As she ascended the stairs, she reached the top and found a doorway to the side and another set of gates in front of her that opened onto the courtyard. The courtyard was lit by oil fires and flickered here and there, giving it a dangerous feel, one that she wanted to avoid. The open gate was now shut, and she wondered which key would open it. When she was dragged down earlier that day, the doorway was open.
The other door was not locked, and indeed, it was open a crack. She pulled it back a couple of inches so she could peer through it. She saw a vacant greeting chamber that was sparsely furnished but quite large, taking more than a half minute to walk across by her estimations, and the top was vaulted with stairs and walkways all around it. It must be the main greeting hall, and the kitchens would be across the large chamber, as would be the children.
The light flickered once more behind her, and she looked to see a pair of guards walking by not more than ten feet from her on the other side. They had passed so quickly that they didn’t see her, and she had hardly heard them as they walked on the softer dirt ground of the courtyard in their leather boots. She took a big breath of air and willed her pounding heart to slow down. It took her another two minutes before she could steady her breathing.
With great effort, she entered the large chamber, pulling the door behind her closed but not to the point of it locking itself. She dared not cross the chamber directly and instead walked quickly as silently as she could around the edges of it and passed by several open hallways and doorways. When she got to the other side, she realized she had walked along the back of the chamber, and the front had a huge set of double doors that opened up onto the courtyard. They were currently closed, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she was able to move down another corridor.
As usual, she had gone too far and ended up reaching a gated doorway into a room full of arms. She saw spears, pikes, swords, and crossbows on the far side of the iron bars and realized she was in the wrong wing of the castle. In fact, this was the most dangerous as any exchanging of the guards could easily result in them using this corridor and this room. Quickly, she doubled back and tried two more hallways before finding one that smelled of freshly baked bread and cooked meat.
She took that hallway and had to duck into an antechamber as a kitchen worker came by with a tray of drinks and some bread and cheese on it, heading upstairs to some unknown recipient. In time, she found the kitchen, and it was still busy. Three cleaners were there, scrubbing pots and pans while a Kesh boss seemed to be watching them as they worked. They cleaned in silence, and Dareen had no idea what she could do nor where to find the children. Then, fate stepped in one more time.
“You’z all done, then?” the Kesh boss asked, looking around as the last of the pans were dried and hung by the workers. The workers nodded, cleaning their hands on their aprons. “Goodz, then, get’z back to your chambers and get’z some shut eye. Dem blasted Ulathan brats be waking up early, and you’z need to be ready for dem at da dawn for work. Now get’z moving.”
The three workers nodded again, took off their aprons, setting them to hang near a doorway, and opening the barred gate, they closed it behind them and departed the room. After a couple of minutes, the lone man finished up and waited till a Kesh guard appeared.
“Are da masters done?” the kitchen boss asked.
“They’ve been served. Have your staff ready in case they call for anything else,” the guard said, turning to leave.
“Right,” the boss said, moving out another door and leaving the kitchen temporarily empty.
Dareen knew the three servants who were working earlier would need some time to sleep, so she waited behind a tall set of shelves, watching as an oven fire burned lower, dimming the light in the kitchen. After about an hour, she unlocked the barred gate that the workers left and found a stone staircase similar to what she had in the dungeon. At the bottom, the layout was different. There were open cubicles, simple and austerely furnished, and there were adults sleeping there.
She moved down a hallway to find bunkbeds in alcoves with no gates anywhere. Only the gate above leading to the kitchen was locked to keep them in. She went quickly from bed to bed, looking for her daughter, Ann. She didn’t remember seeing her for months as she was in a coma for so long. It felt like an eternity. Finally, she saw a little blonde head lying on a dirty straw-filled pillow with an ugly, rough burlap blanket over the small figure. With great hope, she reached the sleeping figure and pulled the blanket back to see her face.
Ann! Dareen’s heart lifted in joy, and she felt hope and love wash over her in strong waves that only a mother could understand. Without care or worry, she grabbed her daughter and held her head to her chest, waking her.
“Mommy, is that you?” Ann whispered, waking from her sleep.
“Yes, my love, I’ve found you at last.” Dareen grabbed Ann by her shoulders and held her out for a moment in the darkness that was illuminated only by the oil lamp in the hallway and one candle left burning inside the doorway. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mommy. Where have you been?” Ann asked, tears coming to her eyes.
“I’m here, my love. Don’t you worry, I’ll be taking you away from here very soon.”
Ann looked at her mother, a smile coming over her face as she wiped away a tear, and then her eyes looked past Dareen back toward the entryway and her eyelids opened wide in fright.
Dareen turned to see a silhouetted figure standing in the walkway between her and the staircase, between her and freedom. The figure spoke as it pulled out a knife that gleamed in the candlelight. “I don’t think so.”
Ann screamed.
Chapter 20
History
Hermes watched as the towers of Korwell grew in the distance. The journey to the Ulathan capital was uneventful, but he expected it to be that way. Once they crossed the Gregus River bridge, it was, and had always been all summer, safe. The risky part of the journey from Kesh to Ulatha was from their gated mountain pass in the Border Mountains to the bridge, past the old keep that was being reinforced for their use.
The apprentice stroked his new staff, an old one that Zorcross had given to him somewhat grudgingly with the understanding that he was not to lose his staff again. Hermes was determined that the only way someone was going to take his staff from him again was to pry it from his dead hands.
Their convoy was small by normal comparisons. Only two wagons and a score of troops divided between a squad of spearmen and a squad of bowmen. The first wagon carried some supplies from Kesh, and the second was reserved for Kaz, who was not happy about it. The large barbarian almost refused Zorcross’s orders till Hermes convinced the northerner that the purpose for riding in the wagon was in order for him to heal properly so that he could resume his warrior duties in Korwell.
Hermes wasn’t sure if Kaz bought into the story, but it didn’t matter as long as he obeyed. Zorcross was sending a message to the barbarian that if he couldn’t fight, he’d be treated like cargo instead. Not much more could upset a barbarian than having his fighting abilities called into question.
Only Hermes and the caravan master rode horseback; the other soldiers were on foot while two teamsters led the wagons with Kaz the only rider, and indeed in a most insulting gesture by Zorcross, he was the only cargo in the second wagon and could have easily fit on the first. Zorcross could be cruel, Hermes noted.
“So how do you feel?” the caravan master asked.
Now that is an odd question for a Kesh, Hermes thought, looking at the man as they made their final leg of their journey to Korwell. “What kind of question is that?” Hermes asked the man.
“No offense intended, Master Hermes, but after your meeting with Master Zorcross, it didn’t appear that you or the northerner Kaz were very pleased,” the man said.
“That is most observant of you . . .”
“Lasher, sir,” the man said, naming himself.
“Most observant, Caravan Master Lasher,” Hermes contin
ued. “I feel good. How do you feel?”
Hermes thought asking the man the same odd question would elicit a similar response, but he was mistaken. “I feel great, Master Hermes,” Lasher said, smiling at the apprentice. “We nearly killed the Ulathan rebels, and despite our losses in the south, we seem to have killed most of them down there too. Now the road between Kesh and here is open and much safer thanks to you and your efforts.”
“Yes,” Hermes began, starting to hate the man, “I can see why you are pleased.”
“So you will protect Korwell in Master Ke-Tor’s absence.” It was a statement, not a question, but Hermes wondered why the man engaged him thusly.
“I am tasked by my master to guard Korwell, yes,” Hermes replied, looking at the city as they drew near.
“You’ll feel much better when you get inside and see Grinder shut the gates,” the other man said.
“I have seen the stone troll. I do not need reassuring in this matter,” Hermes said, starting to feel peeved at the condescending nature of the caravan master.
“Well, it makes me feel better,” Lasher said, looking forward as well at the city as they approached.
“Why is that?” Hermes asked.
“Oh,” Lasher began, “we’ve been attacked many times on the road, and I was just discussing with the last caravan master in Ulsthor that it was about time for them rebels to attack us in Korwell again.”
Hermes gave Lasher a nasty look and didn’t speak again until they passed under the massive arches of the main gate into the royal complex. Seeing Grinder, the stone troll, lower the portcullis was most reassuring, and Hermes smiled before turning to the caravan master. “Let them attack. We are more than ready.”
Lasher returned a look that indicated he didn’t fully agree.
The last undead fell to Bran’s sword, and he mopped the sweat from his brow before returning his rag and preparing to sheath his sword.
“Don’t do that yet,” Malik said.
“Why not?” Bran asked, turning to watch as the scout went from skeleton to skeleton, retrieving his arrows and placing them back in his quiver.
“We need to separate their skulls from their spines,” Malik said, continuing his task of retrieval.
“What in Agon for?” Bran asked, confused at the gruesome task.
“They will rise again soon if we don’t. We don’t need them following our trail yet again.” Malik nodded, looking around, satisfied that he had all of his arrows.
“You’ve encountered them before?” Bran asked, moving to the first undead and preparing to swing his sword.
“Several times,” Malik said, securing his bow to his back and drawing his own steel. “They moved slower at first, and there were less of them. Now they seem to be moving faster, with a purpose, and they gather together like the wolf packs of the Border Mountains.”
“Well, these didn’t appear to be moving too fast. They were fairly easy to take down,” Bran said, swinging quickly and severing a skull from the first undead and then moving to another.
Malik swung as well before replying. “Agreed, but soon you’ll think differently.”
“Why is that?” Bran said, taking another swing and putting more effort into it as a tinge of hatred rolled over the man’s soul.
“Because not long ago, the first few I came across I could outwalk.”
“Don’t you mean outrun?”
“No,” Malik said. “Outwalk. They could hardly move at all, and they appeared to be mindless, as if they had no intent or purpose.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Last winter,” Malik said, watching as Bran finished the last one. “I questioned if I was really seeing and fighting what my eyes were telling me, but after more than one encounter, I knew this was real.”
“Do you think they serve that evil creature?” Bran asked, sheathing his muddy sword. There was no blood, only mud after the fight with the undead.
Malik shook his head, also sheathing his sword. “The Lich wants to destroy them. They stand in his way, and despite them being of a similar state, they serve opposite purposes.”
“You seem to know a lot for a simple scout,” Bran said, looking at his companion in a new light.
“I’ve seen things that even our elders have never experienced, and you seem to understand much more than a simple captain would,” Malik said, motioning for Bran to follow.
Bran looked back at the carnage that was fought and wanted nothing more than to put a good day’s journey between them and these creatures, not to mention this godforsaken swamp. “Do I sense a touch of sarcasm?” Bran asked, not feeling slighted at all.
“No, I’m simply noting that the world as we knew it has now changed and I’m not sure it will ever be the same, so this means we must learn more than we normally would have and we have much yet to learn.”
“You sound like a scholared man,” Bran complimented Malik.
“My mother would be proud, but now it’s time to test ourselves yet again. Are you ready?” Malik asked.
“Ready for what?” Bran answered Malik’s question with one of his own.
“Ready to take a staff from a wizard.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard, right?” Bran asked. “We just need to kill the wizard.”
Malik continued at a steady pace. “Agreed, taking the staff is the easy part. Killing the wizard, now that’s where our quest becomes tricky.”
“We have to do something!” Targon said, trying to shake the dead druid and not achieving any measureable success.
“What can we do?” Salina asked, looking at Elister.
The others began to ask the same, murmuring their concerns, and Elister seemed more focused on keeping Argyll from flying off with all the commotion occurring amongst the Ulathans.
“Maybe we can attack?” Will offered, trying to comfort Targon and feeling more than a little helpless.
The Kesh stood silently watching, and finally Elister managed to get everyone to quiet down, allowing Argyll to fly up and perch on the edge of the roof, away from the commotion. “Now, now, there may be something we could do if I had more information.”
“You are one of those Arnen people. Don’t you already know everything?” Olga asked, looking at the stone druid, eyes wide, that same awe as if speaking to a demi-god.
“Nonsense, woman,” Elister answered, feeling flustered despite being dead. “I am limited in what I can do the same as anyone else, though not as limited as most.”
Khan watched as Elister approached him. “What do you want, Arnen?”
Elister stopped in front of Khan and looked at him for a long moment. “Do you have that fancy seeing ball of yours? You know, the one where you go peeking in at everyone and disturbing their privacy?”
If Khan was offended, he certainly didn’t show it. “You mean my critir?” he asked.
“Yes, if that is what it’s called,” Elister said.
“I do have it here with me now. Targon returned it to me. Why do you ask?”
“Let me have it for a moment,” the druid said, reaching out with his hand palm up.
“No, it is much too dangerous for you to use. It will reveal our location to my master . . .”—Khan stopped for a moment and then corrected himself—“my former master and perhaps others in my order.”
“Let me worry about that, Master Khan,” Elister said, his voice commanding.
Khan stood there, his skin obviously flesh, but to the Ulathans, it appeared as if two statues were facing each other in some sort of staring game where the first to blink would lose. Finally, after some long seconds, Khan spoke. “What do you intend to do?”
Elister took no time to respond. “Use it to find out what’s happening with Targon’s mother.”
That got an immediate reaction from the young Ranger. “Give him your magic ball, Khan. Let him use it.”
Salina also chimed in, though in a much more encouraging way. “Khan, if Elister can use it to find Targon’s mother, wouldn�
��t that be a great help and comfort for Targon?”
That seemed to tip the scales in whatever decision-making weigh-in that was occurring in the wizard’s mind. Without saying a word, Khan reached into his pack and brought the critir out, keeping it covered and gently setting it in Elister’s outstretched hand.
Elister walked away from the group for a second, several paces in order to keep them away from the critir, and then turned to face them and held his hand with the ball out in front of him. If someone were to gaze back at Elister, they would not see the Ulathans. Quickly he took the cloth covering off the ball and gazed into it, waving his other stone hand above it, and everyone stood still, everyone except for Khan, who started to fidget.
The ride from Ulsthor to Keshtor was much longer than from Korwell to Ulsthor. Kesh was a broad, wide land, and it took several days to travel the distance unless a traveler rode horseback at speed.
It was later in the evening and the Kesh caravan was just finishing with camp preparations and most of the staff and soldiers had recently retired for the night. The caravan was camped at a predetermined location a day east of Ulthor and several days west of Keshtor. Ke-Tor was pleased at the pace and, as the ruling caste, took over the high quarters that were kept in stock for travelers on the wizard’s business.
Ke-Tor had dined with the senior members of his entourage and sat by the small fire that was used for ambiance since the summer evening was warm, no chill in the air this night. The quarter keeper had returned to inform the wizard that all the animals had been either properly secured in the barn or fed and tethered to their caravan posts.
The High-Mage finally had called for Ke-Tor to return to their capital, and Ke-Tor was sure that he would finally receive his well-earned promotion to Arch-Mage after securing Ulatha despite the high cost and ongoing rebel activity. Ke-Tor was no fool. He knew the High-Mage felt threatened by him, indeed by all other Arch-Mages as well, and Ke-Tor had to simply ensure his personal self was well protected when meeting with the High-Mage. That was the way of the Kesh, the way of the wizards.
Dead Druid: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 2 (Ranger Series) Page 29