Remove the Shroud: The King's Ranger Book 3

by AC Cobble

  Rew coughed, scratched his beard some more, and then declared, “I think you should talk to Anne about this sort of thing.”

  Zaine chortled and slid her wooden practice daggers into her belt. “Ranger, if my father was still alive, I think the two of you would have gotten along famously.”

  The thief turned and walked out the door, breaking into a run and splashing through the ankle-deep puddles as she dashed toward the back of the inn.

  Rew sighed. A horse, one of the thoroughbreds the innkeeper Bressan raised for the races, whinnied at him.

  “What do you know?” muttered Rew, scowling at the beast, before he, too, dashed out into the cold wet, running to the inn.

  Pale, green-tinged white light flickered on and off, bathing the corner of the common room and the hearth in an eerie, spectral wash. The glowing orange embers of a fire in the hearth seemed to pulse and fade in time with the other light, dying desperately with each burst of stark illumination.

  Rew bent forward and tapped out the ash from his pipe into the fire. He exhaled slowly, sending the air of his breath over the embers. He felt the coals flare, warming his face. The fire crackled, but he stopped before the charred wood caught flame again. It was night. He was tired, and it was time for the fire to die.

  He glanced at Cinda, her face alternately lit and then dark as she practiced summoning her funeral fire, the cold white and green flame dancing across her fingertips and then winking out.

  Rew told her, “I’m off to bed. You?”

  She shrugged. “I’m finding I don’t desire sleep as often as I used to. When I asked Anne about it, she turned away. What is happening to me, Ranger?”

  Rew sighed and settled back down in his chair. “In dreams, your physical body rests and is restored. It is a time of regeneration and healing. But also in dreams, your mind is freer of your physical form than when you’re awake. We’re closer to the plane of death when we dream. As your powers develop, you’ll, well, you won’t need to sleep. Not for your mind, at least. Your body will still require rest to restore itself, but the more you use your power, the less you’ll feel the desire to lie down and actually slumber.”

  Cinda frowned, and the funeral fire ignited on her fingers again.

  “There is risk in not resting,” continued Rew. “Your mind won't feel the need, but you must force yourself, or your body will suffer. There are plenty of storied necromancers who ignored the mundane concerns of their corporeal form, and that was the ironic end of them. You can summon all of the spirits you want, but your body still needs to eat.”

  A wan smile curled Cinda’s lips, and she nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “You’ll rest then?”

  “Later.”

  “You’ll need your strength for when we leave this place.”

  Cinda glanced across the dark common room to where a thick, leaded-glass window barred the wind and rain outside. They could hear the rainfall drumming on the porch of the inn, relentless, as it had been for six days now.

  “When are we leaving this place?”

  “As soon as we can,” replied the ranger. “I know you want to leave, to go and find your sister. I understand, but we won’t make it far in this weather. There’s only misery out there until the storm passes.”

  Cinda shook her head, her eyes fixed on her hand. “It is my brother who wants to find our sister, Ranger. We all saw what Kallie did and heard what she said. I have no interest in seeing her again.”

  “You don’t? Just a few days ago…”

  Cinda let the funeral flame grow on her hand, casting its sharp light over the entire room. “In the last few days, I’ve had a lot of time to think. Raif may choose to ignore it, but you and I both know what will happen when we find Kallie.”

  Rew’s lips twisted into a sour grimace.

  Cinda’s fire winked out again, and darkness filled the common room outside of the weak glow from the embers on the hearth. Cinda continued, “There won’t be a reconciliation with Kallie, no matter what my brother hopes. All I ask, Ranger, is that when it is time to end her, you do it. You, or Anne, or Zaine, though I hate to put that on her. Do not let my brother be the one who slides the steel into our sister. He’s an oaf, but he should not have to live with that. He couldn’t live with that.”

  Rew bowed his head then looked up to meet her gaze.

  She was staring at him, the orbs of her eyes gleaming in the darkness. He frowned. It was impossible to be certain in the low light of the room, but were her eyes changing, the iris turning green? Already? Rew rubbed his face with both hands then met Cinda’s gaze again. He cleared his throat and said, “I will do it. You’re right. Your brother does not need that on him. You both have enough of a burden already.”

  Cinda, looking decades beyond her years in the darkness, nodded. “What I am becoming is not your fault, Ranger. You tried to steer us away, to find us another path. I see now why you did that. It—It was kind of you, but it is too late now. We are on this road, and we must find the end of it. Do you think we will, in Carff?”

  Rew shook his head slowly. “No, I’m afraid the end of this journey is not in Carff. You will have to shoulder your burden beyond there.” He laughed mirthlessly. “If we survive. I suppose it’s worth qualifying everything we say with that grim clause. I am sorry, Cinda. I’m sorry that we could not find another way and that I could not keep you from being drawn into this.”

  Cinda smiled at him, her face regaining the freshness of her youth, and he saw the girl he’d first encountered walking from Eastwatch to Falvar. “The burden was mine before we met you. I didn’t know it, but it was there. My father, the princes, they put it there. If we’d never met you, we still would have been in this mess, though not for long. I don’t think we would have survived Falvar without you. No, none of this is your fault.”

  Rew shrugged, fiddling with his empty pipe. He did not respond.

  “I hope my sister is gone from Carff when we arrive. It will be better for Raif—and for me, I’ll admit—if we never see her again.”

  “I understand.”

  “We have to go, though, don’t we?”

  “Have to… That’s not entirely true,” said Rew with a sigh. “There are other ways, other paths we could take. They won’t lead to Kallie, and they won’t lead to answers. You could run, or you could hide. It might work for a time. Maybe even a long time. But there is no changing the truth of who you are and what you’re capable of.”

  “Then there is no choice,” said Cinda. “This burden is mine, but I need your help understanding it. I need you to guide me to what it is that they expect from me, what it is they captured my father for. You know, don’t you?”

  “I believe so,” he acknowledged.

  “But you won’t tell me?”

  “Not now.”

  “You can be a frustrating man, Ranger.”

  “I know.”

  They sat quietly for a long time until the light from the fire no longer bled past the edge of the hearth.

  “Cinda,” said Rew. He heard her turn toward him, but he could not see her in the black of the room. He gathered himself then told her, “You should know that if we walk to the end of this road, then I will use you, much like they attempted with your father. I know what your blood is capable of, and I need it to finish something. Only you can finish this. It is not something that I can do on my own.”

  “But you will not tell me what this is?”

  He shook his head. “I cannot. It is too much, for now. In time, you will know. Just like you now understand why I tried to avoid this to begin with, you will understand the need for secrecy.”

  “Eventually, I will learn everything?”

  “Eventually.”

  “Tell me this, at least. If the end of this journey—if what you need—is not in Carff, why are we going there?” asked Cinda. “Not to assuage my brother’s boyish fantasy of reconciliation with Kallie, surely?”

  “It is not the end of the road we seek in Carf
f but the beginning,” Rew told her.

  Cinda grunted.

  Rew reached up and felt the prickles atop his scalp. He yawned.

  “You’re a good man, Ranger,” said Cinda suddenly, “the best I’ve known, I suppose, though maybe that is no grand prize. Still, I will do whatever it is you ask of me. I trust you to lead us where we need to go.”

  It was like a knife twisting in his guts. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. By the time they were finished, it would destroy her. It would destroy him, too, and he couldn’t begin to guess the calamity that might follow for Vaeldon. He couldn’t tell her that, but he thought that if he did tell her, she would still agree to do it. She’d meant it when she had said she would do as he asked. There was some comfort to that. There was discomfort as well, when he wondered if it was merely a convenient story he told himself. It didn’t matter, though. It was necessary. They were taking a terrible risk, embarking on this road, but it was the only gambit he had if he wanted to free the kingdom. When playing against a master of the game board, one had to do what was least expected.

  He reached over and put his hand on hers.

  “Wherever this road takes us, I will go,” repeated Cinda quietly.

  Rew stood and pulled her up as well. “Tonight, all I ask is that we both try to get some sleep. With luck, in a day or two, the weather will clear. When it does, we must be ready to travel.”

  Cinda chuckled. “Very well, Ranger. I’ll lie down, and I will try to sleep.”

  “Try—that’s all any of us can do.”

  In the black of the room, they both walked confidently to the stairs where their rooms were on the floor above. Rew, his senses attuned to his surroundings, stepped easily. Cinda, becoming a creature of the darkness, needed no light, and she followed him up the stairwell to their separate rooms.

  2

  “You sure I can’t sell you horses?” asked Bressan, the slender innkeeper and equine breeder.

  Rew, cradling a mug of coffee in his hands and leaning his elbows on the railing of the inn’s porch, shook his head.

  The innkeeper drew himself up, tucked his thumbs behind his belt, and blew out a puff of air, stirring the prodigious mustache that covered half of his face. “There’s a reason you’re staying up here and not down in Laxton beside the highway, and if it’s not to purchase horseflesh, I’ve seen enough in my years to know what it means. You’re running. It is none of my business, but wherever you’re going, you’d get there a lot quicker with a horse between your legs. I can teach you to ride, if that’s—“

  “I know how to ride,” interjected Rew, “but I choose not to.”

  “I’ve seen your purse, my man. It’s not about the expense, is it?” questioned the innkeeper. “It’s true that I breed the finest mounts in the Eastern Province, but they’re not all so fine. If you’re short on coin, I’ve got some mares that will be within your range. Old girls that have some spirit but aren’t for the races, eh? Or I’ve got some nags that I’d almost give you so I can stop caring for ‘em. They’ll still get you to where you’re going, though. Four legs are better than two, and that’s the truth.”

  Rew shook his head. “I prefer to walk.”

  The innkeeper scowled at him, as if offended.

  “If a man’s legs can’t get him where he’s going, then maybe he ought not to be going there,” declared Rew.

  “That sounds like something a man would say after too many ales,” groused the innkeeper.

  “There’s no need to make the hard sale, Bressan. You’ll have buyers soon enough. Buyers for anything with four legs that can carry a saddle, and those folk won’t be worried about how much you charge.”

  The innkeeper raised an eyebrow.

  “There’s war on the horizon,” explained Rew. “It won’t be long before someone comes along looking to expand their cavalry. They’ll need spare mounts and won’t fuss about the quality, and even those nags you mentioned can haul supplies. You’ll have more business than you can handle.”

  “I know,” replied the innkeeper sourly.

  Rew glanced at him, holding his coffee mug close to inhale the rich scent.

  Looking apologetic, the innkeeper added, “I hate the thought of my horses riding into war. It’s terrible on them, you know? They’re like my children, those horses, and I’d rather sell ‘em to you for next to nothing than put them through that. Blessed Mother, I’ll give them to you if you promise me you’ll ride them away from this brewing madness. I’ve been around long enough, and my pappy and grandpappy before me, to know that when the first man comes along wanting to buy the entire herd, we sell it. They’ll pay up until the fighting starts. Later, they’ll just confiscate any animals we have left. You’re right, could be good coin for me, but half those horses they take won’t be seeing summer. They’re like my children, man. It’s not about the coin. You sure you won’t—“

  Rew smiled. “You’re a good man, Bressan, but I prefer to walk. Even if I didn’t, I couldn’t make the promise the horses would be in any less danger with me.”

  Bressan nodded to the rolling hills that spread out in front of them. Mist hung like wraiths over a moor. It sparkled brilliantly with the first morning sun they’d seen in a week. A thin line of dark soil cut through the emerald and white landscape, the road leading from the inn to the village of Laxton and the highway beyond it.

  “If you mean to walk, you’d best get to it. By tomorrow, if not this afternoon, there will be soldiers on that road coming up from the highway, looking for my horses. The nobles already came before the storm hit, picking over the best of my stock. Soldiers’ll come next. You’re good people, and if you’re going to outrun whatever trouble it is that dogs you, I suggest you start right away.”

  Rew nodded.

  “Despite how much you complained about not enjoying the game, you’ve given me more of a challenge on the game board these last few days than I’ve seen in years,” continued the innkeeper. “I pride myself on my game, but I’ve never seen anyone play like you. You move in unexpected ways. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it don’t, but you’re willing to try. I respect that, and I’ll keep your secrets, if anyone asks.”

  The innkeeper left the question hanging.

  “I don’t think anyone will ask.”

  Bressan nodded and turned back to his inn. “Regardless, you’d best be on the road as soon as you can be. I’ll check about breakfast. Then, maybe that’s the last I see of you?”

  Rew did not respond.

  “Mayhap you’d like a bit of the strong stuff you were drinking the other night for the road? Friend of mine ages it in barrels for years afore he bottles it. Finest spirits coin will buy you, here or anywhere in Vaeldon. It’s wasted on the soldiers. If you won’t take my horses, at least take my liquor. Can’t have those fools wasting everything, can we?”

  Rew laughed. “I’ll raise a drink to you on the cold nights, Bressan, in memory of the shelter you’ve given us here and a hope for your horses. I wish you—and the beasts—luck in the next months.”

  “I’ll have the girls pack you a couple’a bottles, then. Don’t let your woman see it, though, eh? Sometimes a woman thinks she’s all the comfort you need on one o’ them cold nights. They don’t understand that after some days, a man needs a drink. My thinking, you might have a few of those days ahead of you, friend.”

  Rew laughed. “And sometimes a woman is why a man needs a drink.”

  The innkeeper grinned and guffawed. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  Bressan reached back and slapped Rew on the shoulder before shuffling inside. Through the open door, Rew could hear the sounds of the sedate inn waking. There hadn’t been more than a dozen other travelers staying in the sprawling, comfortable inn the last week, but this morning, Bressan’s staff were freshening rooms, and the ovens were fired up in the kitchen. The smell of baking bread wafted out, stirring Rew’s hunger. More bread than they needed for the guests that were already there, he thought. Bressan spoke the trut
h. The innkeeper expected more visitors that day.

  Sighing, Rew looked down the sinuous dirt tract that led to the highway. It was thick with mud, and even as it dried in the morning sun, it would be hard walking and impossible to cover their tracks. Cross country it was, then.

  For two days, they slogged across the rolling hills, the lush turf sodden from the week of torrential rain. Every morning, they awoke covered in cold dew, and within minutes of starting to hike, they were soaked to the knees from striding through the tall, wet grass. The temperature wasn’t freezing, but constantly damp as they were, it felt like it may as well be. Rew began making them change their socks every time they stopped for a meal, and he had Anne check everyone’s toes to make sure hypothermia had not set in.

  There were sparse stands of trees where they took shelter from the unrelenting wind and attempted to harvest firewood, but even when they found fallen branches, they were heavy with moisture. It made for pathetic, smoky fires that did little to warm them and much to water their eyes. Anne was able to cook a little, but after a week of Bressan’s hearty fare, her best efforts in the conditions seemed meager.

  The children didn’t complain, and even Anne could only offer glum looks and apologetic shrugs as she dished the thin soups she managed to heat over the paltry flames. All of them knew braving the soaked road from Bressan’s inn down to the highway would have been equally as bad, even if it wasn’t for the risk of encountering soldiers from Spinesend.

  By the second day, though, beneath clear skies and bright sun, Rew felt it safe enough to return to the highway, and he led the party through the hills until they came across the wide, dirt road. It hadn’t completely dried, but after generations of traffic, the soil was compact enough that it was easy walking. The entire party breathed a sigh of relief as their boots found the road.

  “This ought to make travel a lot quicker,” said Zaine, scuffing a boot on the damp dirt and scowling at the thick tangle of grass they’d walked out of.