The Outlaw's Quest (Keeper of the Books, Book 2)

by Jason D. Morrow

  She stared at Farron who pulled himself off the floor by grabbing onto his desk. The room was a mess of books and papers thrown about in every direction. If she didn’t know Farron better, she would have thought someone had raided the office looking for an item.

  But she had met Farron many times before and he was an eccentric fellow to say the least. The people of Lorne loved him dearly, and he had led them through many great conflicts, but he was not one for order and cleanliness within his own quarters, though he would expect much better of his own soldiers.

  “Sentinel Gwen,” he said with a nervous laugh, “this is unexpected.” The gnome tugged at his beard which was braided into two long strands that fell to his waist. His big blue eyes stared up at her with anxious anticipation. “Would you like me to make some tea?”

  “I’m sorry we don’t have time for pleasantries,” Gwen said. “I have some very important news to share with you, but first I have to know something.” Gwen bent down to get a closer look into Farron’s eyes. She was willing to use her powers to reach into his mind if she had to. “Did you know there was another Sentinel here today?”

  “Of course not!”

  Gwen squinted her eyes at him.

  “Which one?”

  “Kellen.”

  “I haven’t seen Sentinel Kellen in years! How is he?”

  “He just murdered Arlo,” Gwen said coldly, standing straighter now.

  The blood drained from the gnome’s normally red face. “He what?”

  “You heard what I said. He has taken The Book of Life, and Arlo is dead.”

  “This is bad news,” Farron said. He held onto the braids in his beard with both hands like he might two rope handles as he stared into the floor with a still expression.

  “It’s worse,” Gwen said. “He’s traveling with a group of ravagers and he left on one of your trains this morning.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Why isn’t important right now,” she answered. “Your biggest problem is that the wall is down and the ravagers are coming here. They want to destroy Lorne.”

  “But how do you know?”

  “I was just at the wall in the caves,” she answered. “I heard them coming. My pupil and I collapsed the cave but it will only be a matter of hours before they break through. You need to gather your soldiers and prepare for battle.”

  “Do you know how many there are?”

  Gwen shook her head. “Could be twenty. Could be a thousand.”

  Farron continued to stare at the floor with a stunned look on his face as he sat in his chair slowly.

  “Farron!” Gwen yelled, startling him enough to make him jump from his seat. “We don’t have time for you to sit around thinking about it! Gather your fighters. My friends and I will be by your side.”

  “Your friends being an army, I hope,” Farron said.

  Gwen reached for the door and swung it open. The gnome who had led her to Farron’s office scurried away like a frightened mouse. Gwen turned to Farron and shook her head. “We are an army of three,” she said. “We will help you fight anyway we can.”

  Joe

  Autumn, 903 A.O.M.

  The Way. The title said it all. Joe had only read the front of the book once, but he remembered the words clearly. Of death, I cannot know. Of life, I cannot say. Of time, this book reveals. To find what you seek, study you must, and follow instructions within.

  It was clear to Joe that the only way he would ever find The Book of Time was to somehow get The Way back. The Ancient Books were a mystery to so many, though Joe was surprised at how many people knew about them. Oftentimes the books were thought of as legend, but the magic they supposedly held was well known. Everyone knew that a relic key was guarded within each. Everyone knew what power those keys held—if the legends were true, that is.

  Joe believed the legends. He believed them because there was nothing else for him to believe. There was nothing else to which his hope could cling. The year was coming when Joe would find The Book of Time if Clive had been right all along. And they had taken steps to reach that goal.

  It had been just a few months since he’d been dragged by the Okoro gang and Clive had rescued him.

  Edric had joined them quietly. He was now a commander among them at only the age of eighteen. Joe had only five years on the man, but neither of them was considered young. Clive was older than the two, Kinston the oldest of them all. But the four worked together well. There were five of them, really, though Dooley hardly counted as a commander. He spent his days counting his stores of liquor and hoarding food for himself. It was said he would be useful should the Renegades plan a massive invasion. Until that day, however, his services weren’t needed.

  Joe hated the idea of sitting around the city of Vandikhan, handing out orders. He and Clive were much the same in this regard. It was this attitude toward leadership that drove Kinston mad. He felt a leader should stay put and oversee things, not go gallivanting all over the map, doing things that could be done by lesser members of the Renegades. But it was this aspect that the Renegades loved about their leaders.

  Clive and Joe often talked about how things worked where Joe was from. Clive was as surprised as Joe to learn that much of Galamore was the same as the United States, though there was no such thing as magic, and men were simply men. There were no dwarves, elves, gnomes, or ravagers.

  “But there has to be some magic where you’re from,” Clive had told him once. “You had that book after all. It’s how you got here.”

  It was a point Joe hadn’t really thought of before. And the idea perplexed him, making him wonder why there wasn’t more evidence of magic back home.

  “Maybe there used to be,” Clive had said.

  Joe agreed. The Great American West, though fully explored, still held secrets which man may never unearth. Perhaps the book he and Nate had been hired to steal from Montgomery was simply a primitive artifact of magic, common in the ancient world but lost to their modern one.

  The two of them now sat across from each other at the Red Boot Saloon. The place had become their favorite over the years. It was the same saloon where Clive had first told Joe the truth about their future together. That day had been a terrible one. Joe had made his first kill. Clive had sat in front of him with two fresh bullet holes in him. But Joe had been freed. Then he had been told that he would be in Galamore for another six years.

  A memory of that day passed his mind every time he entered the Red Boot Saloon. But as time went by, the whole place, all of Vandikhan, was starting to feel more like home than anywhere Joe had ever been.

  The saloon was full these days. Loud and rowdy. Too often, men would get fired up over some gambling dispute, but each of them knew the laws. Part of them being allowed to stay in Vandikhan was that they were Renegades, fighting for the same future. Cheaters were quickly escorted out of the town, never to be allowed back in. It was the same for those who stole or committed murders within their community. The Renegades were not without problems, but Joe felt safe here. Respected.

  Because of the ruckus that usually blared through the saloon, Joe and Clive had their own personal booth in a smaller room off to the side. The sound wasn’t much quieter, but they were able to talk as they needed, and enjoy a drink as they sat back and talked of the things that needed to be done.

  These meetings were meant to serve as a report about the town. It was supposed to be all five of the commanders, but often it was just Clive and Joe, which was fine with them. For the more important meetings, the five of them would meet in Clive’s office down the street. There, they would talk about things they didn’t want others to overhear.

  On this night, there was no meeting planned. If there was something to report, the others might show up. If not, Clive and Joe didn’t expect them to come.

  “You two handsome men need anything else?” Priscilla, the saloon girl, asked as she set a mug of beer in front of them both.

  Joe shook his head at her and smiled. She wi
nked back at him and walked briskly out of the room.

  “She’s a sweetheart,” Clive said, staring down into his mug.

  “You take a fancy to Priscilla?” Joe asked as he cracked a smile.

  “I suppose I got a lot more to worry about than romance, don’t you?”

  Joe shrugged and took a sip. “We’re biding our time, I guess.”

  “I don’t want to just bide my time, Joe. I want to get things done.”

  “I’d say we’ve been doing a pretty good job the last few years. We’re growing. We’re becoming the threat you’ve always wanted to be.”

  Clive let out a huff and shook his head. “Sometimes I ain’t so sure this is what I wanted. I surely never wanted to be the Warlord.”

  “You did it to save my neck,” Joe said, lifting his mug in the air. “For that I’m grateful.” He sipped again, and let his eyebrows turn downward as he set the mug on the table. “What’s going on, Clive?”

  Clive stuck out his lower lip, shaking his head again. “Nothing. At least, I think it’s nothing.”

  “What?”

  He sighed and tapped his fingers against the surface of the table, his eyes seemingly searching for the right words to say. Finally, he looked at Joe. “Something ain’t right about Edric.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he’s been acting funny,” Clive said. “Ever since we sent our men to the Okoro gang. I’ve caught him with the messenger birds more often. I see him sending a message once or twice a week.”

  “Really?”

  Clive nodded.

  “You ask him about it?”

  “I did,” Clive said. “Told me it was to a girl on the other side of town. Said they’d been sending love letters back and forth.”

  “And you don’t believe him?”

  “I did at first,” Clive answered. “But it don’t really make sense to send a bird from here to the other end of the street, does it?”

  Joe shrugged. “It’s the idea of it, I suppose. Romantic.”

  “It’s a poor use of a bird,” Clive said. “Besides, the time I caught him sending it off, the bird flew too high to be going to the other side of town. I’m talking way up in the air, Joe. That bird was going to another part of the country.”

  “And you think it has to do with our men with the Okoro gang?”

  Clive’s eyebrows lifted and he held his shrug for a few seconds. “That, I cannot know.”

  Joe wondered if Clive was a little paranoid about the men they’d sent to the Okoro gang. It was a simple mission, but it was dangerous. Not long after their return, the Renegade commanders had come up with the idea of sending three men to the Okoro gang to watch them. Since Slaughter Okoro had The Way, the book which was supposed to lead Joe to The Book of Time, they thought it necessary to keep an eye on the gang in case they decided to go after it.

  Because Clive never could remember the exact way to the Okoro hideout, the men were sent to cover specific roads. They had a general idea of where the gang would travel, and word had recently come back that the gang had been spotted. The spies followed, and now were able to watch the gang from afar, waiting for Slaughter go after the book. Kinston had suggested that the gang had already set out after it, but Clive disagreed, thinking any man would want to study the book before going on a wild hunt.

  The leader of the three spies was called Shane. He was a middle-aged man who had done enough thieving and killing in his life, but was ready to serve a purpose.

  Having one of The Ancient Books meant legitimacy. It also meant a death sentence if a group was not prepared. If someone like Slaughter Okoro owned The Book of Time, it would be devastating to the whole world. There would be no question that President DalGaard would come down on him and his gang with a fury, killing every man until the book was obtained.

  Shane surmised that Slaughter Okoro was spending his time building defenses and preparing for the repercussions of owning one of The Ancient Books. If he was powerful enough, he would be able to negotiate with the book as leverage. Otherwise, he would simply be wiped out. So, Slaughter was taking his time, waiting until the right moment to go after the book. The man probably studied The Way day and night, learning the mysteries of how to find the book. Or perhaps it wasn’t so much a mystery as it was simple instructions. Joe couldn’t know. He’d never gotten past the first page before it was stolen from him.

  Once the gang leader finally decided to make his trek across the land in search for The Book of Time, Joe and the others would be ready. They would track Slaughter Okoro, the gang being none the wiser. Shane would tell them where they were headed, and the Renegades would follow. Then, when they reached the book, Joe and whoever was with him, would swoop in and take it.

  This was the plan, however spotty it was. Joe and Clive both knew it was not a sound strategy. Both of them knew the odds were against them.

  The messages from Shane were infrequent and coded. Any response Joe or Clive would make would be sent by bird to a specific location and dropped off. Shane would check for messages every day. This bird was paid well to stay in the surrounding woods, waiting for Shane. The bird might be gone for days at a time if Shane had nothing to report.

  This new issue with Edric perplexed Joe. He wondered if there was any cause for concern. He had grown to know Clive well over the last few years. The man looked for things to worry about. He told Joe once that someone needed to worry about things—that a lack of worry felt like a lack of caring. Joe didn’t agree, of course, but it didn’t matter. He supposed it was better to keep an eye open for problems.

  It didn’t help matters that Clive had been wary of Edric from the beginning. The others seemed to like him fine, and Clive liked him too, but he had never really trusted him.

  “I wonder if I could hire one of the birds to track one of his,” Clive said. “See if it actually goes across town to some girl.”

  “I think you might find it hard to get a bird to do that,” Joe said. “Goes against their creed, don’t it?”

  Clive shrugged. “I never have considered how bright birds think. If you could pay them with coins rather than good feed, you might be able to get them to do extra tasks. But they don’t have use for money.”

  “I find that they go a lot faster if you give them a plump rat,” Joe said.

  Clive shook his head. “I ain’t gonna go all over Vandikhan lookin’ for rats.”

  Joe laughed and took a swig of beer. The two of them sat for a long time in silence, their thoughts drifting to different places.

  His only reason for going after The Book of Time was so he could do what had already been done. It was only a small step in getting back home. But this was more of a home to him now than any other place he’d ever lived. Did he even want to go back to Texas? He didn’t have a price on his head here. Few knew who he was. He certainly wasn’t well known enough to be a wanted man. As Warlord, Clive had a bounty on his head that surpassed anyone else within the Renegades.

  Part of him feared getting to the book. He knew that once he went in and did what he was supposed to do, then there would be no certainty in his future.

  That day was coming soon—the day of uncertainty. After that, anything could happen.

  His thoughts drifted to Shane and the two men with him who risked their lives daily to watch the Okoro gang from a close distance. Joe would be happy if he learned that Slaughter Okoro had decided never to go after The Book of Time. Maybe then, Joe could put the idea to rest and give up on it.

  But he knew that wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t know when. He didn’t know how. But someday, Joe would know it was time to go after the book. He wouldn’t be ready, he knew. But he would go after it. He would obtain it. And then, he would go back in time, if only to simply fulfill what had already happened. Even if that meant he would only have one short conversation with his friend.

  He looked up at Clive and the man smiled.

  Devlin

  Winter, 903 A.O.M.

 
Devlin Mannix stood in a dark and empty hallway within the Tel Haven fortress, his fingers and limbs twitching with nervousness. He didn’t know why Ranger Gibbons wanted him to meet with Ranger Bastion. The man was tough as nails and drove fear into everybody but Gibbons, Devlin thought. He hoped the old Ranger wasn’t going to admonish him again about his inability to capture Marum and Nathaniel Cole. Devlin hadn’t been the only person to fail that day. There had been a bounty hunter. A sheriff. The lead Ranger. Each of the men who had gone after the gray elf and Cole had been shot. The bounty hunter, Levi Thompson, had even been killed.

  Ranger Gibbons and the other survivor, Sheriff Strand, didn’t know that Devlin had encountered the party before their escape and offered no resistance. They didn’t know that once Marum and Cole were out of sight, he pressed the barrel of his pistol to the meat of his leg and fired a round.

  It was the worst pain Devlin had ever felt, but it was better than dying, he supposed. It had been the second time Marum and Cole had gotten away from him, but since they had escaped all the others as well, Devlin didn’t bear the weight of their escape on his shoulders alone. Of course, if they had seen the way he’d let them go, or had learned that his bullet wound was self-inflicted, Devlin would have been executed. There was little doubt of that.

  But there was no evidence that he’d let them go any more than the others had.

  Except for his prized rifle.

  The rifle had been in the front of Cole’s cart. Before letting them pass on by, Devlin had asked Nathaniel Cole to let him have his rifle back, and the outlaw obliged. At the time, Devlin hadn’t really thought about the implications. He didn’t even think about it until the three were nearly halfway back to Wanashwa and Sheriff Strand mentioned it.