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

by Salvador Mercer

  The others shushed one another and gave Dareen a chance to respond. “She indicated that the Kesh have a spy and that the spy heard your plans and would soon tell our guards.”

  “What nonsense is that?” Estelle asked, looking from person to person. “Why spy on us and then have the spy wait to tell on us? That makes no sense.”

  “I don’t think she is really a spy in the sense that she is Kesh herself, or that she wants to work for the Kesh,” Dareen started, trying to keep things calm. “I think, however, that she uses information to get things, special things that are denied to the rest of us.”

  Marge covered her mouth and looked at Walton.

  “You thinking who I’m thinking?” Walton asked.

  Marge nodded and then looked to Estelle for confirmation. “I think,” Estelle began, “that we have a rather flirtatious blonde who works at the end of the tables. Would that be a fair assessment of what we are dealing with?” Estelle looked at Dareen.

  “Yes,” Dareen said. “The young lass appears to have some exertion over the Kesh guards, or at least one of them.”

  The group sat quietly for a moment, thinking, and Dareen allowed the others time to absorb the information. Finally Wally spoke first. “What are we going to do, then?”

  Marge nodded. “To die at the hands of that flirty tart. How disgusting.”

  Estelle looked at the floor before looking at Dareen, an idea coming to her. “We could try to neutralize the young lady before she says anything.”

  “What did you just say?” Walton asked. “Did you say ‘neutralize’?”

  “A very fancy word, if I may so say,” Marge said, gracing Estelle with a smile.

  “Wait,” Dareen said, snapping her fingers and bringing the focus of the others’ attention to herself. “I have an idea.”

  “Yes?” the trio said, literally in unison.

  “Where I come from we fight fire with fire,” Dareen said, smiling.

  The others quickly lost their smiles, replaced with looks of confusion. “What are you talking about?” Marge asked, a note of reluctance in her voice.

  “Yeah, we don’t have no fire here,” Walton said, shaking his head.

  “I mean, we fight the advantage that the young lass at the end of the table has over us with something just as appealing, if not more so.” Dareen looked from person to person, willing them to understand.

  “What advantage, and what could be more appealing?” Marge pressed on.

  “You know.” Dareen stood and straightened her soiled clothing, pressing down on her simple dress and whipping her head back, releasing the band and allowing her hair to flow around her shoulders. She shook her head once and looked back at them.

  “You’re kidding,” Walton said, his mouth hanging open.

  “Well, we need someone with a bit more of this,” Dareen said, pushing up on her breasts and wiggling a bit till she showed a fair amount of cleavage.

  Marge’s mouth was now hanging, and she snapped it shut quickly. “What in Agon’s name do you wood folk do late at night in the forest?”

  There was an awkward silence for a moment before Estelle snapped her fingers and also stood up, practically jumping and pointing at her companions. “I know exactly what Dareen here is talking about.”

  “You do?” Walton asked, and he got another gentle nudge in his ribcage from Marge.

  “Shut your jaw and quit ogling,” Marge said, giving Dareen a slight frown.

  “Oh, right, sorry,” Dareen said, releasing her hold on the underside of her breasts allowing the cleavage to disappear as quickly as it had arrived. “What is it, Estelle?”

  “What we need is exactly like you said. We need a fire to fight the fire, and I know the exact person,” Estelle said.

  “Go on,” Walton said, covering his torso with his arm to prevent another ribbing from his wife.

  “The barmaid from the Pickled Pig, you know, the tavern that the soldiers always used,” Estelle went on.

  “Yes . . .” Marge said, smiling now. “Who do you have in mind?”

  “A rather voluptuous and boxum blonde by the name of Inga,” Estelle said, smiling intensely.

  “Agon help us,” Walton said, deflecting a blow to his ribs.

  Chapter 11

  Ancient History

  Khan had his staff again. Targon had walked to the hollowed-out tree and retrieved it, giving it to the Kesh wizard. Similar to returning the man’s pack, Khan’s emotions were mixed, but he finally smiled and thanked them for returning his staff. Dorsun had said nothing but seemed to take his cues from Khan.

  The group headed off into the forest at a fast pace, unlike the other two times that Targon had traveled to Elister’s abode located in the center of the Blackthorn Forest, built into the hillside of a lone peak that towered above the treetops. The wind blew gently and the canopy of trees became thicker the further into the forest they traveled.

  In due time, they found a small clearing, not much bigger than the size of a house or barn, where the sky was visible overhead and the air seemed less oppressive. No birds chirped and no animals were seen anywhere. Targon noticed this first, and the others could only guess at the reasoning behind it. Targon gathered wood for a fire, using only dead limbs and leaves for kindling, while Dorsun pulled together a couple of large rocks and a tree log for them to use as seating as well as a ring of rocks for the fire pit.

  There was no debate regarding the campfire and makeshift pit that Dorsun had constructed. No one wanted to be in the forest at night without a fire. Targon and Salina sat on one side facing Khan and Dorsun while everyone pulled out the packs that Salina had prepared and ate deer jerky, stale cheese taken from the Kesh caravan a month prior, and some freshly made bread.

  “So how does it feel to have your staff again?” Salina asked Khan, peering at the man intently as he gripped his staff tightly as if afraid to lose it again.

  Khan looked up, finishing his food and pondering the question for a moment before responding. “It feels like being reunited with an old friend who had been missing for quite some time. Most kind of you to ask.”

  The Ulathans looked at each other, not sure if the man’s words were sarcastic or sincere. “How does it work?” Salina ventured, deciding to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

  “The staff?” Khan asked, looking at the finely polished metal as it lay on his lap.

  “Yes,” Salina said.

  “Well,” Khan began after sharing a look with Dorsun, “it acts in two key ways. First, it draws in the energy of Akun throughout its metallic length. Second, it channels the energy into the gemstone at its tip, which focuses this into a reaction of the wizard’s choosing. The ability to channel and focus is derived in the genetic makeup of the individual. The staff simply focuses and amplifies this ability.”

  “What did you say?” Targon asked, leaning forward and popping the last of the jerky into his mouth.

  “I said it acts in two key ways—” Khan began.

  Targon interrupted. “Not that part, the part about the makeup of the individual. What did you call that?”

  “The genetic makeup?” Khan asked.

  “Yes, what does that mean?” Targon asked, peering intently at the Kesh.

  “It means that it is in your blood,” Khan explained, using simpler terms. “Did you go to school when you were a child?”

  Targon seemed surprised by this question and looked at Salina, who only shrugged. “Well, not exactly. My mother taught me my letters and my father taught me the way of the woods.”

  “I see,” Khan said, not looking at all as if he understood, or approved for that matter. “Do you understand, Salina?”

  “I think I do,” Salina responded. “Perhaps we don’t use the same words, but you are saying you have an ability and you use your staff to enhance that. Am I correct?”

  “Yes,” Khan began again. “It is similar to the analogy of a fight between two men, one armed with a knife and the other armed with a sword. W
ithout a staff, the analogous metaphor would be that the wizard would be armed with a knife. With a staff, the wizard would equally be equated in the analogy to be armed with a sword.”

  The Ulathans looked at each other, and Targon spoke to Dorsun. “Do you understand what Khan says half the time?”

  Dorsun looked from Targon to Khan and then back again. “I understand that it is a bad idea to fight a wizard with a staff. Better to fight him without.”

  “Ah,” Salina interjected, “tell me, Khan, about Cedric’s book. You two spent the entire evening reading it and discussing it. What can you tell us?”

  “Did your son not inform you?” Khan asked.

  “He did,” Salina said. “He said that the second part of the book is missing, or so you claim. Would you care to elaborate?”

  Targon rolled his eyes, and this did not go unnoticed by Khan. “What is it?”

  “What?” Targon stopped for a moment and placed his hand on his chest.

  “You rolled your eyes,” Khan said bluntly. “What did the noblewoman say to annoy you?”

  “You rolled your eyes at me?” Salina asked, looking at Targon intently.

  “Whoa,” Targon began, looking at Salina. “Of course not . . .” Targon noticed the Kesh watching him closely, and a lie would not be a good way to engender trust at this moment. “What I mean to say is that I may have rolled an eye back, but it was only because the two of you seem to speak strangely is all.”

  There was an awkward silence before Salina responded. “Since Dorsun here is quiet, I’ll assume you mean Khan and myself?”

  “Well, yes,” Targon said, nodding.

  “What is so strange about our speech?” Salina asked.

  Targon sighed. “You two use big, fancy words and all. It would be easier to follow your conversation if you spoke in the common tongue.”

  Salina smiled and then laughed for a moment, and Khan tilted his head as if confused. “All right,” Salina said, looking at Khan. “Perhaps we could try to speak simpler for Targon and Dorsun?”

  “Whatever for?” Khan said, looking to Dorsun. “He understands me.”

  “You do?” Targon asked the Kesh warrior.

  Dorsun now seemed uncomfortable with all three of his companions looking at him. “I understand Master Khan,” he said simply.

  “Let’s get back to the book, shall we?” Salina asked, looking at the others who mostly nodded. “I was asking you, Khan, if you could share with us the reason why you think the book is incomplete.”

  Khan nodded, noticing the emphasis on the more common word for ‘elaborate’ as if understanding the issue with the woodsman. “I did not have time to read the entire book, but I did skip through to several parts and the book left off after the first year of the Great War.”

  “You refer to the Great Dragon War?” Salina asked.

  “Yes,” Khan clarified. “The historian, Diamedes, was said to have written the chronicles of the war until his mysterious disappearance toward the end of the war and the arrival of Dor Akun.”

  “Do you mean Father Death?” Targon asked, absentmindedly throwing a small tree branch into the fire.

  The fire crackled and the licking of the flames was heard as the Kesh wizard paused, choosing his words carefully. “Your realm uses the term ‘Father Death,’ as do some in our own society in Kesh.” Khan glanced at Dorsun, who nodded slightly. “Dor Akun is a planet, and it revolves around our sun in a very slow pattern that is repeated every two hundred years or so. It is during this time that Agon suffers catastrophes that are unimaginable. Unfortunately, we lost the records that kept track of the pattern, and we only know that it has been a long time since the last passing of Akun.”

  “How do you know this?” Salina asked, a tinge of awe in her voice at the revelation from the Kesh wizard.

  “The same way you do, only we have a better understanding of the actual mechanics of the transit,” Khan said.

  “There you go again,” Targon interrupted. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying,” Khan began, “that you have your lore and folktales which say the same thing as our scientific manuscripts.”

  “Scientific?” Targon asked.

  “You remember those tales last year about the magic potions that the alchemist in town was concocting to make the young ladies fall in love with the merchants from Safron?” Salina asked Targon.

  “Uh, no. What potions?” Targon shrugged.

  “Never mind,” Salina said. “What you need to know is that Khan here is referring to facts instead of fiction. Do go on, Khan.”

  Khan waited a moment to see if there was any further objection or question coming from the young Ulathan Ranger. Seeing the sheepish look on Targon’s face, Khan resumed his discourse. “Cedric said that he found the book as it is now but that Korwell kept a locked box with another book in it. We never found this box when we took Utandra—”

  “That would be King Korwell,” Salina said, her voice tense and her eyes narrowing just a tad as she looked intently at Khan.

  “I’d have to agree with Khan,” Targon said. “Korwell was no king for all of us. My brother oftentimes blamed him for the death of our father, though it has only now become clear to me after hearing what Khan had to say, and what did you call the capital?”

  Khan nodded and then clarified. “It appears we use the name of the ancients still, and this has become lost to you and your realm.”

  “Go on,” Salina said.

  “Korwell was once called Ulan Utandra, and it appears that after the disappearance of the duke of Ulatha and the great calamity that followed the transit after the Great War, much of your history has been lost to you.”

  “So you’re saying you know more about Ulathan history than we do?” Salina asked the young mage.

  “It appears so,” Khan responded, completely serious, and the Ulathans understood that the Kesh would state even the obvious. Despite their intellectual prowess, they appeared to be socially challenged when it came to tact and decorum.

  “So you still advocate that we must return to Korwell and find the king’s box?” Salina asked.

  “If your son speaks the truth, then he said on more than one occasion your king had Cedric read passages to him from an unknown book. What your son does remember is that these passages were written by the historian Diamedes and that they are not from the same book that he has now.”

  Salina ignored the slight. “My son is honorable, not like some I know”—the reference to the Kesh was obvious—“and if he told you that, then it is true. Now why is this so important to you?”

  “Not to me, personally,” Khan said, gently sliding his hand back and forth along his staff, “but rather to my old master and the High-Mage. Somehow, this book holds information that is dear to them. They value it enough to initiate a war with both Ulatha and Rockton.”

  “Why Rockton?” Targon asked, and even Dorsun seemed intent, finally hearing why he fought the battles that he was asked to fight.

  “Because the historian Diamedes was Ulathan by birth, though he served the ancient king of Tyniria, the realm that you now call Rockton before it was split asunder not long before the Great War began. Our High-Mage did not know if the book he seeks was in Ulatha or Rockton.”

  “Master, you call Tyniria Rockton now?” Dorsun asked, his voice almost a whisper.

  “Yes, Dorsun,” Khan replied, looking at his bodyguard. “The Ulathans here seem to be challenged by my usage of the proper terms for the ancient realms. I was simply trying to be . . . polite.”

  There was silence for a moment as both Salina and Targon took in the wizard’s words. Targon asked first, “Why is it, then, that Ulatha is still called Ulatha now, or was it called something else in the ‘ancient’ language?”

  “It appears that this is one of the few exceptions, and it may be due to the power and influence that the duke of Ulatha exerted at the time of the Great War,” Khan said.

  “This is starting to get confusing to m
e,” Targon said, shaking his head. “Do you want to see the dragon or not?”

  “Of course we do,” Salina answered before Khan could. “I think the issue is what do we do afterward? Khan advocates . . . I mean, Khan wants to return to Korwell and search for the king’s box which should contain the book that the Kesh seek. I think we need to move our people to the southern end of the Blackthorn Forest.”

  “Well, what makes you think that you can find the book if you couldn’t find it when you took Korwell over?” Targon asked Khan, peering intently at the Kesh man.

  “Because her son said he knows where the king kept it,” Khan said, motioning with his head toward Salina.

  “He does?” Targon asked.

  “He thinks he does,” Salina clarified. “It’s risky to go there, especially if your old mentor wizard—what did you say his name is?”

  “Ke-Tor,” Khan said.

  “Right, this Kaytor wizard would most likely try to kill us if we showed up under his nose looking for the exact same thing he is seeking, would he not?” Salina asked.

  “Yes, he would kill you and try to kill me,” Khan agreed.

  “What makes you think he would only try and not succeed?” Salina asked.

  “Well,” Khan responded, “he may very well succeed, but I am willing to die to take him with me and that gives me the advantage.”

  Dorsun interrupted. “No, Master, you must live to fulfill the pledge for Kesh.”

  Khan looked at the man and smiled, having become quite fond of him. “I appreciate the concern, Dorsun, but I must keep what may be my only advantage over my old mentor.”

  “Which is?” Salina asked.

  “The fact that he values his own life above all others,” Khan said, smiling now at the Ulathans, and it seemed a rather odd smile.

  “Do you really think we will see a dragon, Master?” Dorsun asked.

  “Highly doubtful,” Khan began, waving his hand to silence Targon before he could object. “I am sure the Ulathan woodsman saw something in the woods—”

  “Under the hilltop, and it was a dragon!” Targon interrupted.

  “Yes,” Khan corrected himself, “under the hilltop, then, but I still think it was something less benign than one of the Draconus species. They all perished in the Great War long ago.”