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

by Salvador Mercer

  “Elister, stop. What are you doing?” Targon finally jumped in between the two men, having already pulled his axe in the closer quarters of the glade. Targon felt the warmth of the gemstone as it was only inches from his back, still pointed at the druid. However, he now blocked Elister from seeing Khan, and the effect was noticeable.

  Elister’s red flaring eyes dimmed considerably, and he tilted his head to the side slightly, bringing his own heavy staff down on the ground, leaning slightly on it. “Who are you?” the druid asked.

  “It’s me, Elister. Don’t you recognize me?” Targon said, his voice pleading the man to remember.

  “You look familiar,” Elister finally said, his voice soft despite the rocky appearance of his body. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes, you are Elister, druid of the Arnen, protector of Agon, her lands, and her realms,” Targon said, almost quoting a passage that Cedric often spoke to him by the hearth fire when they had read together during the long summer nights. Well, Cedric read and Targon listened.

  Targon noticed that Salina had sheathed her sword, moving to help Dorsun up and then returning to Elister’s side to address him. “Why did you do that?” she asked.

  Elister looked to his side, noticing her for the first time it appeared, and then his eyes flared red, not as much as earlier, but enough to gain their attention. With a quick fluid motion, Elister simply brought the tip of his staff up and whacked Salina right between her eyes, drawing blood and knocking her to the ground. “Who are you, stupid woman?”

  Dorsun was stunned but managed to grab Salina as she fell, breaking her fall as the pair tumbled to the ground, Salina for the first time that evening and Dorsun twice.

  “Hey!” Targon yelled, moving forward and bringing his axe up with one hand, not to attack but to potentially block the druid’s staff.

  Elister looked from the pair on the ground back to Targon, the red flaring in his eyes diminishing considerably. “Do I know you?” Elister asked, tilting his head again and planting the bottom end of his staff into the ground, leaning on it.

  “Stay away from him, Targon. That is not your Arnen friend,” Khan said from behind.

  “Who speaks thusly?” Elister said, giving his head a slight cock more to the side. “Is that the Kesh defiler of Agon?”

  Targon pondered their words for a moment and slowly lowered his axe, securing it in his wide leather belt, and held both hands outright so that Elister could see them in a gesture of peace. “No, the Kesh wizard is no longer against Agon. He now works with us to restore the mother and her creatures to their rightful state.”

  Elister didn’t move, looking intently at Targon for a long moment before finally speaking. “He sounds like a Kesh defiler.”

  “Yes, he looks like one too, but in his heart he has . . .” Targon struggled for the proper words, unaccustomed to the vocabulary of both Elister and Khan. “He has converted to Agon, so please, do not harm him . . . or us, for that matter.” Targon looked down to Salina and Dorsun. Dorsun held her in his arms and stroked her hair slightly back to keep it from being bloodied.

  “Perhaps,” was all that the druid could muster, unmoving.

  “Please,” Targon pleaded now, “allow me to tend to Lady Salina.”

  Elister didn’t move, and Targon took that as a sign that he could minister to her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small rag he used often to wipe the sweat from his brow when exerting himself and moved to tend to Salina. As soon as he cleared the sight between the two, Elister scowled and his eyes flared that same crimson color yet again.

  “Ogon, unichtozhe!” Khan chanted the spell, summoning yet another fireball as Elister attacked him.

  “No!” Targon yelled for the second time that night, and with lighting quick reflexes, he ran the few steps to Khan, pushing the man’s staff up so that the fireball released overhead and not at the druid.

  “What the . . .” Khan was surprised to say the least and stepped back several steps to clear his staff from Targon’s reach.

  Elister brought his staff forward, as did Khan, and Targon had a sick feeling in his stomach as he remembered back to that spring morning when the Arch-Mage Am-Ohkre and Elister clashed with their staves, and the result did not bode well for anyone within a stone throw of the pair. At this moment, Targon was only a staff length away from both men, and Salina and Dorsun were a mere dozen feet away.

  Targon did the only thing he could think to do. He prepared to die and stepped forward, intercepting Elister’s staff as it swung high overhead to come down on Khan. The staff stopped of its own volition as Targon grabbed it with both hands overhead. The motion brought Elister and Targon face to face. Both men had their hands over their heads, gripping the druid’s staff.

  Immediately the red glow in Elister’s eyes dimmed and then went out completely for a second before his left eye resumed a reddish hue, but his right eye started to glow a bright white color, pure as cloth that had been thoroughly cleaned.

  “Targon?” Elister asked.

  “Yes, it’s me, Elister. Do you remember me now?” Targon said.

  Elister nodded. His face was still an ashen grey, weathered as if cast from rock. His goatee looked white, and the hairs prickly, as if they were as sharp as the quills on a porcupine, but there, in that moment, despite the rough features that had transformed the druid into stone, recognition was conveyed as Elister understood who was standing in front of him. Slowly, both men lowered the staff, and Targon was about to release it when Khan spoke from behind.

  “Do not let go of his staff, Targon. He may return to his possessed state.”

  Targon obeyed. Not looking back, he asked, “What in Agon are you referring to, Khan? What state would that be?”

  “I cannot be certain, but that was most certainly not the man you described to us dozens of times. That man was kind, devoted, and wise. This man is . . . is something entirely different,” Khan said.

  “Is that your Kesh friend?” Elister asked, trying to look past Targon at Khan while Targon was none too enthused to allow it.

  “Yes, that is Khan of Kesh,” Targon answered simply.

  “Ah, very well met, and these people must be . . . Oh my, what in Agon did I do?” Elister asked, concern in his voice and very much sounding like the same man Targon remembered from last spring.

  “You hit Salina on the head with your staff,” Khan said, answering for Targon least the Ulathan woodsman try to minimize the druid’s actions. Khan was blunt to a tee and wanted to ensure the dead druid understood what he had done.

  “Enough, Khan. Tend to Salina and your man. I have a rag in my pocket,” Targon said.

  “Please, not that sweaty piece of cloth,” Salina sat up, touching her forehead and looking at the blood on her hand. “Nothing personal, Targon, but I’d prefer fresh water and a strip of cloth from my dress, dirty as that is.”

  Targon shrugged sheepishly, keeping a tight grip on Elister’s staff.

  “I’ll get the water,” Dorsun said, standing and moving for a flask by the fire.

  Khan slowly walked over to Salina, and Elister tilted his head to see him better. “Hullo,” Elister said.

  Khan looked back at Elister with a confused look on his face and then answered. “Greetings, druid of the Arnen,” he said formally.

  “A rather polite chap, wouldn’t you agree, Targon?” Elister asked, smiling and showing a row of rock hard teeth.

  “You know, you could have killed one of us,” Khan said, not bothering to look at the pair holding the staff. Khan took the water flask from Dorsun and gently poured it over Salina’s forehead as Dorsun tugged at the edge of her dress, which acted more like an apron than anything, hanging over her leather pants.

  Khan took the strip of cloth from his bodyguard and dabbed at the water and blood before pressing it and holding it against her forehead.

  “You may want to—” Targon was interrupted.

  “I know, use the arella leaf on her injury,” Khan fi
nished for him.

  “What?” Targon asked.

  Salina replied for Khan this time. “It’s nothing, Targon, just that you are overly fond of your medicinal plant and we have become more than a little accustomed to you suggesting its use.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” Targon asked, a tinge of hurt in his voice.

  “It is when it hurts your people,” Khan said, pulling the cloth away and inspecting the wound. “Give me the flask again.”

  Dorsun handed the flask back to Khan, and Salina leaned over, nodding her approval as Khan poured more water over her head, dabbing again more pointedly.

  “When did I ever hurt anyone with that plant?” Targon’s hurt was replaced with defensiveness.

  Salina was about to speak, but Khan beat her to it. “When you gave it to everyone for the late spring fever and instead it gave everyone diarrhea.”

  “It did not. In fact, it helped rid everyone of it.” Targon looked to Elister for approval, and the dead druid just shrugged, giving a very unusual appearance to the men as they stood face to face, both clinging to the wooden staff. “Go on, Salina, tell Khan.”

  Salina looked sheepishly at Khan and then back again at Targon. “Well,” she started.

  “It is all right, Salina. You may lie to Targon if it will make him feel better,” Khan said.

  “What?” Targon practically yelled, his defensiveness now turning to anger.

  “Targon, calm down,” Salina said. “Khan is right, the arella was causing us women cramps and most the others did indeed have . . . well, they had the problem.”

  “You fear saying the word diarrhea?” Khan asked Salina as he finished his dabbing and held the cloth on her head again and looked back to Targon. In fact, all three of his companions were looking at him now.

  “Oh please, Kesh, that is going too far,” Targon said, his anger now turning to exasperation.

  “Never mind, Targon. We tricked you into thinking that we boiled the plant in the water and then drank it. It was actually tea leaves from one of the Kesh caravans we plundered. Once we stopped taking the plant’s leaves, we all recuperated. Really, though, the plant does wonders for other injuries, just it shouldn’t be digested for more than a few times, I think, though I am no apothecary.”

  Targon lowered his head and closed his eyes for a second before responding. “Can you believe this?”

  Targon raised his head and looked at Elister. “What?” Elister asked. “Come to think of it, the damn plant did give me the runs from time to time, but I chalked it up to my age, what being over a thousand years old and all.”

  Khan nodded to Salina after pulling the cloth off and seeing no bleeding. She nodded back and offered him her hand and he took it, pulling her up, struggling slightly as he was not strong at all. Dorsun grabbed Salina by the waist and helped her up.

  “Well, can we move off of this topic and discuss exactly what just happened?” Salina asked, back to her usual business-like self.

  “That would be most wise,” Khan said, looking at the Ranger and druid.

  Targon looked at Elister then. “What happened to you? Can you tell us? We saw you die at the river months ago.”

  Elister leaned back slightly, pulling the staff closer to him, and almost instinctually Targon almost released it.

  “Do not release his staff, Targon,” Khan commanded again. While the Kesh wizard did not usually bark commands, there seemed to be some sense of urgency to his words, and the fear they instilled in all of them, except Elister of course, was very real.

  “Well, what in Agon do you expect me to do? I can’t very well stand here all night holding Elister’s staff, now can I?”

  Khan stood and resumed that ritual that Targon hated so much, bringing his free hand up to stroke his chin and think. Finally he spoke. “Perhaps you only need to hold it until we can ask him a few questions and obtain a few answers. Then we may be able to ascertain our next course of action.”

  “Very well,” Targon said, loosening his grip but inching closer to ensure he had hold of the staff. “Elister, I’ll ask again, what happened to you by the river? We watched you die down there.”

  Elister looked from Targon to the others and then back again. “I did die.”

  “I don’t think you are dead,” Salina said, moving forward gently, remembering the blow she took from the druid’s staff which contradicted his last act of saving her life when she was pierced by a crossbow bolt. The two extremes were difficult for her to handle. Dorsun and Khan, however, kept a distance.

  “No,” Elister began, “I am most certainly dead. I would know.”

  “But the man speaks,” Dorsun said, awe in his voice.

  “Man or creature?” Khan replied, his question more than rhetorical.

  “Are you both daft?” Targon asked, looking at the Kesh men. “This is Elister. Of course he is alive and he is a man. That much should be obvious, even to a Kesh.”

  “Best if you ask your master,” Khan said, nodding at Elister.

  “What master?” Targon asked, confused at the Kesh term and thinking that Khan had lost his mind.

  “If I understand everything correctly, then your friend Elister here is a druid of the Arnen—”

  “We know that,” Targon interrupted.

  “Yes,” Khan resumed, “but that would make you his Ranger.”

  “Zashitor, actually,” Elister replied.

  “I told you all before, I am no Ranger. I am a simple woodsman of Ulatha trying to free my family from your people,” Targon said, emphasizing the word for Khan’s benefit.

  Khan remained stoic. “Perhaps it would be better if you heard it from your friend.”

  Targon looked at Elister and noticed the druid wasn’t breathing. “Do you feel all right, Elister?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” the druid replied.

  “Would you prefer I tell him?” Khan asked.

  Elister looked at Khan intently and narrowed his eyes before looking back to Targon. “I told you about the Rangers and the ancient order of the Arnen, but you must accept what I tell you before you can restore the order and defend the mother.”

  “I only wish my family returned to our home,” Targon said.

  “They will, if you embrace who you are.” Elister nodded.

  Targon looked at his companions and then back to the old druid. “That’s just great. Now I have a dead druid telling me my place in life, a crazed Kesh wizard bent on revenge, and a cutthroat brigand as a sword mate. Could this possibly get any more difficult?”

  “Actually, yes, it could,” Elister said, looking sadly at Targon. “You forgot that you have to deal with the dragon.”

  “Where is Horace when I need him?” Targon sighed.

  “Horace?” Elister asked.

  “Bloody hell,” Targon said, shaking his head.

  The group had returned to the fire, and Targon sat next to Elister, holding the bottom end of the druid’s staff. There was no creek or water source nearby, so the group drank sparingly from their flasks, all except Elister, who didn’t drink, eat, or breathe, for that matter.

  Salina managed to wrap another strip of cloth from the hem of her dress around her head since it started to seep a bit. She did allow Khan to put some of the arella leaf on her forehead and use the cloth to hold it in place. Targon wanted to tend to her, but Khan insisted that he keep two hands on the druid’s staff. It was more than awkward for the two men, dead druid, and riled Ranger to move together to the dead log and sit. Elister had said that sitting wasn’t necessary, but Khan insisted, saying he didn’t want Targon to tire in his task.

  “So, comfy?” Salina finally asked from across the fire where she sat on another log between Dorsun and Khan. Targon felt as if she had betrayed him, diarrhea, indeed!

  “Yes, thank you for asking,” Elister responded, looking to Targon and smiling. Targon felt the gesture was more sinister with the rock teeth than the usual warmth that the gesture used to convey.

  Khan was all business. �
�We must determine what happened and what our next course of action will be.”

  “Agreed,” Salina said.

  “You’ll have to ask Elister,” Targon said, content to sit this one out.

  Elister looked at the trio across from him. “I am dead. How long I was dead I do not know. My spirit should have returned to Agon’s bosom. I walked long upon the trail of tears, looking for my kind, but I could not find them. Then, without warning, came a call, a call I could not ignore. It compelled my spirit to return to my body.”

  “It appears your body turned to stone,” Salina said.

  “Or petrified,” Khan interjected.

  “Does it matter?” Targon asked.

  “No, go on, druid,” Khan said.

  “There isn’t much to say. I have vague memories of marauding Kesh in my beloved Earlstyne and I do remember being angry, such a nasty feeling, but other than that, I cannot say.”

  “Do you remember your battle with the Arch-Mage?” Khan asked.

  “Yes,” Elister replied. “I knew that one of us would die, perhaps both of us, but I would not suffer the heretic to enter Agon’s realm. The portal must be protected at all costs.”

  “Portal?” Salina asked.

  “The forest is old, very old. There are gateways to Agon’s realm, and the Earlstyne holds one of them. As one of the Arnen, it is my duty to protect the mother.”

  “You mean to say that Agon has another realm of her own?” Salina asked, leaning forward intently to hear the druid better.

  Elister nodded. “More than that, there are gateways to Akun as well, and the dark ones use the time of calamity to move back and forth between the mother and the father.”

  “Why does he speak in riddles?” Dorsun asked, looking directly at Khan for an answer.

  “It is not a riddle if you know what he is talking about,” Khan answered, continuing to look at Elister from across the small fire. “The druid knows exactly what he is referring to, but his mind is clouded by something, some kind of influence that exerts itself upon him. Let me try something.”