Keeper of the Books (Keeper of the Books, Book 1) (11 page)

“Did you fall asleep? Did you travel through some magical portal?”

Nate thought about it a moment as he stepped over a downed tree, his boot splashing into a muddy puddle. “More like the portal thing, yeah.” Nate didn’t see the harm in telling her. What difference did it make whether she knew about the book or not? The story was crazy to Nate, but so was the idea of walking through the forest with a creature called a gray elf who was supposed to be dead. “It was a book. I was hired to get it. Me and my brother looked at it. We were pulled into it. Next thing
I
know, I’m on death row and I’m breaking you out.”

Marum stopped suddenly and turned to look at Nate. The look on her face was wild, wilder than Nate had seen it. “You said a book?”

Nate’s eyebrows turned down when he looked at her. “Yeah. You know about it?”

Marum thought for a second then shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I just…” She was about to say something else when both of them turned their attention to a nearby ridge to their left.

Nate and Marum both ducked low and Nate drew his pistol. They had never strayed too far from the road, and now Nate was beginning to think they should have traveled deeper into the woods. There were more soldiers on horseback from Tel Haven. He couldn’t tell from here if they were the same ones, but they surely had the same mission.
 

Marum leaned in close to Nate and whispered, “Those are the president’s Rangers.”

“The president’s what?” Nate whispered back.

“Rangers,” she said again. “They are ten in all, though I only see four of them here.”

Nate could hear one of them giving out orders, though he couldn’t exactly catch what the man was saying. Marum had her head turned, listening intently.
 

“He’s leaving one of them to stand guard at the road,” she said.
 

“You can hear that?” Nate asked, shaking his head. He turned his head leaned in to try and get a better listen, but all he could hear were muffled sounds.

“The others are continuing the search farther.”

“That’s good,” Nate said, giving up his attempt.
 

Marum shook her head. “I would be able to go through the woods silently, but with your heavy steps, a Ranger is sure to sense you moving.”

“I can be stealthy,” Nate said.

“Not like I can,” she said. “I know this one. He’s a new Ranger. His name is Devlin Mannix. He isn’t trained like all the others yet.”

“What’s your plan?”

“I need your gun,” Marum said.

Nate looked at her like she was crazy.

“You’re going to get his attention and I’m going to come up behind him.”

“Easy as that,” Nate said with a cocked eyebrow.

“Easy as that,” Marum said.
 

Nate let out a deep breath from his nose and shrugged. “You’re the boss.”
 
He handed her his pistol and shook his head. He didn’t much like the idea of purposefully getting a lawman such as Devlin to chase after him. Nate also wondered if this was a way for Marum to get her hands on a weapon and use Nate as a distraction so she could get away. He let the thought slide. For some reason he trusted her. But trusting the wrong person could get him killed.
 

Marum nodded at him. “Go.”

Nate hesitated only for a second before he jumped out into the open. He didn’t think he needed to let out a yell or to make a lot of noise. The Ranger would surely see him within a second. Sure enough, he did and came charging down the ravine toward Nate. Nate stopped in his tracks, not daring to reach for his rifle as the Ranger approached.
 

“Hold it right there!” Devlin belted out.

Nate did as he was told, holding his hands up in the air. He swallowed hard as the rider came up on him, pistol in hand and pointed directly at Nate’s head. His eyes darted in every direction. He couldn’t see Marum anywhere.
 

Devlin was wearing the same red uniform as the other Rangers and Crimson Army soldiers in Tel Haven. Nate could now see that the metal emblem on the hat was an image of two crossing sabers.
 

Devlin wore a thick beard on his face, almost too scraggly compared to the other Rangers Nate had seen. He jumped off his horse and stood about ten feet from Nate in the small clearing. The man’s eyes were wide and he looked more nervous than he should have been.
 

“Where’s the gray elf?” Devlin spat. “Where is she?”

Nate shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Devlin cursed. “Don’t give me that! I saw you in the city. I was a witness at the execution. You were right next to her. Where is she?”

“I’m not who you think I am, Mister.”

Devlin grimaced at Nate, holding his gun in one hand and scratching his beard with the other. “I have a mind to put a bullet in you,” he said. “In fact, that’s what I’m supposed to do if I see you.”

Nate shook his head. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you’re supposed to shoot me on sight, then why haven’t you done it already?”

“It ain’t your place to question me,” Devlin answered.
 

Nate could tell this wasn’t one of the more seasoned veterans of the president’s army, but that wouldn’t matter if Marum had left Nate for dead.

“I will ask you one more time,” Devlin said, “where is the gray elf?”

The answer came behind Devlin. Nate spoke no words, and neither did Marum. Instead, she let Nate’s pistol do the talking.
 

The subtle click back of the hammer was loud enough to make Devlin freeze in place.

Nate had no idea how Marum had been so stealthy, yet here she was not fifteen feet from Nate, pointing the pistol at the back of Devlin’s head.
 

“You might want to consider dropping your gun,” Nate said to the Ranger.

Devlin’s eyes went even wider than they were before and his gun started shaking as nervousness crept into his hands. He didn’t even look behind him before letting his pistol fall helplessly to the dirt.
 

Nate looked past Marum and nodded. “Check the saddle for some rope.”

“You’re gonna hang me?”

“Shut up,” Nate said as he bent down and grabbed Devlin’s pistol. Then, he pulled Devlin’s saber from the sheath at his belt and tossed it to the ground a few feet away.

There was no rope in the saddlebags so Nate took the reins off the horse and tied Devlin’s hands together with it. He then tied the reins to a small tree where the man would be stuck long enough for them to get away with his horse.

“People like you are dangerous,” Devlin said to both Nathaniel and Marum. “Ya’ll know where Droman, your brother, is. You were working for him. And you refused to give him up to us.”

“Would you give up your kin for execution?” Marum asked. “Would it matter what they had done?”

Devlin turned away. “Ya’ll are just going to leave me out here like this? Tied to a tree? I’ll be eaten alive.”

“You’ll be fine,” Nate said. “Just start rubbing the leather against the tree and eventually you’ll break away from it. It ain’t too far of a walk from here to Tel Haven. And you’ve got your saber to fight off anything as you walk.”

Devlin nodded, grateful that the two hadn’t killed him. Nate had never met a man who seemed more out of place.
 

Marum got on the horse first, claiming she could steer it without the reins. Nate got on behind. He handed her Devlin’s pistol. In the side of Devlin’s saddle was a rifle, and Nate pulled it out and studied it. It was nicer than his own. Probably the nicest-looking rifle he’d ever seen.
 

As they rode onward, Nate looked back only once to see the man rubbing the reins against the tree vigorously. It would be a long night for him, but he would be fine.
 

Nate, however, wasn’t so sure about himself. They would reach Marum’s friend’s homestead in a couple of hours and he wondered if it would be far enough away from the men who pursued them.
 

Autumn, 903 A.O.M.

Ranger Devlin Mannix was a coward, he knew. He hadn’t put up enough of a fight against Marum and her riding companion. For the life of him, Devlin couldn’t manage to understand why the others had left him alone on the road. He thought the Rangers should have remained in groups of twos or threes. That way they could avoid predicaments such as this.
 

He looked down at his wrists, then at the knot where the outlaw man had tied the other end of the reins to the tree. The knot was crude and his wrists could wiggle just enough that he would be out of the hold within a few minutes if he wanted. The reins weren’t long enough for Devlin to reach down to his boot and pull out his knife that he had hidden there. That and the saber on the ground were the only weapons he had left thanks to that outlaw and the gray elf.

As he stared at the knot, he thought about how any normal man, particularly a Ranger, would have been working frantically to break free and get after the criminals, or at least try to get back to the other Rangers and let them know what had happened so they could be hot on their trail. But Devlin was in no hurry.
 

It wasn’t that he was a patient man by any means, or that he was brimming with confidence so strong that he didn’t fear losing the fugitives. To put it bluntly in his own mind, he was terrified. On one hand, if Devlin managed to pick up their trail and kept after them (a pointless pursuit now that his horse had been taken), the two would surely kill him, being unwilling to simply tie him to a tree this time. He was surprised that they had done this at all. Most criminals would have put a bullet through Devlin’s brain rather than face the prospect of him coming after them.
 

On the other hand, Devlin didn’t want to go back to the other Rangers and report his failure. There wasn’t a bruise or a mark on his body that indicated he’d been in a struggle, yet his rifle and saber were gone. Worse than that, his horse had been taken from him. A Ranger without his horse was useless indeed—though, the others already thought Devlin was useless. He had not been trained properly as the others had been. He hadn’t yet been under the tutelage of a more senior Ranger as was the protocol for the profession. Devlin figured it was because he was older and nearing fifty years. Most Rangers were young and ready to learn. Maybe the others thought it strange to have a fifty year old man in training.

It also could have been that Devlin hadn’t exactly earned his way to being one of the Rangers. It was the most exclusive and sought after position within the Crimson Guard, a spot picked only by the president himself. There were ten in all, including Devlin, and the others had all been chosen based on merit and great works done within the Crimson Army. Devlin had never been a soldier and had never taken the notion to become one.
 

By trade, Devlin had been a hunter and tracker, but of large bucks and bears and other giant beasts that provided wild tender meat and warm pelts. Devlin had been hunting and tracking since he was a small child, so he was very good at it. There was much to be said about how good of a shot he was, particularly with a rifle. And he was unmatched in tracking down game. In truth, the Rangers could really use him to go after these misfits. It wouldn’t be too hard to track them for a while. They would undoubtedly try to stay off the road a bit which would leave clues along their way. These clues would stand out to Devlin better than they would just about any other man. He could spot a track, tell you what it was from, and how long it had been there before another man might know there was a track at all. It was as if they just stood out to Devlin; his eyes were trained to see them clear as day.
 

One might think this was why he had been chosen as a Ranger, but this wasn’t the truth at all. Devlin was a Ranger for the simple fact that he had unwittingly saved President Jacob DalGaard’s life.
 

Each year, the office of the president organized the Annual Hunt where soldiers and well-to-do men went out in parties in search for game. There were prizes and contests—winners for heaviest deer, a kill with the most points on a rack, most unique beast. As a friendly gesture and as a way for President DalGaard to show that he was a man of the people, he was inclined to participate in the hunt.

Devlin had his own opinions about the hunt, particularly about the president’s partaking in the event. For instance, there was no possible way the president was such a good hunter that he marched back into Tel Haven with the grandest of beasts year after year. No hunter was that good. It was obvious to Devlin (who knew these woods far better than DalGaard) that the president simply took whatever beast was the best from the hunter who had killed it, and showcased it as his own. This would make his supporters swell with pride and his opponents bicker with envy. More of the seasoned hunters knew better, but they held their tongues just as Devlin always had. Hunters had spent years learning how to stay silent in the forest for long stretches, days even, and that behavior generally stayed with them wherever they went. Conversations usually played out in their minds without ever reaching their tongues. Devlin figured this was probably best.
 

Last year, Devlin hadn’t even been aware that it was time for the Annual Hunt, and he wouldn’t have been out hunting had he remembered the time, but as it turned out, he was in the middle of it. He had spent the last few days tracking a grizzly, and was getting close. This same bear had evaded him the year before, but this year was supposed to be different.

However, it came as a surprise when he heard howling and barking in the distance. He knew the sound well—wolves. But he hadn’t seen any sign of them in the last few days. He wondered if they had been tracking him and had come upon his scent.
 

Devlin knew in times like these it was probably best to try and mask his scent and be on his way, but this sounded like a group of wolves that had found something. Curiosity got the best of him. When he neared the spot, he realized that he was near a wolf’s den, and the wolves were out, encircling their prey. Their prey just so happened to be President Jacob DalGaard.