"Excellent," she says in her typically stoic way. "I shall like a full report on the status of the defense, starting with the situation with all those refugees out there. Then, once our rangers are given proper lodgings, we have some business to attend to. There's a pair of apprentices here who need to receive their advancement." She glances over her shoulder and shoots us a wry smile.
Talon and I both look at each other, eyes going wide.
Several of the Wardens begin to chuckle around us. Many of them I recognize from my time in the Ashwood, stalwart warriors with battle scars and silver in their hair.
Elias nods his head once in agreement. "Of course. I have the perfect place in mind. After we debrief you, we will head over there at once."
With that, they begin discussing as Nightingale porters head out to find the rangers some quarters. The whole time they talk, I can only focus on one thing: fulfilling my life's ambition to become a ranger.
FIRE CRACKLES IN THE iron brazier, sending fragrant smoke wafting up toward the vent in the high-vaulted ceiling. It is a slow-burning blaze, the coals smoldering and consuming the blocks of incense that have been scattered throughout the wide basin, its heat steady and intense.
Talon and I sit on a bench before the brazier, similarly consumed by our own thoughts as we wait for the ceremony, the only sound being the popping of the flames.
Questions swirl inside my head like the smoke from the incense, causing me to wonder vainly without any immediate answers. What will this ceremony entail? Will this change anything? How would my father react if he were to see me today?
Exhaling slowly, I focus on the bit of wood in my hands and attempt to force myself to calm down.
The carving is coming along nicely, the once-shapeless chunk of oak resembling what I had envisioned since the beginning. I have taken every opportunity to work on it, whittling it carefully almost every night and every time I find myself alone. Since coming to the city, I exchanged my makeshift demon carapace for an actual pocket knife, which makes the process of shaping the wood much easier. With a little more time, and perhaps a gloss of lacquer, it will be ready.
Footsteps echo in the large waiting chamber, soft doeskin boots padding quietly on the polished marble floor.
The two of us turn in unison, squinting as our eyes adjust to the surrounding darkness, and I quickly put away the knife and the wood. A form materializes out of the darkness, a tall figure with broad shoulders, grizzled face showing a few days’ worth of grey stubble.
“The time has come,” Elias rumbles, his voice filling the chamber. “Follow me to the audience chamber. The Wardens await.”
We rise, turning out backs to the brazier and following Elias down the shadowed hall. We walk in silence, our combined footfalls echoing off the floors and walls. This building used to be an old church, a chapel to the Light dedicated to the poor whose status would not permit them entry to the cathedral near the palace. It was certainly beautiful, if a bit small, and was apparently donated by a philanthropic noble more than a hundred years ago. Now, it sits mostly empty, a monument to the faithful in an age of terror and strife.
Elias leads us to a plain wooden door, which he pushes open and motions for us to pass through. We go, shuffling reverently through the portal and entering a circular room on the other side.
There, we can see another brazier similar to the one we had just left, only this one is surrounded by a ring of people. Wardens, painted red by the glowing embers of the fire, stand regarding us stoically, their swords drawn and resting point-first on the ground before them. In the middle, I spot Tamara, who seems to fill the room despite being physically smaller than the other rangers.
“Come apprentices,” she intones formally, “and kneel before your Wardens.”
We obey. Walking forward, we kneel before the brazier and the semi-circle of rangers. For a moment, there is only uncomfortable silence, and I can’t help but feel small beneath their collective gaze. Then, finally, one of them speaks, a man with a crescent scar on his forehead.
“Owyn Lund,” he says, voice stern. “What have you learned during your apprenticeship?”
The question takes me off-guard, but fortunately it doesn’t take long for me to reply. “To fight, Warden, and to serve. I have learned the importance of protecting the weak and standing up for what is right, no matter the consequence... even when I stand alone.”
He nods, as if pleased by this answer, then turns to Talon and asks the same question.
“I’ve learned the importance of making friends and treating your allies well,” he says, sounding oddly serious for once. There is no glibness at all when he speaks. “I’ve learned to never give up, especially when the going is hard. But most of all,” he glances down at his missing hand, “I’ve learned how to overcome a weakness.”
Again, the Warden nods, apparently satisfied by the answer.
Another speaks up, this one a younger man with more black in his beard than white. “Why do you serve, apprentices? What motivates you?”
This answer comes easily to me. “My father,” I reply simply. “Aaron Lund was a great ranger, and I wish to honor his legacy.”
The others bob their heads in approval.
“I serve for the kingdom,” Talon answers after a moment’s hesitation. “I wish to travel the width and breadth of Tarsynium, winning glory and helping others as I go.”
This seems to earn less approval from the Wardens, though none of them say anything to chastise him.
Finally, after a long moment of drawn-out silence, Tamara speaks up, her icy eyes moving between the two of us. “Becoming a ranger is no small thing. Rangers are rangers for life, and the oath is binding. You swore this oath once already when you became apprentices. Now, swear again, that your fates may be sealed twice over.”
Talon and I look at each other, then in unison begin reciting the ranger’s oath.
“I swear by my life and my hope for salvation that I will abide by the Oath of the Rangers until my dying breath.
“Our solemn duty is to protect the borders of the realms of men from those enemies who would seek our destruction. The wilderness shall be our homestead, the sun and stars our only hearth. We will sacrifice everything, even our very lives, for the defense of the kingdom, unto the death of those who would do us harm.
“We are the watchers in the woods, the arrows in the darkness. None shall pass by while we stand guard.”
Silence fills the chamber as we speak the final words, the void being filled by the crackling flames. Nobody moves, I can scarcely hear anything beyond my own breathing, and so we deign to remain still as well, our forms kneeling on the cold hard floor.
Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, Tamara comes forward, breaking away from the other Wardens and waking around the brazier. She reaches over her shoulder as she approaches us and pulls out a massive longsword from a scabbard on her back, the steel making a metallic whisper as it comes free. It is a beautiful sword, expertly crafted with an intricately forged cross guard and runic embossing along the blade.
She stops right in front of us, the weapon held firmly in her hand, and for a brief moment, I am not sure if she is going to knight us or execute us on the spot.
“Apprentices,” she states, her voice heavy with traditional reverence, “this is Light's Edge, the Grandmaster's Sword from the ranger who first founded our order. As has been done for centuries, it is our wish to raise you to the rank of ranger and confer upon you all duties and responsibilities pertaining to this ancient charge. You will be required to serve Tarsynium and her subjects, to go where you are assigned by the Wardens, and to keep the countryside clear of any and all beings who seek to do harm.” She pauses, and a small, ironic smile graces her features. “Admittedly, there seems to be no shortage of enemies these days. Still, I must ask: are you willing to accept these duties and responsibilities as the have been explained to you?”
Both of us respond, “Yes, Master Warden.”
; She proceeds to lift the sword and touch each of us on the shoulder. “Then arise, rangers of Tarsynium, and serve your country with valor.”
Chapter Thirteen
Elias
As the ceremony ends, the Wardens break away from their places around the brazier and move to congratulate Owyn and Talon. I step out from the shadowed alcove I had retreated to and step into the light, drawing the gaze of Tamara as I approach the two newly-advanced rangers. She arches an eyebrow as she appears to study me, her face an emotionless mask. Her eyes, however, betray her true emotions: puzzlement, and a hint of remorse for what might have been.
I have always been able to read those eyes, I think wryly, even when others could not. Glancing away from the Master Warden, I clasp Owyn on the shoulder from behind.
He turns, his face split by a wide grin.
Light, the boy is almost as tall as me, now, I think to myself in amazement. The lad I had first met so long ago has since become a man, growing into a frighteningly close resemblance to Aaron.
“Congratulations, Owyn,” I say, reaching out a hand to shake. “Your father would be proud.”
Owyn takes my hand in a firm grip and shakes, his eyes meeting mine. They glisten, though only faintly, the vibrant green bright in the low light of the room. “Thank you, Elias,” he says enthusiastically. “And thank you for training me. I wouldn’t be where I am today without you.”
I slight smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, and I feel a small swell of pride upon hearing his words. “A teacher is only as effective as his student allows him to be,” I reply, releasing his hand but holding his gaze. “You were an excellent apprentice and have done well despite everything that has happened. Just remember this moment. Never forget the oath and never give up, even when you know that you are going to lose.”
He gives a strange look and then nods. “Of course.”
More of the Wardens begin crowding around, and so I take a step back, allowing them to have access to Owyn. “We’ll talk later,” I say to him just as Eldrin Gibbs steps in.
I am about to leave the building, walking toward the exit in the dark, when a voice quietly beckons me from the shadows off to my left. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you,” Tamara says, her blue eyes glittering in the darkness. “We still need to talk. You left things... unclear when you left the Ashwood. I’d like to continue our conversation.”
Closing my eyes, I let out a long, drawn-out breath, knowing full-well that I am now trapped like a rabbit in a snare. She won’t let me go until she has the answers she is seeking, even though more important matters still need to be taken care of.
She steps out from the dark and approaches me, moving with the lithe grace of a hunting cat ready to pounce. “Come,” she says, voice still quiet. “Let us take a walk.”
Together, we exit the chamber while the other Wardens are still speaking with the two former apprentices, imparting words of wisdom around the glow of the fire. Instead of going to the street exit, however, we go by another way, taking a narrow set of spiral steps up to the roof of the chapel. When we step out of the stairwell, we are immediately greeted by an unseasonably warm wind blowing in from the west and grey clouds hanging over the bustling city like a shroud.
We walk in silence, moving across the flat-topped expanse toward the ledge three stories above the street. It is a plain-looking building, as far as churches go, but it does offer a splendid view of the city, the remaining towers of the Conclave rising up before us several blocks away.
Finally, Tamara breaks the silence, her blue eyes still scanning the enormous cityscape. “You’ve changed, you know,” she says bluntly.
I lean out on the ledge beside her, following her gaze. “Every man changes, Tamara.”
“Not like this,” she replies, giving her golden head a shake. “You were a respected ranger, then you became an outlaw. Now, you’re the leader of the Nightingales and organizing the defense of the greatest city in the world.” She pauses as if considering, then turns to regard me. “You’re no longer the man I once knew.”
Glancing away from the city, I meet her gaze, nearly a full head lower than my own. “Is that such a bad thing?”
“I’m not certain,” she admits, eyes searching. “However, there is one thing that I am sure of: what we had all those years ago was real, and despite your protests, you still feel the same way.”
Hells, I think, trying vainly to gather my thoughts. She’s never been one to mince words, has she? Some things never change.
“Tamara,” I say, at a loss for words, “it’s been years, decades even. Why this? Why now?”
She turns to face me, the hilt of the Grandmaster’s Sword sticking up from behind her left shoulder and her cloak shifting slightly in the breeze. Despite her battle-hardened appearance, she looks vulnerable – an incongruous feature on the infamous Tamara Moyle. For a brief moment I can see the young lass I met when I myself was an apprentice, a demure girl with a warrior’s heart and a ferocity that could match my own.
“Because unlike you, I am not willing to die with regret in my heart. The end is close... I can sense it, and I know that you can as well.” She takes a step closer, her eyes intense as she stares up at me. That look causes my heartbeat to quicken, something that has not happened in a long, long time. “When we became rangers,” she continues, “we put everything on hold – family, children... our entire lives. Now, with the Arc gone and the end times upon us, I can’t help but think about what’s truly important in this world.”
I stare at her for a moment, astounded by what she is saying. Then, after the shock wears off, I turn back to look out over the city, letting out a sad, bitter chuckle. “Light, Tamara. Even now, you make me wonder if I am mad. Maybe I am, for listening to you.”
"You've changed, Elias Keen," she says again, "but not that much. I can see it as clearly as the stars on a cloudless night. You still feel for me the same way that you once did."
"Perhaps," I assent. "But perhaps not. It no longer matters. What matters now is the fulfillment of our duty."
"We can have both," she insists, reaching out and touching my hand. The touch of her soft skin sends a shockwave up my arm, an energy like the radiance of a mage's spell. "I did not see it before, but I do now. I'm tired of being alone, and I do not want the end to come with this regret in my heart."
My eyes linger on her for a long moment, the promise of a romance rekindled glowing hot like an ember. However, with the resurgence of those long-suppressed feelings comes the same hurt I felt when we had parted ways, a hurt like an old wound that never fully healed. I pull away, my gaze dropping to my boots almost painfully. "You'll have to live with your regret a little longer, Tamara. I'm not in the same place that you are."
She stiffens, and I can tell that my words have cut her deeply. When I look up, the vulnerability is gone, replaced by the hardened exterior that I know so well. Still, there is sadness those icy blue eyes. Sadness, and perhaps embarrassment.
"Tamara," I say, suddenly feeling the need to apologize for my bluntness. "I'm sorry–"
“Don’t,” she interrupts, the familiar edge entering her voice once more. “Just... don't. Think upon my words. There is still time yet, before the end. If anything, I shall enjoy fighting by your side one last time."
Before I can respond, she is already walking away from me, striding determinedly toward the stairwell. After she departs, I stand up on the roof for a time, pondering the strange and unexpected conversation I have just had.
TAMARA’S WORDS FOLLOW me as I go about my daily tasks, needling the back of my mind like a burr caught in my boot. They chafe, rubbing my deeply-buried emotions raw as I consider things that I haven’t thought of since I was much younger, probably about Owyn’s age. Even as I walk the city walls at sunset, watching as barbicans are erected from timber and stone below, my thoughts stray to the blonde-haired ranger who had once meant so much to me a lifetime ago.
What is she thinking, opening up old wounds
at a time like this? How irresponsible of her. It was her who ended things between us! When we were young, she chose the life of a ranger over love, and now, when things are most dire, she wants to revisit out past? Foolishness. Plain and simple foolishness.
Phillip, one of my advisors, says something at my side. Blinking, I turn to look at him, pushing thoughts of the Master Warden aside. “I’m sorry, soldier. Can you repeat that?”
A look of puzzlement comes over him, but he repeats the question. “What of the excess debris, Protector? There is still much stone left over from the Pillar of Radiance.”
“Have the masons take what they need and build barricades within the city itself,” I answer quickly. “If the walls fall, I want the demons to have to fight for every single street they take. The rest can be used as fodder for the catapults.”
“Understood,” Phillip replies, scratching something down on his handheld slate. "And what of the granaries? Food is already growing scarce the more people arrive from the countryside."
"Work with the city planners," I respond, folding my arms behind my back and examining the workers as they construct the fortifications. "My initial thoughts are that rations will need to be instituted, but I'm not sure those are warranted yet. The planners will understand more."
"Of course," Phillip says, still scratching notes on his slate.
I am about to open my mouth to inquire on the status of the shipment of pitch I had ordered, when I begin to hear warning bells ringing out from a watch tower down the road to the west. They are soon joined by others, sounding in a distinct pattern meant to be discerned by those standing watch on the walls.
"Three rings followed by five," I mutter. "That means a scout has returned."
Squinting, I can barely make out the shape of a rider galloping hard up the road toward our position. "Phillip," I command, causing him to snap to attention, "gather my advisors and everyone from the council. They need to be here to hear the scout's report."
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