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

by Salvador Mercer

  “You know,” Salina said, placing a restraining hand on Targon’s arm, “mere months ago, we also thought there were no wizards left in Agon either and that they had all perished in the Great Dragon War long ago.”

  “I see your point, Salina,” Khan deferred, nodding at the noblewoman. “I guess we shall see soon enough what lies under the hilltop.”

  “Yes, we will,” Salina said, giving Targon a reassuring nod and a quick squeeze of his massive forearm. The gesture seemed to have its intended effect, and Targon relaxed a moment, leaning back from his tense forward directing posture.

  Targon in turn turned his head toward Salina, whispering and not caring what the Kesh thought of his action. “Why does he disrespect you and call you by your simple name?”

  Salina understood this to mean that the Kesh wizard was not referring to her as Lady Salina or using another title as a sign of respect for her. “I asked him to simply call me Salina, and he is doing so.”

  Targon raised a brow and looked back to Khan, who asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Targon said, speaking in a normal tone of voice again.

  “Can we return to this Kaytor fellow again?” Salina asked, interrupting to head off any discussion between Targon and Khan.

  “Ke-Tor,” Khan corrected her pronunciation. “What do you want to know about my old mentor?”

  “Not just him, but this High-Mage fellow of yours as well,” Salina said. “What is it that they are looking for?”

  Khan seemed stumped for a moment, bringing his free hand to his chin and rubbing it as he was often fond of doing. His right hand maintained the iron-like grip on his staff, occasionally moving it slightly across his knees. Finally the wizard spoke. “I am not sure, to be honest with you. The ruling members of my order have kept the details behind what they seek a secret from the rest of us. In fact, I am not certain that my old master even knows for sure. I think Am-Ohkre knew, as did Am-Sultain, our High-Mage. Perhaps if I could read the book they seek, then I could ascertain what they are after.”

  Targon wanted to assess the man’s strength, so he asked, “Could you defeat one of the rulers of your order?”

  Khan peered intently at Targon and then over to Salina and finally to Dorsun, who was learning more in one evening than he had his entire career as a commander in the Kesh army, if an army it could be called. “No,” Khan stated firmly. “One of the Arch-Mages could kill me easily.”

  The others contemplated the admission, and then Targon spoke again. “So for the old man Elister to defeat your mage—what was his name again?”

  “Am-Ohkre,” Khan said.

  “Amokhrey,” Targon struggled with the pronunciation. “Means that the old man, I mean Elister, was very powerful, indeed.”

  Khan nodded. “He was one of the Arnen. Most likely the last of his order as well. We too thought the Arnen extinct from the Great War. His appearance was a big surprise, not the least to Am-Ohkre.”

  “Well, that mage of yours seemed too calm and cool when he met Elister on the banks of the Rapid,” Targon said.

  “That was his façade,” Khan explained. “There is almost literally very few things that a true Arch-Mage in Agon would fear.”

  “Elister was one of them?” Targon ventured.

  “Yes,” Khan clarified, “a druid of the Arnen would be one of them.”

  Salina snapped her fingers in Ulathan fashion. “And a dragon would be another!” she said in a triumphant tone of voice.

  Khan smiled, again an odd-looking gesture, sort of like a predator readying itself to enjoy its meal. “You are correct, Salina.”

  “So now we just need to find a dragon-riding druid and we’ll be all set,” Targon said, returning the smiling gesture to Khan from across the fire.

  Khan’s smile vanished instantly and was replaced with a frown that seemed to indicate a small level of concern if not a tinge of fear. “That would not be a pleasant thing to see.”

  “Well, not for a Kesh,” Targon said, continuing to smile.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” Salina interrupted the two men. “Just to be sure we are singing the same song, let me summarize and see if we understand one another . . .”

  “What song are you referring to?” Khan asked.

  “It’s a figure of speech,” Salina offered, waving off his question and continuing. “I want to see this dragon of Targon’s and then return to the cabin and escort my people to the southern end of the forest, perhaps even to Fornz if other Ulathans are still there.”

  “Correct,” Targon said, nodding, “though we don’t know the situation there.”

  “I can’t help you either. We took Cree before I was captured by you at the river, but I doubt my master would have allowed Fornz to stand for long.”

  “My husband would have had something to say about that,” Salina said, a tinge of defiance in her voice.

  “If he was alive,” Khan said in his usual blunt manner.

  The hurt from his remarks was obvious on Salina’s face, and she took a moment to compose herself. “Targon, you want to show us this dragon, then travel to Kesh to free your family and perhaps even some of our fellow Ulathans.”

  “Correct again,” Targon said, a nod in the direction where Kesh was located.

  “Khan, you are in agreement with seeing the—what did you call it last night? The large reptile, or something like this.” Khan nodded matter-of-factly, and Targon gave him a look that elicited yet another look from Dorsun. “You then want to go to Korwell and look for the king’s secured box that housed a book written by some ancient historian that will give you a clue as to why your order wanted to invade our realm. Do I have this right?”

  “Yes,” Khan stated, “you appear to understand our three different paths correctly. I would like to add that confronting my old master eventually is part of my design, and I need to know what he, and the rest of his kind, are up to.”

  Salina and Targon traded looks. The Kesh wizard had referred to his old mentor and the other wizards as “his” kind, showing a great deal of separation between what the man once stood for and where he was at currently.

  “What about Dorsun there?” Targon asked.

  All eyes looked at the Kesh chieftain. “What?” Dorsun asked.

  “You wish to support your leader here,” Salina motioned to Khan, “and to restore some honor to your own realm. Do I understand you correctly as well?”

  Dorsun looked at Khan and then back to the Ulathans and only nodded.

  “Well, a man of few words,” Targon said.

  “That’s enough, Targon,” Salina said mildly. “I think Dorsun here will accompany Khan on whatever mission that is decided upon. The real question is after we see your friend’s abode tomorrow, we need to have a plan and at least have come to a decision about what we will do, don’t you all agree?”

  “We agree,” Khan said, nodding at Dorsun, “but I would like to say that we can wait to go to Korwell. You have shown an extraordinary measure of trust in us, and I feel that we have a debt to repay to you and your realm. To that end, we will support whatever decision you two make.”

  Salina and Targon looked at each other, and then Targon spoke. “So it boils down to either entering Kesh in search of our families and countrymen, or we take the time to move our people from my cabin to the southern part of the Blackthorn Forest.”

  “You could move them to this druid’s abode under this hilltop,” Khan said.

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?” Targon replied, somewhat short with the Kesh wizard. “It is more dangerous to be there than where they are at now.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Khan began, but Salina interrupted.

  “We are getting ahead of ourselves now. Let’s see what lies in the heart of the forest, and then we can make our decision tomorrow night. We have the time. It’s not like we can reach this place and then travel all the way back to your place, Targon. We’ll have to make camp one more night.”

  Targon p
icked up another log and tossed it into the fire. The four members of the party looked at the flames as they flickered and sent shadows dancing across the small forest clearing. Finally, Targon spoke. “Fine, we can decide tomorrow night. This will give us a chance to think upon our choices.”

  “That sounds most wise,” Khan said, stroking his staff and looking at the gem-tipped top before looking at the Ulathans.

  Both Targon and Salina had opened their mouths and stood frozen, looking past Khan and Dorsun. Their eyes were wide and there was an expression of fear on both their faces, and Khan didn’t remember seeing that expression on the young Ulathan woodsman before.

  He was about to say something when Targon spoke first. “Khan, Dorsun, don’t turn around.”

  He may have very well said “turn around” as the two Kesh men turned inward toward one another, looking behind them.

  There, at the forest’s edge not more than fifteen feet distant, was a darkly cloaked figure. The figure’s shadowy features were barely visible, but clearly they were a flat grey in nature, nothing even remotely human in color or shade. The figure was obviously a man, a leather belt tied around his waist, staff in his pale hands with a green gemstone adorned atop of it.

  The most disturbing feature of the figure was the man’s eyes. They both blazed a fierce color as if energized from within. One, the man’s right eye, was a fluorescent white color, and it was strongly contrasted by the figure’s left eye, which glowed a wicked red color and flared briefly as the man spoke.

  “Time to die.”

  Chapter 12

  Ruse

  The call for dinner came and went without incident, and Estelle managed to convince Inga to eat with them at one of the tables at the far end of the marshalling area. The tables were brought out by slaves for the meal, and then they were set aside against the wall after the mealtime had ended.

  Dareen watched as the two women, Estelle and Inga, walked over to where Dareen sat with Walton and his wife Margaret. Dareen wondered if Estelle was bringing over the same woman whom she had described earlier. If this was Inga, then Dareen felt that her plan would be seriously hampered.

  The other woman’s dress was dirty, as were most of them, but there was no belt or other accoutrement to cinch her dress around her waist, so it was hard to determine the other woman’s figure. Her hair was dirty and unkept, and it looked as if it hadn’t been brushed or even had a comb run through it in weeks. The hair covered most of her face, and the woman walked with her head down.

  “Dareen, this is Inga,” Estelle said, motioning to the other woman who sat quietly, not looking up at their rickety table. Their seating bench was little more than a plank, worn smooth by constant friction, sat on top of two small wooden stumps.

  “Welcome, Inga, it is nice to meet you,” Dareen said politely to no response. Inga leaned over her bowl of simple stew and started to eat, gingerly blowing on the steaming spoon to cool it before putting it in her mouth, and breaking off a small piece of bread as well.

  Estelle shrugged and Marge shook her head. Only Walton nodded at Dareen, encouraging her to continue.

  “My name is Dareen.”

  The five sat in silence, slowly eating their meal, Inga and Estelle on one side, the others opposite of them. Walton and Marge dipped their bread in the stew, as did Estelle, while Inga ate them separately. After a few moments, Marge spoke in a hushed whisper. “This is a stupid idea. The woman is daft, I tell you. Just look at her.”

  The others looked intently at Inga, who made no sign of having heard or understood what Marge said about her. Like a machine, she continued to eat mechanically, dipping the spoon into the soup, blowing on it, eating it, and then following it with a small piece of bread. She literally had to push the spoon and bread past the long strands of her hair that covered most of her face.

  “I thought you said she was rather attractive?” Dareen asked Estelle, a tone of confusion barely evident in her voice.

  “Well, I haven’t seen her in some time—it was hard to find her and all this evening—but I’m telling you she was the talk of the town amongst the solders back in Korwell,” Estelle said.

  “There must be some sort of mistake, then,” Dareen began, ignoring Inga and looking across the table at Estelle. “We’ll have to adapt, and either you or I will have to get the guard’s attention.”

  “Nothing personal, ma’am, but I don’t think either of you two will be gettin’ the job done, if you know what I mean,” Walton said, his tone serious, and Marge elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Why, Walton Humphrey, you take that back right now,” Estelle said, her tone indicating that the man’s words had hurt her.

  “No, he’s probably right,” Dareen said, motioning to Estelle to remain seated, as the other woman looked ready to stand and Dareen didn’t want any attention directed their way. “We’re easily twice the age of that young woman. We’ll have to find another way to escape.”

  “Forget escaping,” Walton said, sighing between spoonfuls. “We’ll be lucky they don’t execute us before the week is out if what ol Gwen says is true.”

  The group sat in silence, depression evident amongst them. They even stopped eating, Wally breaking off small pieces of his bread and popping them into his half-eaten soup.

  “Do you really plan on escaping?” Inga asked, never looking up, and it was obvious from her tone that she was quite lucid.

  “Inga?” Dareen asked, leaning low over the table, trying to peer through the other woman’s mass of hair to indeed confirm that it was her who spoke.

  “Don’t look obvious,” Inga said, her voice barely audible, but it sounded like an angry hiss. “I asked you a question.”

  Dareen leaned back, taking her time and eating a mouthful of stew before resuming. “Yes, that is our plan, if we can do it.”

  Inga nodded almost imperceptibly and whispered, “You’re already too late. The Kesh know.”

  The group was stunned, and Wally pushed his bowl to the middle of the table and placed his hands on the top of his head, leaning it down and speaking into the wood table itself. “Well, that’s just great.”

  “Now, honey, don’t go working yourself up just yet. I’m sure Miss Dareen will know what to do,” Marge said, hugging Wally and leaning her head against his.

  “Psstt,” Estelle hissed at Marge. “They’ll see you like this for sure.”

  Dareen nodded and Marge pulled back, resuming her seated posture of indifference before speaking. “So what do we do?”

  “Inga?” Dareen began in a whisper. “How do you know that the Kesh learned of our plans?”

  “I have ears,” Inga said, not pausing in her reply. “You should be more careful who you speak around. That blonde girl has informed her Kesh suitor of your plans.”

  Dareen’s eyes narrowed a bit, and she tried to peer past the veil of hair and gauge Inga’s reaction. “You know who I am and what I can do, don’t you?”

  Inga stopped eating and set her spoon down, pulling her hair back slightly so she could return Dareen’s gaze. “I already said that I have ears and I hear things, but your charms won’t work on me.”

  “How so, Inga?” Dareen asked.

  “I’m from the far west of Ulatha that also was once part of the great forest and is known as Arnen country . . . Druid lands for you city folk who don’t know any better. I’m wise to your forest tricks, and your threats or charms won’t work on me.”

  “You mean to say you’re not city folk?” Dareen asked, somewhat confused now. “I thought you were from Korwell?”

  “She is, I tell you. Seen her at the Pickled Pig more than once,” Wally said, his head coming up and his eyes getting wide.

  “What do you mean more than once?” Marge asked, looking sideways at her husband. “I thought you said you only went there on business?”

  “Not now, you two,” Dareen interjected, trying to keep their conversation on track and feeling that they were way off on a meaningless tangent when she had to kno
w if the Kesh were indeed informed of their plans. “Inga, go on.”

  “I come from a gypsy family.” The revelation arched more than one eye, and both older ladies brought their hands to their mouths. “I was spending time at the tavern to pay a family debt, and my father never returned for me. I do, however, remember my childhood living from the wagon and making camp wherever we could. We spent quite some time in the great forest at the base of the Trovis Mountains, and learned the ways of the Arnen.”

  “Gypsy?” Estelle said, lowering her hand and closing her mouth. “You poor child, that is no way to live. I thought the gypsy clans vanished decades ago?”

  “Not vanished, they just moved south, far to the south,” Inga said, looking from companion to companion and then darting her eyes back to the Kesh guards and nodding.

  Dareen slowly glanced over her shoulder to see a guard approaching, hand on his sword hilt as he looked at each table in turn. A second guard with a bow paced just behind him. The group resumed eating until the guards passed. “Inga, forget the plan for a moment. What happened to you?”

  Inga looked at Dareen intently, as if sizing her up, measuring her intentions. Something seemed to click within the young woman, and her eyes brightened slightly as she leaned toward Dareen to speak. “The Kesh nearly raped me. I only escaped their clutches by changing my appearance and avoiding any contact with them.”

  The others nodded, and Dareen reached across the table for a moment to hold Inga’s hands in her own. The gesture was brief, and had to be in order to avoid the attention of the wall guards, but it had its intended effect. “I understand,” Dareen whispered across the table. “Those filthy animals nearly killed me for freeing my son.”

  Inga brushed more of her hair away and gave Dareen a slight smile and a nod. “So we have both suffered. Is that what they gave you?” Inga motioned to Dareen’s scar across her face.