Finally, he heard what he was longing for—a return sound from far away. The garrison at the pass had heard his call. The bad news was that it was a very long march to get to them, and other than this stalemate, the Kesh leader had no other ideas for the time being. Seeing the girl and Kesh chieftain look at each other in confusion gave the man some hope until his strongest pikeman fell, an arrow in his back.
So intent were they on the bear and the pair of attackers, they had failed to notice the outcome of the battle between their Kesh commander and the Ulathan woodsman. It appeared the Ulathan had emerged victorious and was now picking off his men one by one. This was too much for them, and in unison, without orders, they ran to the south, down the slight incline in the road and ridge, giving them merciful cover from the rain of death that the Ulathan bowman was inflicting on them. To their relief, neither man, girl, nor bear followed, and the Kesh ran out of sight.
Dorsun nodded as Marissa went to Core and spoke softly into his ear. The large ursine bobbed its massive head up and down and laid on its side, allowing the spears on the other side to rise into the air. Dorsun walked over and without hesitation pulled them both out. Core roared in pain, and Marissa tried to soothe him.
Targon had picked up his axe and was running for the stricken man in the road after Dorsun gave him a nod, indicating that they were all right. It took no time for him to assess the scene, and he readied his pouch with the small supply of Arella that he carried for healing purposes.
“Tar!” Ann yelled from one of the wagons, causing Targon to pull up. Ann jumped down, helped by Estelle and Mary, and ran to Targon, hugging him intently as he knelt beside her and returned her affection. Their reunion was cut short by Marge yelling at them.
“Please, help my husband,” she said, eyes red, tears flowing from them.
“Go on, little brother, can you help Mister Wally?” Ann asked.
Targon nodded, hugging her one more time and allowing Estelle to come up and grab her hand. Turning quickly, he approached the man bleeding on the ground as an elderly woman held him. “How you feeling, old man?” Targon asked.
“I’ve seen better days, lad,” Wally said, looking up at the massive Ulathan warrior. “You must be Dareen’s boy.”
“You knew my mother?” Targon asked, pulling out his supplies and ripping a length of cloth from his large rag that he had in his pack. He would use it to tie the Arella to the man’s wounds.
“Yes,” Wally said, getting interrupted.
“Shut up, you old coot,” Marge said, sniffling and wiping away tears, happy to hear her man talking and then getting upset that he was exerting effort to speak.
“Where is she?” Targon said, looking around and chewing on the Arella that he had put in his mouth after asking his question, mixing his saliva with the plant leaf.
No one spoke, and Targon looked around, not seeing her. Mary approached, and Targon started for a second at her garb before realizing who she was. Targon looked back at Dorsun and saw the man walking from Kesh to Kesh, plunging a sword into a soldier if he found the man breathing. Targon didn’t approve but was too busy at the moment to discuss honor and prisoner of war treatment with his strange fighting companion. He was content to see Core resting, his massive breaths lifting Marissa as she lay on his chest, hugging the large bear.
Targon pulled the leaf from his mouth and set it down on the man’s chest. “This is going to hurt. Are you ready?”
“Do what you have to do,” the old man said, squeezing his eyes shut.
Targon nodded and looked at Marge, who hesitated for a few seconds. To Targon’s credit, he waited, allowing her the time to make her decision. She nodded then, and Targon moved swiftly to pull both bolts from Wally’s arm and leg. The old man was lucky that he had turned sideways so that the bolts hit his right arm and leg and not his vital organs. Wally cried out in pain, blacking out as his head lolled to the side.
“He’ll be all right,” Targon reassured the woman at his side. “Now someone give me an answer. Where is my mother? Where is Dareen Terrel?”
Mary took it upon herself to answer. “She helped us to escape and stayed behind to create a distraction with another Ulathan women. They were supposed to meet us on the road. They had a pair of horses with which to follow us. They never came.”
Targon took the strips of cloth and bound the old Ulathan’s wounds, picking him up and carrying him to the first wagon with ease. He set the man in the back as the children moved to make room for him. Targon helped Marge back up into the wagon as Dorsun approached.
“Time to move,” the large Kesh said, and Mary held her spear up at the man.
“Put that down. He is with us,” Targon ordered, standing between her and the former Kesh chieftain.
“Where is the last rider?” Dorsun asked, stepping around the larger Targon so he could see Mary and ask her.
Mary lowered her spear and nodded. “He lost his grip on his reins and his horse bolted back toward Ulsthor with him hanging onto his saddle. I venture it will take him a good league or so before he gets that steed under control.”
Targon walked over to where his pack lay and started to gather his things from the ground, putting them back. “I have to go,” Targon said.
Dorsun walked over, as did several of the adults, and stood facing Targon. “You can’t leave your people here.”
“They will be fine. I must find my mother and bring her back,” Targon said.
“No,” Dorsun said in a firm voice. “I know these lands, and I know my people. They will come with reinforcements and they will not return with slaves. They will kill all of us.”
“You give them too much credit,” Targon said, half snorting in derision at the mention of Dorsun’s “people.”
Dorsun grabbed the larger Ulathan by his shoulders, forcing him to look the Kesh chieftain in the eye. “You are wrong in this, Targon Terrel. They have a master at the border passing, and he will use his talents to track us. Our only hope is in the haunted forest and its protection. Only there will the masters be unable to follow us. If you leave us now, you condemn your people, all of them, to death. Do you understand?”
Targon looked back at the children, and Ann waved with her free hand, her other hand tightly gripping Estelle’s while her son held his mother’s other hand. Sighing, the young Ranger turned to face Dorsun. “You’re sure about this?”
Dorsun nodded. “Trust me on this. I know the Kesh better than you, and I know the masters and their cruel hearts. There will be no mercy after what we just did.”
“But we are so close to my mother. Only a day or two away,” Targon said, releasing his gaze and turning to look eastward where he envisioned his mother to be.
“Agreed, my warrior cousin,” Dorsun said, gracing Targon with a Kesh compliment that meant little to the Ulathan but much to the Kesh. “Save your sister first, save the others, and then I will return with you and guide you to her. It will be my oath with my master’s permission.”
Targon felt that same sick feeling again as if he were failing his family. Finally, he relented and nodded at the other man. “All right, let’s get these folks back to Ulatha. Let’s get them back to the Blackthorn.”
The return trip was uneventful. They stayed in their wagons and went cross-country, first to the north and then heading up one of the draws that led to the Border Mountains. Targon had insisted on both wagons traveling in single file and explained that it would be much easier to cover their tracks from only one set of wagon wheels. When they had traveled far into the north, they camped for that evening and resumed the next day. Late the following day, having traveled slowly, they finally reached a point where they had to abandon their wagons and walk on foot, with Targon and Dorsun carrying Wally on a makeshift stretcher after yanking a plank from one of the wagons. It was tough going, and all of their food provisions had been exhausted, including the meager supplies that Targon and Dorsun had carried with them. To their credit, no one complained of hunger, and they
all kept up a hard pace until they reached the base of the cliff that led to the mountain meadow.
“Here is where we say goodbye, old friend,” Targon said to Core, and Marissa started to have tears well up in her eyes.
Dorsun was explaining to the other adults that the bear was too heavy to get up the cliff, and he would have to stay in Kesh a bit longer. Marissa said that Core would wait for them not far from meadow. It took Dorsun standing on top of Targon’s shoulders with Marissa standing on top of Dorsun’s shoulders to reach the rope still dangling from above. They tied the last remains of the harness rope that Targon had used to trip up the Kesh, and created a smaller harness for the children.
Targon ascended the rope first on his own and then pulled everyone up. Twenty-one children and six adults made the ascent, not including Targon, Dorsun, or Marissa. Walter had to be lifted last as Dorsun tied him to the harness and climbed the rope, and then together, he and Targon lifted the old man up the side of the cliff and they made their way to the cave in the meadow long after the twin sisters rose.
They had all slept that evening and the next day began their last journey down the mountainside and into the relative protection of the Blackthorn Forest. Mary and Shiela had taken over for Targon on stretcher duty, and Targon carried his sister home the last few leagues with her on his back.
Targon had kept part of his promise, with the help of his mother. Ann had come home.
Epilogue
Madness
Azor walked away from his orb, his critir, after viewing the destruction within Ulan Utandra that was now being called Korwell. He stood at the doorway to his tower and looked out into the ruins and misty swamplands surrounding him. Yes, he could call it “his” tower now. Despite being built by the ancients, it was still imbued with a strong defensive magic that had somehow withstood the many millennia that had passed since its making.
The Lich had waited for over ten centuries for this moment, enduring passing after passing of Dor Akun, Father Death, and witnessing the catastrophic acts that the transit caused. It had taken him decades to crawl from that foul chamber from under the watchful gaze of the guardian. Some years he only moved a few inches, and he had no control over his actions, having been animated and brought back to Agon by the dark power of the Black Queen.
Oh, how he hated her, her and the guardian that stood watch. He would have his vengeance one day, even if it took an eternity. It was literally luck that freed his mind from her dominating will. As a servant of the Black Queen, he was in search of something, and in that act as an animated undead, he had stumbled across this ancient, enchanted tower with no doors and almost no rooftop. Still, over the centuries, many dark secrets were discovered, and Azor morphed into one of the most feared creatures in all of Claire-Agon, a Lich of immense and unimaginable power. Unshackled by the chains of time that haunted all wizards of his caste, he had time eternal to master the spells of the arcane and to dominate darkness in much the same way that the queen did.
Every power, however, had a price, and despite the many centuries of knowledge that he had mastered, he could not leave the protection of the ancient tower. To do so would be to submit his mind and will to the Dark Queen, to her control and her mastery and her command. No, he would not do so, not willingly, and even now he plotted to take his revenge on her and her guardian.
He had only to wait for his vision to arrive, for he saw his young servant with the Kesh staff in his possession as the man escaped from Ulan Utandra and was even now returning to him to fulfil his command. The first phase of his liberation was coming to fruition, and the Lich stood still, looking into the misty darkness, waiting to see what he desired brought to him. He had waited patiently for nearly a millennia, so what would a few days more be to him?
Soon, Agon would learn to fear what the ancients feared, and it wasn’t the Draconus. No, it was the Mage Immortal, Wizard of Death, more commonly known as a Lich.
Soon.
The run to the ridgeline had taken a half hour at full speed—well, as fast as Malik could run. He had tried to pull Bran with him, but the large barbarian was too powerful, his grip on the Ulathan captain too strong.
It had been a simple matter to escape. The large drainage grate that they were supposed to exit from into the Kesh trap was unguarded once the band of rebels appeared at the queen’s tower. He didn’t understand how or why the other Kesh wizard attacked the one in Korwell, and he didn’t recognize the other fighters until Bran started screaming that two of them were his wife and son.
The group did a better job than he could have ever done as every Kesh near the exit was in full battle mode heading to the main gates, leaving it a simple matter for Malik to lift the grate and climb down into the drainage culvert and exit by the same way they had entered.
There was no one guarding the grounds where he exited, and as he ran south toward the distant ridgeline, the attention of the entire garrison in the castle was on the main gates. The explosion and subsequent fires, dust, and debris gave the young scout pause, but his mind was bent on accomplishing his mission. Long ago, he had met Azor, the Lich, and while he felt he still had independent thought, it was a cruel illusion, designed to channel the young man’s energies into Azor’s plotting. Even now, he was fulfilling the Lich’s bidding, and everything the man had done fell into the machination of the evil creature.
Malik looked back, wishing he’d see Bran in the distance running to catch up with him. He knew in his heart, however, that the Ulathan captain’s fate was sealed. They had surrounded him far too quickly, and Malik only lingered for a short moment, fearful that his primary mission would be comprised. Bring Azor a staff.
Lifting a hand as if in farewell, Malik said, “Good luck, Captain. May your fate be kinder than mine.”
Without a word, Malik Terrel trotted south, putting as much distance between himself and the Kesh as possible. Soon, he would present his trophy to Azor and in return be granted what he longed for.
Revenge.
Hork came running down the stairs to find the trio passed out at the base. He ordered water splashed on them and looked over at the destruction of the main gate towers. Both towers had collapsed within, taking over a quarter of his troops with them. There was no sign of the Ulathan rebels, though the wizard who did this was known to him. He had no idea that Khan could have grown in such power so quickly, over a mere summer, in fact. Either that, or the man was already powerful as an apprentice and that would explain Ke-Tor’s death sentence on his old pupil.
Waking, the barbarian got to his feet, retrieving his sword, and Hork ordered for a pair of troops to lift Hermes from his prone position. The magic-user didn’t look too happy, feeling almost naked without his staff, and he was absolutely angry.
“Damn you to the abyss, Ulathan!” Hermes said to Bran, who was starting to awaken, water flowing from his face and body where it was thrown on him. “Hork, kill him.”
Hork stepped forward, raising his blade for the killing blow. Bran saw the stroke coming and glared at the Kesh commander in defiance, the last living act he could perform. Hork’s blade hit the sword of Kaz, the barbarian, who shouted out, “No krik ahoun ke to no fa koray.”
Hork eyed the wild mercenary for a moment and then turned to Hermes for an explanation.
“Why not?” Hermes asked the large warrior.
“Nu tot krik, ko Kaz ti no fo Ulathan,” Kaz stated, holding his ground.
Everyone stood waiting for Hermes, Hork not really wanting to fight the barbarian, but also noting the looks that his troops were giving him at the barbarian’s insubordination. Finally, Hork felt he had to act. “What are your orders, Master? Kill the Ulathan and kill the barbarian?”
Nods of approval came from some of his men, and others looked skeptical. Hermes started to see the issue more clearly and looked back at the towers. “The others?” he asked.
“They are either dead or gone,” Hork stated simply, holding his sword out where it still crossed with Kaz’s
massive blade that the barbarian wielded one-handed.
Hermes looked back and then gave Kaz one more look. “Fine, we will honor your clan’s code, but you better kill him then.”
The barbarian nodded and then pulled his blade back, away from Hork’s as it made a high-pitched scraping sound that irritated the ears of all who heard it. Hork looked at Hermes and then pulled his own blade back away from Bran’s head. “What are our orders, Master?”
Hermes looked at Bran with hate before speaking and never taking his eyes off of the Ulathan captain. “Kaz’s code of honor demands that he be allowed to finish what he and this Ulathan scum have started, a fight to the death.”
“So, they fight now?” Hork asked, confused at why there appeared to be no fight preparations.
“No,” Hermes said. “His clan’s code is stricter than ours. He must fight the Ulathan when they are both fully healed.”
Hork looked at the barbarian, who appeared to have cracked at least one more rib and re-broken a couple more, and then to Bran, who had been bleeding out until he held a dirty rag to his wound. “That could take days, if not weeks.”
“Yes,” Hermes said. “In the meantime, take this Ulathan scum to a cell and see to his wounds. He must be ready to fight Kaz to the death.”
Hork made the preparations, and the barbarian watched as they took the proud Ulathan captain away. “Krik ahoun, ke to no agog.”
Hermes frowned, and the barbarian walked away. Hork waited for a moment longer, and Hermes waved him off. He would receive no translation. In essence, the large barbarian had said that for losing a second staff, he would probably die before their death match.
Hermes had other plans.
Ke-Tor washed the blood from his hands and arms, disgusted to have been soiled so after he murdered Ke-Grenson, the High-Mage’s personal assistant. Some said he was next in line for ascendency to the ranks of an Arch-Mage, but now that was a moot point. The High-Mage Am-Sultain would no longer have the services of his loyal follower.
Dead Druid: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 2 (Ranger Series) Page 40