” Dorsun asked, his head tilting in confusion.
“We are Kesh no longer, Dorsun. Not till we free it from the yoke of tyranny. The Ulathan noblewoman speaks truly. What kind of people have we become when we murder a woman and a child?”
“Not us, Master, them.” Dorsun pointed to the forest.
“Exactly, my new friend. The Kesh did this. We are no longer Kesh. Do you understand?” Khan asked the brigand chieftain.
“I do understand, Master. I swore an oath to you on the day I should have died. You saved me. My sword is yours, and if you wish to give this sword to another, then I will obey.”
“No, Dorsun. Your sword serves me still, but I will no longer serve Kesh or my order. We must right the wrongs that we have done.”
Dorsun hung his head in shame and spoke no further. Olga resumed working on his stitches, and Khan looked around at the others.
“What are you saying, young man?” Salina approached Khan and faced him, eyeing him carefully and intently for signs of deceit or dishonesty.
“We could have freed ourselves today, or we could have helped the Kesh to kill you, all of you. But we did not, we will not. That is what I am saying, but neither will we remain your captives any longer,” Khan stated, returning Salina’s intense gaze without flinching.
Salina nodded. “Very well, then. Unless Master Targon objects, you and your companion, Dorsun, will be free men from this day forward.”
“No, my lady. They are dangerous,” Horace spoke softly to Salina.
“Yes, Horace, they are dangerous,” Lady Salina said, turning to face the old man. “Dangerous to the Kesh.”
“What about your bear and child?” Khan asked, pointing at Marissa.
There was silence for a moment before Targon answered. “Leave them be. Let the power of the forest heal them.”
“Power of the what?” Khan asked.
“Look.” Targon motioned to them, and all around the bear and Marissa, a fog started to gather, swirling in unnatural ways, and it started to obscure them.
Several Ulathans gave the sign of warding, breathing deeply at the sight. “You do not want to interfere with that,” Khan stated.
“You couldn’t pay me enough gold to go over there now,” Horace remarked, walking back along the porch to resume his seat not far away and warded himself one more time for good measure.
“Unnatural that is,” Agatha commented.
“Leave her be,” Salina said. “If Targon is content to let them lie there, then that is acceptable to me.”
“Well, now that you’re back, Targon, let’s get on with young Master Cedric’s story,” Horace said, rubbing his hands on his legs and looking intently at Cedric, who shuffled his feet sheepishly.
“Son, are you up to telling us what you saw?” Salina asked.
“Yes, Mother, though there isn’t much to tell.” Cedric resumed his seat on the edge of the porch and looked around. “The brigand approached me, angry at my killing his companion. He raised his sword to strike the killing blow. I tried to free my last dagger from my shoulder belt when I noticed Khan there, walking over from the tree line.”
“I beg your pardon?” Khan interrupted politely.
“I said you walked over with your staff and then raised it at the brigand, muttering one of those magical Kesh spells, and well . . . you blasted him to smithereens.”
“What’s a smithereen?” Horace asked seriously.
“Please, Horace, not now,” Salina said.
“What not now? I’m just asking a simple question.” Horace shrugged.
Salina ignored the old man. “Son, take a close look at Khan there.” She pointed to the Kesh wizard who stood silently, absentmindedly picking at scarred and burned skin on his hands. “Does he look to you like he has a staff?”
Cedric looked intently at Khan, his eyes going wide. “Well, no, he doesn’t.”
“So could you be mistaken? Could it have been someone other than Khan?”
“You mean like those wizards across the river last spring?” Cedric asked.
“Yes, perhaps it was one of those?” Salina offered.
“Well, one of them is dead and the other ran away,” Khan said, more than a little bit curious now. “Was the staff metallic?” The way Khan phrased his question and the actual question itself was most unnerving to the Ulathans. The silence lingered a bit longer.
“It was dark, I suppose . . . well, it was difficult to tell,” Cedric said, his voice faltering.
Salina looked at Khan. “Do you think your old mentor was here?”
“It could have been him. The description sounds like him, and he certainly would have enough power to . . . zap someone to smithereens, but . . .”
“But what?” Salina asked.
“What would he be doing here and why would he help us and not kill us?” Khan finished.
“Don’t you mean, kill you?” Horace said smugly.
“No, he would kill me and then kill you,” Khan said, also somewhat smugly.
“Enough talk with the killing. The real question is who or what did my son see behind the cabin?” Salina said.
The question lingered for a time as Olga and Agatha worked silently, stitching the two warriors, and the others either sat or stood passively. Tira and Sara started to set far to the west, and the faint sounds of the early birds grew louder as a faint tinge of purple grew near the eastern horizon.
“Perhaps we discuss this tomorrow?” Targon asked. “It’s getting late and we’ve all had a hard, long day.
“I’ll go pour another basin full of hot water for you first, young man. You could do with another cleaning,” Agatha said without looking up.
“No, I’ll fetch the water for him,” Salina said, moving inside to grab an empty pot and heat some water in it.
“Am I that bad?” Targon asked, trying to get a good look at himself.
The expression on the other’s faces spoke volumes. “You look like some sort of Red God of War, or something,” Horace said, and indeed, Targon was again covered in crimson blood and needed another good cleaning.
“Fine, I’ll wait for the water. In the meantime, I’ll prepare the graves for our own.”
Olga had finished her duties and left the rag with Dorsun, standing and walking over to Celeste’s covered body. “Where will you bury them?”
“Next to my grandparents,” Targon said.
“Then?” Olga continued.
“Then,” Targon responded, grabbing their only wooden shovel from the side of the cabin, “I stand watch over Marissa and Core.”
“For how long, lad?” Horace asked.
“For as long as it takes,” Targon said, and then he walked around the cabin, out of sight.
The dirty group of refugees slept most of the day. No one bothered to keep a watch on the Kesh pair other than the fact that Targon said he would stand watch over Marissa and the bear. Everyone was either too tired, or seriously wounded to object. Dorsun and Khan voluntarily returned to the barn, but it wasn’t locked, and, in fact, the doors weren’t closed either. The pair had been so accustomed to sleeping there that it was just a habit now, and indeed they felt better “in their own beds,” so to speak.
True to his word, Targon dug two deep graves next to where his grandparents were buried north of the cabin. The gravesite was actually clear; no trees were within two dozen feet of the area and the soil was loose and easy to remove. It was as if the forest itself was treating the site as holy ground. A sacred land not meant for anything living, creature or plant.
The sun rose high into the sky before anyone moved, and Targon had washed himself clean with fresh warm water that Salina had brought before retiring. The birds had found their worms, and the only sound heard was from old man Horace in the main room as he snored so loudly that Targon could hear him from way outside.
“Are you tired?” Salina asked as she wiped her hands dry and straightened her hair. She walked over to him as he sat next to the cabin on a large log.
“A little, but I’ll survive one more day,” he said.
Salina sat on the large log next to Targon and looked around the clearing. All of the bodies of the brigands were gone. “Where are the bodies?” she asked.
Targon looked at her and then out to the forest’s edge. “I dragged them over there.” He pointed toward a very large oak tree with several alder brushes around it.
“I don’t see anything. Did you take them into the forest?”
“No, I laid them side by side near that tree.”
“The oak tree?”
“Yes.”
“I still can’t see them. In fact, I don’t remember those alder brushes being their either.”
Targon sighed. “No, they weren’t there last night. They are there today, however.”
“Are you trying to say . . . ?”
“Oh yeah, the forest took them.” Targon nodded and Salina made the mark of warding.
“Agon help us, then,” Salina said, hardly audible.
“I think she is . . .” Targon allowed the thought to die on his lips.
The two sat in silence for a bit before Salina noticed Marissa and Core. “What happened there?” she said, pointing toward them.
The grass had grown nearly a foot high all around the pair, and the last wisps of fog were dissipating in the warm air as the sun was nearly overhead now. Marissa was almost invisible, and only the top of Core could be seen above the grass top. Both could be seen sleeping, their chests rising with each breath.
Targon looked back to Salina. “I told you, the forest is taking care of things this day.”
“This is really starting to creep me out,” Salina said, making the sign of warding yet again for good measure. “I can handle the fact that the trees and brushes seem to move slowly occasionally. I can even handle the fact that our enemies are oftentimes confused when they enter the forest. They seem to get disoriented and, of course, Blackthorn scares them. It scares us. But this, this . . . unnatural fog and now the grass and tree burial. I’m starting to get seriously freaked right now.”
“Really?” Targon looked at her intently.
“Yes, though don’t tell my sons. I don’t want them more scared than what they already are.”
“I thought you’d welcome the protection.”
“You call this protection?” Salina motioned around at the recent battlefield. Blood still soaked the ground in various places, and trails of blood were seen in all directions, either from where bleeding people ran or from the bodies that Targon dragged to the forest’s edge.
“Well, it is doing what it can do.”
“But is it doing what it should do?” she asked.
Targon shrugged, not really understanding
the difference. He looked back to the forest’s edge before speaking. “There is something I think I want to show you.”
“Not more blood or death, please,” she pleaded.
Targon looked at her and shrugged again. “I’m not sure how to answer that.”
“What do you mean, Targon?” Salina put a hand on his shoulder.
“Well,” Targon began, seeming to contemplate his decision. “What do you know of dragons?”
Salina removed her hand and sat it in her lap, giving him an incredulous look. “You can’t be serious?”
“And if I am?”
“All right,” she began. “The stories of the dragons are just that, stories. They are meant to scare misbehaving children, and they entertain those of us who live bored lives. What else is there to say about them?”
Targon nodded and then looked toward the forest beyond her, south toward Elister’s old home . . . toward the massive hilltop that concealed a sacred secret. “What would you say if I told you that dragons were real, not only were real, but are real, real as in right now?”
Salina laughed, throwing her head back and shaking her head as her light blonde hair floated around her shoulders before she calmed and took a deep breath. “You are serious.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I am.” Targon smiled at her, despite the subject matter. “I don’t think it would do any good to tell you what I saw. Instead, I think you need to see it for yourself, though I fear that could be dangerous.”
“See what, and why would it be dangerous?” she asked.
“It will take more than a day to get there. I think we should leave tomorrow morning. Use today to bury our dead and prepare our defenses. We’ll have to do something soon. We can’t sit here and wait for another attack,” Targon said.
“That we can agree on.” Salina stood, wiping her hands on her dirty and tattered dress and looking around the sunny clearing.
“Where are you going?” Targon asked.
“I’m going to wake the others. Time to bury our dead,” she said, moving toward the cabin.
Dead Druid: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 2 (Ranger Series) Page 7