Devlin did not answer for his eyes were focused on the charge of bandits headed their way. Just over the hill came a clamoring bunch of twenty or more savage-looking men ready to kill them, maim them, and loot their dead bodies. Their eyes were wide and their grins vicious as they fired their guns in the air.
Bastion waved for Devlin to move up next to him, and he complied, though his hand never left his pistol. “Leave the talking to me,” Bastion said. “Listen and learn.”
“What makes you think they’re interested in talking?” Devlin asked, but Bastion ignored him.
The bandits charged up the side of the hill, many of them looking as intimidating and rough as Bastion. Most of them wore furry hides with animal bones dangling from their necks and hair. Almost all of them had painted their faces with various designs. The color was red and Devlin hoped it was not blood. Each of them held a gun, though some carried variants of blades as well. He held his breath to try and keep from shaking. These bandits would surely sense the fear from him instantly.
Bastion held up a hand, calling for the bandits to stop, but they continued forward until they surrounded the pair. A leader among them moved his horse forward.
“What are the likes of you doing in our land?” the lead bandit asked.
Bastion laughed to himself, his hands calmly resting on his saddle in front of him. “You are all bandits and your very presence is against the law. As a Ranger from Tel Haven it is my duty to place each and every one of you under arrest.”
Laughter burst from each of the men, but Bastion sat still, his solemn expression unwavering.
“And who is going to arrest us when your entrails are spread all over this field?”
Bastion’s movement was faster than a blink of an eye, and before Devlin could even see what had happened, a bullet had already sailed through the bandit’s throat. His eyes went wide as blood spit down his neck, soaking his chest. Then, without so much as a sound, the leader slumped forward and slid off his horse, dead.
There was a staggered silence as the men watched their leader, but Bastion wasted no time. “Kill them, Devlin!” By the time he had said this, three more bandits were already dead and on the ground. The others pulled back and spread like cockroaches. Bastion pointed to one of the bandits taking off in retreat. “Go after him!”
With only a slight hesitation, Devlin kicked his horse and charged ahead after the lone bandit. He looked behind him once to see the others reforming around Bastion who was now off his horse flailing like a mad man, firing his pistol and swinging his saber. Devlin turned forward to see that his horse was much faster than the bandit’s. The painted warrior saw it too, so he steadied his horse and turned it to face Devlin. He aimed his pistol at Devlin but the Ranger was already firing at the man. He missed his first two shots, but his third shot was true and split the bandit’s shoulder wide open and the gun flew from the man’s hand. Devlin then pulled up on his horse and aimed the gun at the man’s head and fired, but again he missed. He cursed as his horse reared up quickly and his pistol dropped to the ground. He wasn’t used to pistols anyway.
With his good arm, the bandit pulled a large ax from his horse’s saddle and held it high above his head as he charged. Devlin just knew the bandit would cleave him through the skull.
The Ranger didn’t have time to swing his rifle out in front of him to aim properly, so he pulled his sword from his sheath. He wondered if his sword could withstand a direct blow from the ax or if it would snap in half. As the man came nearer, Devlin tried to give the most intimidating snarl he could muster, but the bandit only smirked at him, no doubt gaining confidence that Devlin wasn’t quite the same warrior as Bastion.
“No, no, no!” Devlin said to himself.
The bandit rushed toward him, raising his ax high into the air. Devlin knew if he did not jump off his horse, the man would take his head right off his shoulders. As the bandit moved toward him, Devlin swung his leg over his saddle and dropped to the ground. The bandit let out a bloodcurdling scream as he charged after Devlin.
Devlin tried to run away, but his right foot caught a protruding rock from the dirt and he fell flat on his face. The bandit jumped from his horse and brought the ax down as hard as he could, but Devlin rolled out of the way just in time. He tried to swing his sword at the bandit, but the blade came nowhere near the man. The bandit stepped back and watched Devlin as he pulled himself up from the ground. The wild man’s eyes were bright and filled with an insane malice.
He swung once and Devlin sidestepped. He swung again, but this time Devlin ducked low. The third time the bandit swung, he tripped over a rock and stumbled forward. Devlin then saw his opportunity and stabbed forward, cutting his blade through the man’s chest. The bandit screamed out in horror, but the Ranger pulled out the blade and silenced his screams with a swift cut to the throat.
He could not believe his own prowess. Here was the first man Devlin had ever killed. He did not feel accomplished, nor did he feel happy. He could not believe that he was still alive.
He bent forward and vomited on the grass in front of him. He could hear the cackling of Bastion from the distance. Devlin didn’t wish to look up. He didn’t want to have to aid his fellow Ranger in battle. Killing one man was enough. Having to fight more was an unbearable thought.
He tore his eyes from the ground to look at Bastion, but he did not expect to see what was in front of him. Bastion stood in the field with at least eighteen mangled bodies lying all around him. Sweat dripped from his brow and it looked as though he had dipped his hands into a trough of blood. Devlin knew that none of the blood was Bastion’s. The Ranger turned his head to see one of the bandits attempting to crawl away, but a short swipe of his sword into the man’s spine was enough to stop any escape. There was another survivor sitting on the ground, trying to hold his arm together in one piece. It looked as though Bastion had cleaved it nearly in two with his saber.
Bastion turned to Devlin and called for him to join. As Devlin walked, he prayed the Ranger was not about to ask him to execute the bandit. One killing was enough for Devlin, and he could not bear to kill a defenseless man.
“I want to teach you another lesson,” Bastion said. He towered over the last survivor, staring him down as the man whimpered to himself. “If you can, it is always a good idea to get as much information from your enemy as possible. The more knowledge you have, the more equipped you can be for the future.” He turned his head to the man. “How many more of you are there?”
The man looked like he was about to fall out of consciousness. Tears dripped down his face and his teeth clenched together tightly. “It’s just us.”
“If you lie to me, I won’t let you live. Take a look around. I’m not afraid to kill you.”
The man looked Bastion in the eyes. “Yeah, we’re bandits. Small in number.”
“Your numbers are growing thinner by the moment,” Bastion said. He held the bloody tip of sword to the edge of the man’s throat. “What else do you know?”
“We were sent to come after you,” the bandit said. “The men you’re tracking know that you’re after them. We were paid to kill you.”
Bastion sighed and shook his head. He looked at Devlin for a brief moment then stared off into the hilly distance. “I believe him,” he finally said. “I’d hoped we were far enough back that we hadn’t been noticed, but now Slaughter knows.”
“What do you suggest we do?”
Bastion looked off into the distance, and for a moment, Devlin thought the man had forgotten he was in the presence of other human beings. Finally, he looked at Devlin and shook his head. “We’ll get into the woods and camp. Take it a bit slower. If we’re lucky, they’ll think these bandits were skilled enough to kill us.”
They let the bandit live, though by now he’d probably bled to death. It was almost nightfall when they finally reached the edge of Elf Country. The massive trees had grown thicker than parts of the Tel Haven fortress, their branches reaching higher than any stru
cture Devlin had ever seen. Part of him felt uneasy about traveling into the forest of Elf Country. There was plenty of magic unknown to man in here. There were creatures that many had never even heard of, yet here Devlin was, traveling through the thick of it, following Bastion with blind trust.
Devlin almost wished that he had been able to watch Bastion fight. What kind of mastery did a man have with the ability to take on so many enemies, be they skilled or unskilled? To be able to charge into such a fight without fear eluded Devlin. He envied such bravery. That is what he wanted from Bastion, but even Devlin knew that bravery was not learned.
When they were far enough into the forest, the two of them stopped and made camp for the night. Devlin started the fire and Bastion pulled some dried meat and a cloth of cheese from his saddlebag and handed some to Devlin. He ate all of his in a few bites while Bastion savored the meat by sucking on it until it almost dissolved. Devlin watched the flames, but he only saw what played over and over in his mind. In his life, he had killed many animals but never a man.
He looked up at Bastion who lay comfortably next to the fire sipping on a bottle of strong whisky. “How did you do it?” Devlin finally asked. “Kill all of those men by yourself?”
Bastion took a long draw on his whisky and barely winced as the liquid fire washed down his throat. “Many, many years of fighting, Devlin. That, and I knew my enemy. Knowing your enemy helps you soar in confidence, and confidence is key to surviving a battle.”
“But how did you know the enemy?” Devlin asked. “You had never seen those men before.”
Bastion sat up straight and took another swig from his bottle. Some of the whisky drizzled down his neck but he didn’t seem to notice. “You’re a hunter, right?”
“Yes.”
“When you’re tracking an elk, you already know your prey, right? All of them are fast. All of them are jittery of noises and aware of predators, right?”
“Yes.”
“And rarely do you come across an elk that is any different than another. One isn’t particularly faster than another. Few can withstand a bullet through the chest better than others, right?”
“I suppose so.”
Bastion shrugged. “It’s the same way with bandits. Most are out to kill you and take your belongings. Rarely do you find a bandit that is a skilled fighter. Rarely do they spend their days training hard for battle. Rarely have they spent enough time with their pistols to fire a straight shot.” He took another long drink of whisky. “What bandits are usually good at is driving fear into their enemies by intimidating them. Since I knew that, I was able to take down most of them. Now, that being said, it doesn’t hurt to know how to fight, too. But if you are fearless, you are far more likely to come out of the battle alive.”
“I would think that fearlessness would make you more likely to be killed,” Devlin said. “The more confident you are, the poorer your decision making.”
“Heh,” Bastion chuckled. “Your mouth only tells of how little you know, Ranger. There is a line drawn between fearless and reckless. It is a fine line, but a line nonetheless.”
“So, bravery is the same as fearlessness,” Devlin said blankly.
Bastion nodded as he finished the bottle and pulled out another. “Fear leaves no room for bravery,” he said, lying back on his side.
Devlin’s eyes never left the fire in front of him. He did not agree with Bastion on this point, but he was not going to argue with the Ranger who had killed almost twenty men by himself.
As they lay next to the fire, Devlin wondered if he would ever be able to find that bravery within himself. Where was that man who had jumped into the den of wolves to save the president’s life?
Devlin’s eyes widened at the thought. That was it, wasn’t it? He had never been afraid when he faced an animal. When the president had ventured too close to the wolves, Devlin didn’t think twice about charging in to save him. That was because he had known his enemy. He knew how wolves attacked and how to effectively kill the alpha male and make a quick escape. But when it came to intelligent beings, Devlin was clueless.
He knew that was what he lacked. He didn’t know his enemy when his enemy used thoughts and reasoning instead of instinct.
Instinct, Devlin could manipulate. Reasoning, well, he was just going to have to become smarter. Maybe then he would find his bravery. His…fearlessness.
Then there was the mission ahead of them. Devlin had asked Bastion on several occasions what it was they were doing, but the old Ranger simply told him that Devlin’s mission was to learn how to be a Ranger. But now, as he lay next to the fire, the thought came to his mind that he was a Ranger already, whether Bastion or Gibbons thought he was or not.
Devlin sat up to look over the fire at Bastion. “What is our mission?”
“Your mission is to learn—”
“How to be a Ranger, yes I know that, but what is our mission? The one that Ranger Gibbons sent us on. Yes, perhaps I am here to learn a few things from you, but that doesn’t mean I’m to be left in the dark. I am a Ranger whether you like it or not. I feel like I have a right to know why we’re tracking Slaughter Okoro.”
It was apparent that Ranger Bastion was not accustomed to being talked to in such a way. He sat up with a snarl on his face, but he didn’t challenge Devlin. Instead, he took another long gulp of whiskey. He winced as he set the bottle next to him, and then looked at Devlin. The fumes from the fire made Bastion look like a demon of the underworld. Devlin had to force himself to keep his eyes on the man’s grotesque face.
“Ranger Gibbons told me we’re tracking Slaughter,” Devlin said, “but I know there’s more to it than that. This isn’t just an assassination mission. We’ve been close enough to him a few times. We could have fought them already.”
Bastion shook his head and stifled a chuckle.
“I’m sorry, did I say something funny?”
“No, you didn’t,” Bastion said, his face turning suddenly serious. “I figure you’re gonna have to find out soon enough anyway, so I might as well tell you.” He finished his second bottle of whiskey and tossed it to the side. “I didn’t want to tell you until we got closer to Aleya because I’m not entirely sure I’m in agreement with what we’re doing.” He shrugged. “It’s not a Ranger’s place to question an order from the president, but this one has me perplexed.”
Devlin could not imagine what sort of mission would make a battle-hardened, true Ranger of Galamore question his president. He sat straighter as he waited for Bastion to continue. He wondered if the whiskey had something to do with Bastion’s sudden change of heart to speak freely.
“I’ve been a Ranger for a long time, Devlin. I began my service under President DalGaard’s father. I’ve been assigned to kill leaders. I’ve had to kill men that I believed to be innocent. I’ve done a lot of things that might be morally questionable, but this…this one is a tough one to swallow.”
Devlin stiffened at Bastion’s ominous words.
“The president wants us to collect one of The Ancient Books,” Bastion said.
Now, his insides went cold.
“We have been told that the Warlord is tracking Slaughter Okoro, and Slaughter Okoro knows where The Book of Time is.”
“Tell me it’s so we can protect the book, and keep it from our enemies,” Devlin said.
Bastion shrugged and stared into the fire sullenly. “When you’ve been a Ranger as long as I have, you learn to know the true motives of the leaders in our land. President Jacob DalGaard would love nothing more than to pen the ending to our story here.”
Devlin stared at the Ranger with a gaping mouth. “And we are supposed to aid him in this?”
“Mind your tongue, Ranger,” Bastion said. “There will be no talk of diverting from the mission. It is our duty to finish it, no matter the cost.”
“But you just said that you don’t know what to think of it,” Devlin said. “Can’t I do the same?”
“No, you can’t,” he said. “I’
ve been a Ranger longer than any of the others. Even longer than Gibbons. My loyalties have been proven.”
“So, you’re just gonna steal The Book of Time for the President? You’ll just stand by and let him write the ending to us all?”
Bastion looked up at Devlin, stone faced. “I will. And you will too. That’s what being a Ranger is. We don’t have opinions. We do what we are told.”
Devlin didn’t like the sudden change from Bastion’s thoughtful melancholy to his more natural mean-spirited condescension. Ranger or not, Devlin was not about to hand over one of the most powerful items in the world to a president who only desired to use it for selfish means.
“Besides,” Bastion continued, “do you realize how hard it would be to get all three books? I mean no disrespect to the president, but it would be a fool’s attempt. No one even knows where The Book of Death is. We might get the president one of them, but we won’t get all of them. Not in our lifetime anyway. It’ll have to be a mission carried on by his son, or grandson.”
“You don’t think it’s possible?” Devlin asked.
Bastion stuck out his lower lip and shook his head. “Not unless the president knows something I don’t, which I doubt.”
Bastion thought he knew as much about the goings on of the government as the president himself? Surely a Ranger, no matter how long he had been under the president, would never know as much as the president himself. The only person who would come close might be Gibbons, but even he did not know the true heart of the president. Only President DalGaard knew what he wanted.
No, Devlin did not like the idea of handing over one of The Ancient Books at all. But he also knew that he would not be able to simply turn his back on Bastion. The old Ranger would shoot him between the eyes if he thought Devlin might try to betray the government.
“How do you suppose Slaughter found out we were trailing him?” Devlin asked.
“An answer to that question has eluded me,” Bastion said. “It’s possible we were close enough for them to see us from a hill far away. Or maybe one of them double-backed and spotted us.”
The Outlaw's Quest (Keeper of the Books, Book 2) Page 24