“When did you get that?” he had said, nodding at the rifle set next to him. “I seen you put that back in their cart before we was attacked.”
Devlin remembered how his heart nearly stopped when the question had been presented. He remembered the questioning look from Gibbons and the feeling of time standing still. In the end, Devlin just shrugged and said that he’d found it on the side of the road after he’d been shot.
“A small bit of luck,” Devlin had said. “I couldn’t really believe it to tell you the truth.”
Devlin wasn’t sure the other men did believe it, but there was no evidence to accuse him. He was sure the situation only added to Gibbons’ suspicion of him. There Devlin had sat, a recent knife injury to his shoulder, a new injury to his leg. There had still been black and blue bruises on his face from his previous encounter with Marum and Cole. And none of the injuries had a witness to tell about them other than Devlin himself.
“You are either the luckiest man I ever saw, or the unluckiest,” Gibbons had told him. “I can’t tell which.”
“They could have killed you two,” Devlin had told them. “But they didn’t.” He then nodded at the body of Levi Thompson which had been painstakingly wrapped in blankets and rested across the saddle of the extra horse. “I bet the only reason Levi’s dead is because they didn’t have a choice. Kill or be killed.”
The other two didn’t say anything to this, and they let the matter rest. There hadn’t been a fire to sit by. Each of them was in such excruciating pain that they didn’t bother to gather firewood. They could hardly sleep. Every move they made, each jostle as their horses trudged forward, sent shockwaves through their bodies.
The men didn’t talk much after they set off back toward the Wanashwa settlement. There they found a place to rest and sent a bird to Tel Haven for someone to bring a cart to carry them back to the fortress. Gibbons had paid a man to bury Levi off in the woods somewhere. There had been no ceremony. No words spoken. Just thoughts of thankfulness for still being alive.
All that had been about a month ago, and the pain in Devlin’s shoulder and leg still gave him fits. Though he’d missed the bone in his leg, he still walked with a limp that he wasn’t sure would ever go away.
He couldn’t help but stare at the door in front of him. His legs refused to move. Gibbons had said something about going on a new mission, but surely Devlin wouldn’t be going out yet. He was still injured. He was still afraid. He was still untrained. Perhaps that was the purpose. Maybe this was a training mission.
Devlin knew it was a long shot, but he hoped that if he could persuade Bastion not to take him on the mission, Gibbons would at least hear Devlin out. The old, fearsome Ranger had been serving the president for more than thirty years now. He commanded respect even from those above him.
Devlin stumbled forward to the door of the Grand Library, opened it slowly, and looked all around the room. It was taller than any room he had ever seen, and there were more books than a person could read in a lifetime. Devlin was sure the president had to own nearly all the books in Galamore, for the giant shelves were stuffed tightly while other books were stacked on the floor next to shelves and tables. There were several tall ladders so a person could climb to the top of any shelf.
At the top of one of the ladders on the far side of the library, Ranger Bastion traced his fingers along the spine of a collection, seemingly deep in thought. Devlin limped forward, approaching him carefully and quietly, but the white-haired Ranger must have heard him. “You’ve been standing outside that door a long time, Ranger,” he said in a gravelly tone, his back still turned to him. “Leg still hurting you?” He turned his head, revealing a long scar down the left side of his face. The scar went from his forehead all the way to his chin, slicing through his eye in the middle. Devlin always thought Bastion would have looked better with a patch to cover the clouded, gray eye, but he figured the older man liked it the way it was: a mark of a battle nearly lost; a scar to remind him and everyone else that anything can happen, even to the bravest of Rangers.
“I wanted to talk to you about the mission ahead of us,” Devlin said.
Bastion grinned and turned his head back to the books. He reached up and grabbed one from the top shelf and stuck it under his arm as he descended the ladder. Once on the floor, Bastion walked to one of the tables in the middle of the room and set the book on the table.
“It’s almost a shame how many books the president has in this library,” Bastion said. “Most of them get so little use, yet they would be beneficial to the people of Tel Haven.”
Devlin did not wish to speak about books, and he did not like how Bastion ignored him about the mission. “The people of Tel Haven have their libraries.”
“Bah,” Bastion said, waving his hand in the air. He sat at the table in front of the book, facing Devlin. “They have some books, but nothing close to the value of knowledge that the president has here. All the magic ones are unavailable to the people.”
“Perhaps they are safer here,” Devlin said. He could feel his face getting hotter.
“Out in the city, in the land of Galamore, the people are limited to fictitious books that mean nothing,” Bastion said. “There are books here that can teach a man anything he needs to know. Did you know that there is a book on how to communicate with the dead?”
“Isn’t such an act illegal?”
“Well, yes, but The Art of Healing Broken Bones Through Magic is not, yet the president owns the only copy. What if it were reproduced and given to the masses?”
“Doctors would be out of work if everyone had access to a book about everything medical,” Devlin answered.
Bastion let out a short laugh and nodded. “I suppose you’re right about that. But couldn’t copies be made just for doctors?”
“Some doctors already know how to do these things,” Devlin said. “Ranger Bastion, I am sorry, but I do have something pressing to talk to you about.”
“Yes, yes, the mission,” Bastion said, taking his eyes away from Devlin as he gazed at the cover of the book in front of him.
“I do not think it is wise for me to accompany you,” he said. “I know nothing about Elf Country and I am afraid that my lack of abilities will only slow you down.”
“Your lack of ability is the reason I’m taking you,” Bastion said with a smirk. “You aren’t going through the normal training because it would be an embarrassment to the Rangers. It’s my job to make sure you live up to the reputation the people of Galamore have given you; the one you created yourself.”
“Surely there is some other way,” Devlin said.
“You’re a Ranger,” Bastion said. “You think you can get by for the rest of your life without going on missions?”
“No offense, but I was hoping I would go the rest of my life without going on a mission with you.”
“None taken,” Bastion said with a smile. His crooked teeth almost looked sharp, and his one good eye stared at Devlin with such intensity, he had to look away for a moment. It was as if the old Ranger could see right into his thoughts. “I suppose you’re a fool then.”
Devlin shook his head. “Excuse me?”
“You apparently don’t know much about my reputation.”
“I know you don’t shy away from a fight.”
“You should also know that I’ve never lost one either,” he came back. “You’re safer going with me into the depths of the Dark Canyons than staying within these fortress walls.”
Devlin’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Bastion shrugged. “I simply mean that I will let no harm come to you on our travels together. That said, I am going to test you. It won’t be easy. By the time you and I get back from Elf Country, you will be a new Ranger.”
Devlin knew that with these words, there would be no changing Bastion’s mind nor persuading him to talk Gibbons out of making Devlin go. It seemed that Bastion wanted this more than anyone else. It seemed that he looked forward to training De
vlin. His stomach churned at the thought of leaving Tel Haven.
He swallowed and shook his head. “I haven’t even been told what our mission is.”
“And that will be revealed as the days go by,” Bastion said. “All you need to know is that your tracking skills will be required of you.”
“Who are we tracking?” Devlin asked.
Bastion shook his head. “I’m not at liberty to tell you here. It’s a secret mission that only the president and Gibbons know about.”
“If it’s so important then why are you taking me?”
“I know you didn’t ask for this,” Bastion said. “Becoming a Ranger and all that. But you should make the best of it. It truly is a great honor, you know.”
Devlin shook his head and started to turn away. “I don’t want honor. I don’t want fame or glory. I do love Galamore, and my allegiance lies with President DalGaard. But I ain’t a Ranger.”
“You speak truth, Devlin. And that is exactly why you are to come with me. I have no foreknowledge of what you and I will face in the days ahead, but I assure you, when you are done journeying with me, you will be worthy of the title you hold.”
Devlin and Bastion stared at each other for a long, silent moment, and finally, Devlin turned and walked out of the library. What Bastion just told him was the exact reason he did not want to go. His plan to get out of the mission had failed, and soon, Ranger Bastion would be plowing them both into dangers Devlin never wished to see. He did not want to be a Ranger of Galamore, but it seemed Bastion was going to make him one anyway.
Nate
Winter, 903 A.O.M.
Nate hadn’t slept much the night he’d talked with Droman. What else was new? He couldn’t remember what a full night’s rest felt like. He knew Rachel and Alban hadn’t slept much either. The two of them sat in the corner of the tent, beaten and afraid. Both of them were taken aback by Droman’s willingness to tie them up and leave them in there. Nate avoided saying I told you so but that didn’t mean he didn’t think it. Both of them had been so sure that Droman would welcome them in with open arms. Now they were tied up with no place to go.
Nate also didn’t tell them that Droman was willing to kill them all if they stood in his way. He wasn’t sure either of them would believe him even if he said it. It was too hard for them to understand how a man could change in just a few short years.
That didn’t even include Marum. Where was she in all this? She’d been in the tent with Nate but hadn’t said anything. She stood there like she was ashamed, but she still didn’t try to help. Sure, she’d kept Droman from killing Nate, but that hadn’t taken any effort on her part. She’d be dead if it weren’t for Nate. She owed him a lot more than a simple stay of her brother’s hand. As far as Nate was concerned they were not even.
The next day dragged on. Every moment, Nate was formulating a plan to get out of there so they could try and stop Kellen, but he couldn’t think of anything concrete. He would be much more free to make an attempt if Droman hadn’t threatened to kill Alban and Rachel. Nate wondered a few times if the gray elf was serious enough to do such a thing and Nate concluded that he was. So, that meant Nate had to be careful.
The three captives didn’t talk much. Alban still seemed to be in shock from Droman’s betrayal. Rachel seemed more sad than shocked. Nate had never seen her so downtrodden. He wanted to offer some comfort, but there was little to give. He had already told them that none of them were going to be killed. At least, this was what Droman had told Nate. In Nate’s experience, being told you weren’t going to be killed wasn’t always a guarantee that one couldn’t change his mind. Droman could say whatever he wanted, but Nate wasn’t going to let his guard down. Of course, Droman had been clear that if he sensed any funny business, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill Nate.
Any plan he thought through was thin at best. A few scenarios passed through his brain. He thought about tripping up the gray elf who brought them their next meal. Alban or Rachel could grab his knife and cut them free while Nate held the elf down with his legs. It was probably one of the worst plans he’d ever thought of and he quickly shook it from his head.
He did think that if any of the three of them could sit back-to-back, that one person could reach fingers to the knots of their bonds and they could eventually free each other, but he didn’t know what they’d do past that. Nate wasn’t so sure Alban and Rachel would be keen on trying to escape anyway. They knew that if they just sat there and bided their time, Droman would release them once this was all over. When Nate expressed this to Alban and Rachel in hushed tones, they didn’t seem to think that way.
“I don’t like sitting here any more than you do,” Alban said. “I feel like we’ve got a job to do. If you have a plan…” His voice trailed off.
“I ain’t got a plan,” Nate said. “Every plan I think of has holes in it.”
“We need weapons, and horses, too,” Rachel said.
She was right. Even if they got out of their bonds and could walk out of the tent freely, it would be a mad dash for the horses and then they would be without guns. They would have no way to defend themselves.
“You know,” Rachel said, “if we stay here and Droman meets with Kellen, we will forever lose our chance to get the book.”
Nate nodded. The three of them talked it over, and to Nate’s surprise, Alban and Rachel thought that the guard who brought them food in evening should be the target. Just as Nate had thought before, he would kick the elf’s legs out from under him, Alban would try to help him hold the elf down, and Rachel would go for his knife.
It was a sketchy plan at best, but what else were they supposed to do? This scenario still left them weaponless but for a single knife, but it was better to be away from the camp with no guns than to be tied up with no guns.
They tried it. Nate guessed it was about four in the afternoon when the gray elf came into the darkened tent. He hadn’t been ready for Nate to be so close to the entrance, but it was too late. Nate landed a kick to the side of the gray elf’s leg and he spilled the soup all over the ground, yelling out in pain. Nate and Alban were already on top of him as Rachel kneeled down next to the elf, trying to reach for his knife with her hands at his back.
But the yell had been too loud, and Nate should have anticipated that. Two more gray elves barged into the tent and immediately started beating Nate with their fists. Rachel and Alban crawled away quickly enough, but the guards’ attention weren’t on them. A fist. A foot. The butt of a pistol. Anything and everything seemed to be pounded into Nate’s back and side.
After a few minutes of this, they were done, and the three of them were left without anything to eat. Nate found only a little satisfaction in seeing the first gray elf leave with a heavy limp.
After the incident, Nate could barely move, much less try another escape attempt. Rachel tried to soothe him, but there was little she could do with her hands tied behind her back. Nate resigned to sleeping on his belly, his cheek pressed against the cold ground beneath him. Alban and Rachel remained silent throughout the afternoon, the only sound being that of the guards moving about in the camp, with a couple of fires crackling throughout.
There was no doubt Droman knew of the escape attempt, yet he hadn’t come into the tent to kill Nate as he had promised. Perhaps it was simply because the attempt never got as far as the entrance and that the result was a gray elf with a bruised leg and a badly beaten Nate.
Nate moved only to turn his head as evening drew near. They knew the train would be arriving at the depot sometime in the morning. But they also knew they wouldn’t be there. Either Gwen had the book now, or they would never see it. Nate doubted his chances of going deep into Gray Elf Country to go after the book. He figured that once Droman had it, it was as good as gone. Nate would have to figure out another way to get home.
A couple of thoughts fluttered through his mind as he lay on the ground. First, he wondered what it would be like to die here in Galamore. Not that he knew what it was like
to die at all, but he questioned whether it would be the end of life, or if he would simply wake up in Texas. He figured if it was that easy, he might as well let Droman shoot him in the head. But this wasn’t really a theory Nate was willing to test. Being wrong would mean the end of the line forever.
He then wondered if staying in Galamore was a possibility. Here he was so intent on finding The Ancient Books so he could get home, yet there was very little for him to go home to. Sure, he had a small stash of riches, but he was also a wanted criminal who was worth a lot of money. He knew that men were out looking for him. Of course, they’d never find him so long as he was here in Galamore, but they were out there. And they would always be out there. These bounty hunter types were patient folks. They didn’t mind a long hunt. Sure, Levi Thompson had had a personal vendetta against Nate, but Nate thought the bounty hunter might have still been after him even if their confrontation hadn’t been personal.
Law types were easier to get away from. Sure, there were federal marshals, but they had other cases to look after. Other lawmen had to worry about jurisdictions and all that, though this was less of a concern for them out West.
There wasn’t a doubt in Nate’s mind that he’d make it by himself, trudging on toward Montana. He had enough money to do it, that was for sure. But for what? To live in peace? Couldn’t he live in peace here? Pretty soon the law would forget about him helping Marum escape her execution. Especially if Nate could somehow help them capture Marum again.
He shook the thought away, even though he felt she deserved it now. Some friend she was, sitting in a tent with her brother, untied and probably laughing at them right now. Nate had broken every rule as a career outlaw since his time in Galamore. He had trusted too much, and suspected too little. He should have never stayed with a person whom he had sprung from jail. A criminal would always do what was best for himself. And in this case, Marum was doing just that. She had betrayed them all.
The Outlaw's Quest (Keeper of the Books, Book 2) Page 21