“Yes,” Khan stated, and Dorsun simply nodded.
Salina went inside the cabin, and when she returned, she had a small pack for each man as well as a Kesh sword, sheathed in a leather holder that she held out to Dorsun. Dorsun nodded again and gingerly took the blade, strapping it to his worn belt. Each took a pack, which had a small amount of provisions in it and a flask of water.
“Will you take the other wizard’s staff?” Salina asked Khan, looking to the clearing where the burned, metallic staff had sat for over a day. No Ulathan dared touch it.
Khan followed her gaze, looking at the scorched metal that lay on the ground where the two wizards had dropped it. “No, it is useless now. The metal has been warped and the interior alignment of the crystals are no longer congruent with each other.”
Salina and Targon looked at each other in confusion, and then Salina spoke. “I think I understood that the staff is useless to you. Is that correct?”
Khan nodded. “Yes, it is useless to me and any other wizard who would attempt to use it.”
The Ulathans nodded, and Salina left one last time, returning with a cloth and something wrapped in it. She opened it, and there were four knives there. Three were the belt daggers that Dorsun used, plus the smaller blade for his boot, and the last was a dagger that was offered to Khan. The Kesh took them and secured them, looking somewhat sheepishly at the Ulathans in the process.
“You don’t approve?” Salina asked.
“I’m fine,” Dorsun said, “thank you.”
“Well, I will feel better when I see my staff. The dagger is nice, but it is more a weapon of last resort.”
“Better than nothing,” Targon said.
“Agreed,” Khan responded, giving them a nod.
“When will you be back?” Agatha asked in a low voice from the doorway.
“Two days at least, so look for us on the third day. We could be longer, however,” Targon said, lowering his voice as well with the cabin door open.
“If we aren’t back in four days, then prepare to leave as we discussed,” Salina said.
“Very well, my lady, four days it will be. Do take care of yourselves.”
“Thank you, Agatha, and keep an eye on my boys for me, please,” Salina said.
“I’ll use both eyes and then some,” Agatha responded, shutting the door.
“Should we wake him?” Salina asked, motioning to Horace.
“No,” Targon replied, motioning to the barn. “They will keep watch.”
The others looked across the northern clearing to the barn and saw the door slightly ajar. Marissa stood there, half visible, and she raised her hand to them. She looked sad but very much alive.
“Very well,” Salina said, cinching her own belt after putting her pack on her back. “Let’s get a move on, though I’m still bothered by the fact that we haven’t seen that bird of hers either.”
“Yes,” Targon said, looking up into the dark sky that was just beginning to show some light. “Either Argyll is still flying over the Kesh and his absence is a good thing, or our feathered friend could be in some sort of trouble.”
“I hope it’s the former and not the latter,” Salina said.
“Either way, I would feel better if I could see him again,” Targon said.
“Agreed,” Salina said. “Let’s go, then.”
The group headed out, Targon leading, followed by Khan and then Dorsun with Salina bringing up the rear. They only had the one bow with Targon’s quiver of arrows, though two of them had swords and only Khan was regulated to a lone knife.
The pace was grueling, and Khan asked more than once for a halt to rest. The two Kesh had spent most of the summer at the homestead, while Targon had done the most scouting, always moving across the terrain at a quick pace, and he was the fittest of the group. Salina had done a fair amount of marching on the several raids against the Kesh caravans and was having an easier time of it. Dorsun was fit, though a tad out of shape.
The Ulathans didn’t complain, allowing the young wizard the time he needed. He always took the minimum amount and he did his best to keep up. Soon, with the sun passing past midday, the group approached the sound of the Rapid River roaring in the distance.
“You’ve timed that perfectly, if I’m not mistaken,” Salina said from the rear.
“How is that?” Khan asked.
“That would be the sound of our crossing, which means we are very close to the blind,” Targon answered for her.
Within moments, the group cleared the forest and found themselves facing the steep bank and rocky rapids of the river, the very place where Targon’s father had died years ago and where the Ulathans crossed the river during their exodus.
“You crossed that?” Khan asked, wonder in his voice.
“You are braver than I would have imagined,” Dorsun spoke, a rare thing to hear from the usually quiet chieftain.
“The children too?” Khan asked, looking back to Salina.
“Yes,” Salina answered, pulling her pack off her back and rummaging inside for her water flask. She took it, opened it, and drank a long swig, wiping her mouth with the back of her dress sleeve. The garment was all but unrecognizable, having been faded and ripped more than once. It acted more like a shirt with a short skirt hanging over her leather pants but tucked under her belt.
The others took a moment to drink, and then Targon spoke. “We’ll refill our flasks down by the blind where the water is calmer and cleaner.”
Targon started off again, and Khan stood for a few seconds longer, looking at the treacherous ford with its slippery rocks, mostly submerged beneath the fast-flowing water. Silently he moved out, with Dorsun and Salina following.
When they reached the blind, it was much as they had left it, other than the foliage from the barricade had died and dropped off, leaving what looked like a skeleton of branches and tree limbs. Targon motioned for them to stop, and then he quietly entered the blind.
What seemed like an eternity lasted only a few minutes as he returned carrying two dusty sacks. The Kesh recognized them instantly.
“Those are our packs from springtime.” Khan motioned to what Targon carried.
“Yes,” Targon said, holding them in his hands and looking at the Kesh men. “You know what one carries, do you not?”
Khan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and then just as quickly the evil look was gone, replaced with a smile. “It seems that forgiveness works both ways. I apologize. I was angry when I saw our packs. You had every right to keep them from us.”
Dorsun didn’t look so forgiving, but then again, that was his defensive nature that he had displayed all summer. Targon was actually surprised when he learned the two didn’t have a long history or relationship one with another. He chalked it up to the fact that the wizard had saved the Kesh fighter’s life, and apparently, at some cost.
“No need for that,” Targon began, setting Dorsun’s pack on the ground at his feet, knowing it contained only spare clothing and some trinkets, sentimental items only valued by the Kesh chieftain. Opening the wizard’s pack, Targon double-checked and saw the magic orb inside as it had been all summer. “Here you go.”
Targon handed the pack to Khan and then reached down and picked up Dorsun’s pack, tossing it to the other man. Both men looked at Targon for a moment first before opening their packs and looking inside. Khan looked like a child opening his birthday gift. His face beamed and his mouth turned into a smile as he reached inside and felt the smooth orb in his hands. Quickly he covered it and slung it over his back with the other pack.
“Did you attempt to use the critir?” Khan asked Targon.
“Of course not.” Targon shook his head.
“Are you sure you did not so much as look into it for a time?” Khan pressed his question further.
Targon warily eyed Khan for a few seconds, assessing the other man’s intent, before answering, “I told you, I didn’t touch it, nor did I spend time looking at it. Why do you ask?”
&
nbsp; Khan nodded, allowing a long sigh to escape him. “The critir is powerful, and it can be activated from another critir. If you looked into it or were near it for a period of time, then it could have been used to spy on you.”
“I see,” Targon said, nodding his head and looking at Salina, who just shrugged. “You’ll not use it to contact your wizard friends and bring them here, will you?”
Khan shook his head. “No, it is dangerous for even me to use it now without preparing myself. My old master, or worse, the High-Mage himself with his master critir, could pry into my orb and my mind. I will not use it yet.”
“Fair enough,” Targon said, moving off. “Let’s get your staff back.”
The others said nothing, following Targon at a quick pace, and within twenty minutes, they found themselves at the location of their spring battle with the Kesh. The river and both banks were hauntingly familiar, and the scorched earth around the riverbank where the titanic struggle between the druid and the mage had occurred remained. No plant, grass, or other greenery grew there. One thing was missing, however, and all four of them gasped out loud.
“Where is your friend?” Salina asked, looking around.
“I don’t know,” Targon said, walking from the forest’s edge and approaching the burned earth at the riverbank. Where once Elister stood, or rather, his petrified body had stood, there was nothing. The man, the statue, was gone.
Targon reached the ground where the druid had once stood, one hand holding his staff out and his other reaching forward as if to stop something or someone. Now there was nothing there. The others joined Targon, looking around the area to see if they could spot something.
“Well?” Salina asked, a confused look on her face.
Targon motioned for silence for a moment and then began leaning over at his waist, walking in a spiraling circle from the site. His path, circling, became wider and wider until he was sweeping back and forth across the clearing. The others waited for long minutes while the young woodsman scanned the terrain. Upon reaching the forest edge, he moved along it till he reached a spot near the riverbank south of their location.
“Over here,” Targon called out to them, and the others walked briskly to his location.
“What did you find?” Khan asked, looking intently at the ground.
“Don’t step on the ground past this tree. Let me show you.” Targon walked around a tree and then squatted by a soft patch of ground where no grass grew. There, in the dry dirt, was the clear imprint of a booted foot.
The others leaned forward looking at it. “What is that?” Salina asked.
“That is a print of a boot,” Targon said.
“Of course it is, but what does it mean?” Salina asked. “You’re not trying to say the old druid walked over here, are you?”
“Yes,” Dorsun chimed in. “The wood wizard is most likely dust now after a severe summer. That is the answer you seek.”
“You think the statue of Elister crumbled into dust?” Targon asked.
“Yes,” Dorsun answered, and Salina nodded. Khan stood unmoving and not agreeing, nor disagreeing.
“Dorsun, you are a solid man, are you not?” Targon asked.
“What do you mean by solid?” the Kesh chieftain answered.
“I mean, you weigh a good deal, at least two hundred pounds, no?” Targon looked up from his crouch.
“I suppose so,” Dorsun said hesitantly, not knowing for sure where the Ulathan Ranger was going with his line of questioning.
“The ground is soft now, as the trees have kept it shaded and the summers are never too hot here. Would you all agree?” Targon said, looking at his companions, who all nodded. “All right, we had some spring rains that dried up by early summer and hardly anything noteworthy since then, right?” The others nodded again. “I came back here in mid-summer to check on a few things and to grab your packs.” Targon nodded his head at Khan and Dorsun. “When I was here, Elister, or what was left of him, was still standing back there, so I know he couldn’t have moved during the spring.”
“Where are you going with this, Targon? You have me spooked as it is.” Salina shivered despite the warm weather, and she held her arms against her body as if to ward off some invisible chill.
“Dorsun, step here with your right boot.” Targon motioned to the patch of ground next to the other print and stood. Dorsun complied, and Targon grabbed Dorsun’s left arm and pulled him through so that his second step with his left boot was in the grass beyond the patch of earth with the original print.
“What is that?” Khan said, looking intently at the ground.
“That is Dorsun’s print,” Targon began, returning to crouch at the bare earth. “And this is Elister’s.”
The others gasped in unison. Dorsun’s print was barely visible in the soft ground, but its outline was undeniable and the size was right. The other print was shorter, as the druid wasn’t as tall as the Kesh chieftain, but it sunk into the ground a good couple of inches, many times as deep as the print left by Dorsun.
Khan was the first to grasp the significance. “You are saying that the druid is now as heavy as stone, being petrified, and his greater weight caused this print not more than a month or two ago.”
“That is correct,” Targon said, standing up and looking at the others. “There can be no other explanation. No beast, not even Core, I think, could make a print that deep into the ground unless it was made of stone or weighed more than ten men would weigh.”
“That’s impossible,” Salina said, bringing one hand up to her mouth and shaking her head.
“I understand that what we are seeing doesn’t make sense, but I can say, sense or no, that my ability to track and read the ground has not been diminished and without a doubt, something, or someone, weighing at least ten times what a heavy man would weigh, walked through this clearing from over there.” Targon motioned to where the battle had taken place.
There was a long pause before Khan looked up intently. “Take me to my staff. We may need it soon.”
Chapter 10
Slave Pit
Dinner had gone accordingly, and Dareen had asked for time to take it all in. The trio of fellow prisoners had left her then and said they would make arrangements to house her in their barrack. She was too tired to object and simply finished her meal of gruel. Well, it seemed as such, and being such a poor quality stew with no taste, she almost didn’t eat it. Only the understanding that other sustenance would not be forthcoming kept her from discarding it. She finished her meal and then returned to sleep, waking for warm muffins that tasted half like cardboard.
She found herself at the same table, working between Theobald and Gwen. Gwen was polite and smiled to her, almost seeming to take a liking to her work. Theobald gave an almost imperceptible nod and kept his nose down, working at a steady, if somewhat slow, pace. He appeared to have mastered the art of doing just enough to avoid the whip without helping the Kesh too much.
Dareen wondered how they had heard so much information about her, albeit most of it wrong. She did indeed use a small charm that her mother had taught her, which only worked against metal, not wood. Her power was drawn from Agon and revolved around living plants, animals, and wood. She hadn’t discussed it with her children since she hardly understood the power herself.
The small wooden pin that she had used had been placed back in her dense hair, and she thought for sure she would lose it when she was dragged from the cart and beaten. Somehow the small pin stayed put and defied any search by the Kesh. She pressed the back of her hand against the ball of hair that was banded to keep it off her shoulders, and she felt the reassuring pressure of the small wooden device.
How she would use that here was beyond her comprehension, and the small charm only worked against metal. The stockade, its gates, and the large heavy bar securing it, were all made from wood and were impervious to anything she could do or say with it. Having the city dwelling Ulathans thinking of her as a powerful sorceress wasn’t the most reass
uring, and only added to her pressure. The fact that some of the Kesh guards seemed to think she was a witch also wasn’t comforting to her safety and well-being.
Lunch was a simple twenty-minute affair that started at one end of the line and worked its way down the tables with all slaves in the brick-making process taking their break at the same time. It consisted of a stale piece of jerky, a very small cube of cheese, and a slice of bread. At least this time, the bread seemed fresher, and of course, the Kesh made water available.
Being so close to the Border Mountains, the water was crisp and clean. Most of the watershed flowed into Ulatha, making Kesh a semi-arid land and less productive for their civilization. Dareen could understand where some of their jealousies, and even coveting of their precious resources, came from. Still, enough water flowed eastward from the mountains so that there was no need to drink brackish well water, and she reveled in the cool water as it flowed through her lips and down her throat. It was one of the few things that was positive in this abysmal hellhole.
A whip at her grouping of tables signaled the commencement of their afternoon shift. Dareen stood, sitting back at her table from where she had sat earlier in front on the ground. It was a welcome change from the chair, and she even reclined for the last five minutes, stretching her arms above her head and pointing her toes toward the oven. The mini exercise felt good, reinvigorating her.
She sat and starting laying mud into the forms, wiping her eyes one last time so she could clear her mind and prepare for the last few hours of work. Then she dreaded what was to come.
“Why so forlorn, dearie?” Gwen asked without taking her eyes off her work.
Dareen sighed, not really wanting to discuss her issues with the somewhat upbeat woman, and not enjoying the other woman’s stamina, much less attitude. “Nothing’s wrong,” Dareen said.
“I didn’t say something was wrong. I asked why the long face?” Gwen asked, now taking a moment to look her way.
“Isn’t that the same thing?” Dareen questioned the other woman.
Dead Druid: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 2 (Ranger Series) Page 13