“You can call me Wally.”
“Walter will do,” Marge interjected.
“Yes”—Mary continued looking at the pair—“Wally, but I know these Kesh better than most, having served them countless times in the kitchens. They won’t be fooled for long, and you can be sure that one of their wizards will be cooking up some sort of dark magic to work against us.”
“Perhaps they don’t have any horses and they are pursuing us on foot?” Estelle asked, rubbing Matthew’s head affectionately and seeing him off to drink and play with the other children, preferring he didn’t listen to their adult conversation.
Chester, the older McFadden brother, walked up, overhearing the conversation as he held the reins of one of the wagon horses. “They were down to only nine horses,” he said. “The other nine went off with the Kesh wizard who came through town a couple of days ago.”
“So they do have a mounted patrol?” Wally asked.
“Yes, if they wanted to, they could use the nine, plus whatever else they had at the castle stable for their commanders,” Chester said, walking off nearby to hitch the horse and take the other one to the creek. Chucks was doing the same at the far wagon. Having taken longer to walk back and forth, he was out of earshot.
“Well, that’s just great,” Wally began. “Nine plus a commander would be more than enough to take us out. What do we have? Two short spears and a knife?” Walter was referring to the kitchen blade Mary kept concealed for personal protection.
“We have a few bricks to throw,” Marge said, trying to make her husband feel better.
“We’ll have to get off the road soon, then,” Mary said, looking far to the west where the Border Mountains stood beckoning to them. “Unless you think we can make it into Ulatha before they send the patrol?”
“I’m still not understanding what they are waiting for.” Shiela broke her silence. Having disrobed of the Kesh garb, she now looked like one of them, dirty utilitarian dress, apron, and skirt cover.
Mary had discarded only the helmet and kept the oversized leathers on, giving her the appearance of a very slim and delicate Kesh guard, and she kept one of the spears, the other having been tucked back in Wally’s wagon. “Let’s get moving, then, and see if we can run these horses all the way to Ulatha.”
Chester responded from nearby as he exchanged the mounts for water. “They can’t run all day and all night, but we can use the feedbags to keep them moving.”
The group nodded, and after another ten minutes or so, they mounted up, rounding up all the children and heading off at a brisk trot west on the ancient trade road. The ground was semiarid, being the rain shadow of Ulatha, and though grasses, shrubs, and trees did grow in the land, it was rockier, browner, and sparser than either Rockton or Ulatha.
Furthermore, there were no homesteads dotting the land, no farms, no ranches, and no other villages, structures, or signs of inhabitants. The lands west of Ulsthor were considered war lands and kept clear. Plus the fact that the land there was not as productive and the Kesh civilization was a fraction of its former self kept the land barren.
The sun set, and they traveled far into the night, only stopping to rest when the twin sisters began to set deep into the night. Mary and Wally had long ago taken over for the McFadden boys as the children were huddled in their wagons, fast asleep. Estelle had kept Ann close. In fact, her and her son were always with Estelle, and she comforted the grief-stricken girl until she had fallen asleep, tears still flowing from her eyes.
When dawn approached, they could see further and noticed a black dot against the road ahead of them in the distance. Everyone had pretty much awakened, and Mary had Shiela and Gwenny hand out some of their last provisions that they had commandeered from the Kesh kitchen. The filthy brigands did not have fresh bread to eat the prior day, and Mary had seen to it that the batch of flour they had was infected with waste water, making it useless. If she was going to leave, she was going to make it worth her while and inflict some Rockton payback.
“What is it?” Wally asked from the lead wagon as Mary pulled the second wagon up onto the rise.
“I don’t see it anymore. I think whatever it was is over that small rise in front of us.” Mary motioned ahead.
They had crested a nice ridgeline and could see a good distance in front of them and behind them. Whatever was in front would be out of sight now until it crested the ridge or they moved forward and did the same. Shouts came from Sheila and Estelle, who had both been watching their rear for signs of Dareen’s return with Inga.
“Oh no,” Mary said, looking back.
The road behind had a small dust trail as a fast-riding group of horses were approaching along the road. They were still a good league distant, but they were running at speed. The black-cloaked figures atop the steeds gave little doubt as to who was pursing them. Ann and Estelle started to sob gently, holding each other at the realization that Dareen would not be coming.
“What do we do?” Wally asked, looking to Mary, who had basically become their de facto leader.
“Let’s rush that ridgeline and see what’s ahead. We may be able to outrun them or get these wagons hidden.” Mary lashed on her reins, taking the lead, and the wagon galloped off at a high rate of speed. Wally didn’t think that was likely, but with no other options, he did the same and followed Mary’s wagon while both Rockton boys pleaded to be allowed to run the horses.
They crested the ridge and came up against a line of Kesh spearmen holding their weapons, which included more than one pike, in front of them. The wagons screeched to a halt a mere stone throw away from the armed group of nearly a score of Kesh brigands. Half were spear and pikemen while the other half had crossbows, and they were well within range of those weapons.
Looking back, the riders were fast approaching, out of sight behind the ridgeline that they had just left, but their dust cloud was visible for miles. The line of Kesh in front of them appeared content to wait for their mounted patrol before attacking.
“I guess we’ve done ran as far as we could run,” Wally said, pulling his wagon up beside Mary’s so that they were side by side.
Marge started to cry and grabbed Wally from behind as she stood and hugged her man. Wally comforted her and reached under his bench, pulling out the short spear and giving the reins to Chucks. Mary did likewise with Charles and turned to the older man. “You want to take the front or the back?”
“I’ll deal with these in front. See if you can hold the horses off behind us. I reckon they’ll kill us, but they’ll take the children back for sure. They can’t be that murderous.” Wally said this last bit in a hushed whisper so that the children would not hear him.
Mary simply nodded and left the wagon, hopping off the side and moving to the rear, standing alone to face the mounted patrol. Wally got down and took a few steps in front and instantly heard the shouts and jeers of the Kesh in front of him as they mocked his courage.
There was no talk. The children cried out at first and then went silent, huddled together. Marge cried, but Shiela and Gwenny grabbed a brick in each hand and stood, one facing the west, the other east. They would fight to the death without complaint, and they would not blame anyone for their plight.
The thundering sound of hooves became louder as the mounted patrol rose behind them. Seeing their prey, they spurred their horses on, led by Commander Cruxes, who would not stay behind to see the outcome of the code between his guard and the witch. Now he was just intent on punishing the foolish Rockton women who had tried to poison their food and escape with their slaves. They would pay for this. Only that dumb Rockton woman stood foolishly in his path, and he intended to run her down.
When hope had all but faded, it had to be nurtured as if a small ember of coal that could be stoked and fueled again into a roaring fire if fed properly. The courage of the slaves did not go unnoticed or unaided. Commander Cruxes sensed trouble and was frustrated to have to look behind him at his riders. He turned just in time to see a second ri
der fall back, an arrow suddenly appearing in the man’s chest, dismounting him and leaving his steed to run wild with the pack.
His men started to pull back, and Cruxes did the same, looking for their attacker. Again an arrow magically appeared in one of his rider’s head, and the man’s eyes rolled back as he slumped and fell from his saddle. “Get to cover,” Cruxes yelled as his men went off road to the north and into some brushes.
One rider didn’t make it. He was engaged by the stupid Rockton woman and her spear as she fought him on the road to a standstill. Her fear and anger giving her great strength, he wished for her death sooner rather than later.
A yell from in front and a bowman fell from behind his line, another arrow in the man’s neck. Cruxes scanned the horizon, seeing nothing till another bowmen fell. The others released their bolts, and the old man on the road fell, taking one in his leg and another in his arm. Shouts and screams came from the wagons, the only positive development for the Kesh commander.
Finally, to the north several stone throws away, not far from the wagons, a great man climbed a small rise, becoming visible to all. He was dressed in leathers and furs. His bow was huge; even holding it out, it went from his head to his knees. A huge axe hung from a massive buckled belt. The man had to be the Ulathan woodsman he had heard so many stories about. The man shot an arrow nearby, and another of his men fell, mortally wounded. This was too much for the commander, and with a cry, he rallied his riders to charge the Ulathan rebel.
His one rider was in a death battle with the Rockton woman, who was now aided by bricks being thrown at him and his mount from the wagon. He had his hands full trying to keep his steed from bolting or bucking him.
A quick count and his nine soldiers were now down to four following him. That would be enough, and Commander Cruxes started to think about the glory that would be his for finally taking down the wild woodsman, the bane of Ulatha. He ducked low and kept his head behind the massive head of his steed, dropping his spear and pulling his sword. He would let the foot patrol from the border fort deal with the slaves. His mounted patrol would deal a death blow to the Ulathan resistance.
Two other riders did the same, and the Ulathan woodsman seemed to be content to pick off the other pair of riders who had remained exposed to his bowfire. The man seemed reluctant to hit the horses for some reason. Cruxes cursed under his breath at the man but was content to let them die, knowing that their sacrifice would be worth the reward. The rebel could not stop his charge of three; they would run him down in only seconds.
The man dropped his bow, giving Cruxes the confidence he needed as he rose and raised his weapon for a killing blow. The pair of soldiers on either side did the same, and the Ulathan still seemed fearless as he grabbed his huge axe and held it over his head too far back. The man threw his axe, hitting the soldier to Cruxes’s west, killing him, but now leaving the fool defenseless. The man jumped down, pulling on something, and he leaped to Cruxes’s left in the path of the horse of the man he had just killed.
A section of rope rose from the dirt, and Cruxes swung his blade, clipping the large man and slicing into his side, drawing blood. He wasn’t prepared, however, as both remaining horses fell from tripping on the knotted short rope. Cruxes and his last remaining soldier fell to the ground, both fairing differently. His companion hit his head and was instantly stunned, dropping his sword, while the commander, a most experienced horseman, rolled with the fall and landed on his back, somersaulting twice and coming to his feet with a good grip on his blade.
The Ulathan was a blur in motion. Running to the other man’s sword, he grabbed it. While he seemed to show compassion for their steeds, he did no such thing for the Kesh, and he plunged it into the man’s neck, bloodying the weapon. He never looked at the soldier as he drew the blade out and stood in defiance, waiting for the Kesh commander, the Kesh blade dripping fresh blood.
Cruxes shook the dirt from his hair and body and twirled his sword in front of him, acclimating it to his grip. It would be the Ulathan and the Kesh commander in a battle to the death, and the Ulathan showed no fear.
Marge screamed and jumped from the wagon, running toward her stricken man. Wally had fallen but kept a grip on the spear. He spoke first. “Get back, you silly woman. Leave me be.”
“You stupid, stupid . . . brave fool.” Marge finally stammered the last words out, grabbing and holding her husband gingerly.
Several of the Kesh stood their ground, but nearly half of them turned around, sensing no danger from the unarmed group of slaves in front of them, well, mostly unarmed except for a few bricks and the short spear of the old man that had fallen. They faced the epic charge of their leader, and they recognized the uniform of the commander immediately. They did not know which commander it was, but they realized that one of their most experienced and deadly leaders was in control and would mete out punishment to the usurpers.
Several even started to cheer them on until one and then two and then many fell to the lone Ulathan warrior. Their cries faded, and they gripped their weapons tighter, realizing that if their great commander did not emerge victorious, the wild Ulathan rebel would turn his wrath upon them.
“Come on, lads, it’s twenty to one,” the leader of their patrol stated, trying to boost their confidence and forgetting that two of his men had already fallen to the Ulathan bowmen.
This seemed to raise their spirits for a few seconds until they heard a roar that chilled their blood. Before they could turn to defend themselves, a blur of brown erupted into them, spilling blood and knocking over half of them down, some on top of one another, and the others scrambled to get out of the wild creature’s reach.
No one in all of Agon had any idea what the game of bowling was, but if they did, they would have said it was as if a huge brown bowling ball came rolling in, knocking down a dozen black pins. The fangs of death and the claws of blood would have been terrifying enough, but the two other figures who followed struck fear into their hearts.
A small leather-clad girl, almost the same brown color as the bear, was like a bee, darting to and fro to any Kesh that had fallen and lost his footing. She wasn’t stabbing to kill with her wicked little blade, though those in the Nine Towers knew that she hit more than one jugular artery, but instead she slid her blade in and out, causing whatever damage she could, darting away quicker than they could react.
The other figure took them for their biggest surprise. A Kesh commander in a faded, worn, and dirty uniform but identifiable no less as a Kesh chieftain swung one of their own blades, and his blows were meant to kill. He attacked the bowmen first, cleaving hand from wrist, head from neck, and arm from shoulder where he could, and for those who had fallen, he was content to separate their legs from their torsos.
So vicious was the attack, that in seconds it was all but over. A dozen Kesh soldiers were either dead, dying, or seriously wounded and the remaining half dozen or so tried to form up one last time to defend themselves. Their only content was in seeing that two spears now stuck in the side of the bear like pincushions in a mattress, and that the pair of rebels were covered in blood, and breathing heavily.
Problem was, it wasn’t their blood.
The pair laid blow after blow into one another, parrying each thrust and pushing each other back with great effort. The Kesh commander was the better swordsman, but the Ulathan woodsman had greater strength and reach. It appeared to be a standstill until the Ulathan changed tactics, throwing his sword at his opponent and rushing him.
Cruxes deflected the sword as it flew straight at his head. He raised his blade to hit the Ulathan, but the man closed the gap and grabbed his wrists on both hands. Locked together, the Kesh leader tried valiantly to free his blade and smite the rebel down, but the grip of the other man was like a steel vise in their dungeon. It was firm and unrelenting.
Slowly, the commander felt the grip on his sword arm tighten, and automatically his tendons did as they were commanded, flexing to open his fingers and drop the bl
ade. The Kesh fought, realizing that it was futile, and he actually let out a laugh as he looked at the younger Ulathan woodsman only a foot away.
The Ulathan man’s face was young yet stern. His gaze was focused, and Cruxes saw no mercy or sympathy there. He also saw no hate or fear as he so often saw in his many battles, fights, and campaigns as a soldier in the Kesh army. He rose to prominence due to his prowess with the sword, his ruthlessness with his decisions, and his unwavering loyalty to his master caste, the wizards and mages of his realm. The culmination of a career as a fighter was to culminate in this.
With an unexpected smile, the Ulathan gave the man a knowing nod and pulled him forward, rolling him over onto his back and his leg that twisted and now knelt as if the man was honoring a king. Instead, the wild woodsman changed his position and grabbed Cruxes around his neck in a headlock. With his biceps bulging, veins pounding in the other man’s face, forehead, and neck, he exerted one last, long pull on Cruxes’s neck, bending it back until the sky went dark, and with one last sound of resistance from Cruxes’s muscles and tendons, the Kesh commander’s neck snapped with a sickening thud.
Commander Cruxes’s service to Kesh had come to an end. Soon, there would be a new Kesh commander in Ulsthor.
“Hold the line, lads. Let them feel Kesh steel,” the Kesh leader of the foot patrol said as they finally managed to get a row of spears and a couple of pikes in front of them, keeping the wild brown bear and the pair of crazed attackers at bay. Now is when we need our bowmen, the Kesh leader thought, trying to make a plan to move through them and down the road back toward their fort.
He had drawn his weapon of last resort, a large horn. Setting it to his lips, he sounded the horn long and hard. Haroom, came the long, deep sound as it echoed along the gullies and ridges. Twice more the leader sounded the warning horn, and his men held their ground, their attackers content to hold their ground, most likely to keep their attention on them and not the slaves.
Dead Druid: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 2 (Ranger Series) Page 39