by AC Cobble
“Not a lot of carriages on the road these days,” the ranger murmured.
The man nodded, happily dipping Rew another ale. The tavern in the inn was empty aside from their party, and Rew suspected he was about to be the man’s favorite customer. It’d been two weeks since they had been at Bressan’s inn, and a lot had happened since then. Two ales wasn’t going to do it.
“Not a lot of wagons, either,” continued Rew.
The innkeeper nodded again then asked, “You headed east or west?”
“West,” replied Rew, accepting the mug from the man.
“From Spinesend?”
Rew shook his head. “Nah, never been that far. We, ah, we’ve been moving horses down from Laxton. Cross country because, ah, the horses haven’t been shoed yet. Turf is easier on their hooves, you know?”
The innkeeper did not look like he knew, or that he cared. He was frustratingly incurious for an innkeeper manning a small roadside tavern. Rew had spent half his last ale coming up with that story.
“Something happening up in Spinesend?” Rew asked the innkeeper. “How come no one is on the roads?”
“Aye, something happened,” said the innkeeper leaning closer conspiratorially, though there was no one else around to overhear him. “Duke Eeron is dead. Killed in his own throne room. They found him holding his own head in his lap, if you can imagine that. Some say his arcanist did it. Others say it was the king himself.”
Rew forced a laugh and replied, “The king himself came over to Spinesend, killed the duke in dramatic fashion, and told no one about it?”
The innkeeper shrugged. “Something is going on.”
Rew scratched his beard. “That’s why there are no carriages, the nobles have fled?”
“They have,” said the man. “Lotta nobles passed through a week ago, but those that were gonna run did, I guess. Postal carriage still comes through every other day. Steady as the sun, they are. Work for the king, not these regional nobles, you know. Going to take more than a duke holding his own severed head in his lap to stop them. I figure it’s when the post stops that the real trouble begins.”
“What kind of trouble?”
The man shrugged again. It seemed he did little else. “Open your eyes, fella. The nobles are running, right? They’re running from something, and it ain’t the duke, because he’s already dead. Maybe it means something to you and me. Maybe it don’t. Time will tell. Last I recall seeing so many of them on the road was when Prince Valchon took command of Carff. They all rushed down to kiss the ring. Before that… it was war.”
Rew grunted. He drank quietly for a long time, watching the innkeeper meander around the common room, straightening chairs, looking wistfully toward the empty doorway that led to the highway.
“When does that postal carriage come through?” wondered Rew loudly.
“Around sunset, usually. Most of them drivers like to stop over here for the night. Keeps me in business in the slow seasons. Oats for the horses, room and board for the men. Ale on the king’s tab, eh.” The innkeeper guffawed. “Charge ‘em twice what I’m charging you. The king’s men never complain about it, though. Loyalty comes at a price, they say. Sometimes that’s an expensive ale that keeps me from closing the doors. Sometimes…” The innkeeper smacked his hand down on the bar like he was squashing a bug. “Those nobles were running from something, my man. I’m telling you. Keep your eyes open.”
“Post carriage coming tonight?”
“Tomorrow,” replied the innkeeper, standing up straight and peering into Rew’s ale mug to see if he was ready for another, “and if they don’t, we’ll know we’re in trouble.”
10
When the post driver arrived the next evening, Rew was waiting in the common room prepared to buy the man an ale.
The driver was a slender, confident fellow, his nose and cheeks bright red from the cold wind whipping against his face. He was attired in the coal-gray uniform of the post workers, and as he strode inside, he brushed a hood back, calling to the innkeeper, “Carriage is out back. Send the boy to stable the horses, will you, and an ale for me. What’s in the kettle?”
“Soup,” responded the innkeeper.
“Put the ale on my tab,” Rew instructed the innkeeper, and in a lower voice, he told the post driver, “It’s yesterday’s soup. It’s not very good.”
Snorting, the man declared, “I know it’s not any good, it never is. And thanks for the ale, mate, but I’m on the king’s coin. I don’t need you to buy me an ale.”
“Then you buy me one,” suggested Rew. The post driver eyed him suspiciously. “I need a ride. For myself and four of my friends.”
Shaking his head, the driver responded, “I don’t know who you think—“
Rew pulled a leather wallet from his belt pouch. It showed years of wear on the patinated leather, but the well-made wallet could survive anything short of complete immersion in water. Such craftsmanship was expensive, but its value was nothing compared to what was inside. Rew opened the wallet and withdrew a thick parchment which he placed on the bar. The document showed creases from where it’d been folded and unfolded numerous times, but the paper was of the highest quality, and the script was clean and easily legible.
The post driver stared at it for a moment before admitting, “I can’t read, mate.”
“You don’t need to read to know what this is,” remarked Rew. He tapped the bottom corner of the page where a shining golden seal was embossed.
The driver met his eyes. “How do I know that is real?”
“Do you know it’s not real?” questioned Rew. He smirked at the thin man’s widened eyes. “Don’t worry. It’s real. I am Rew, the King’s Ranger for the Eastern Territory. No one’s going to give you any grief about allowing me to hitch a ride on your carriage.”
The post driver nodded thanks as the innkeeper thunked an ale mug on the counter and glanced back down at the parchment. “A ride, you said, for you and four others?”
“A ride for me and four others,” confirmed Rew. “How far are you going?”
“Stanton,” murmured the driver, rubbing his lips with his fingers, his eyes still on the parchment.
“That will do. Give our party a ride to Stanton, and you’ll be done with us.”
“Interfering with the post is a capital crime, mate,” warned the driver.
“I know.”
“I’ll have to report to my superiors the moment we arrive in Stanton. I’ll need you to go with me and present yourself and this document to them. If I don’t, it’s my job.”
“Understood.”
The driver shifted uncomfortably and then reached over and grasped his ale mug. He tilted it up, gulping thirstily. When he put the mug back down and wiped his lips with the back of his hand, he told Rew, “I leave at dawn.”
“We could have been riding a post carriage this entire time?” snapped Zaine.
Rew shook his head. “Not secretly. This driver is demanding that we show ourselves at the postal station in Stanton the moment we arrive, and if we don’t, he’ll have our descriptions in front of the magistrate as soon as he can. I had to show him the documentation for my authority. He has my name, and he’ll note descriptions of all of you in his official log. There’s no hiding now. If there had been any other way… but the innkeeper was right. We haven’t seen another carriage since we arrived here, and I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but those oxen-drawn wagons of the merchant trains aren’t any faster than our own legs. Outside of the post, any vehicle that can move quickly has already fled the region. Besides, while I was in a bit of a hurry before, now that we saw what was within that fortress…”
Zaine crossed her arms over her chest. “We could have tried tricking him.”
“Tricked him how? Only an agent of the king has authority over the post, and the only way I could convince him I was an agent of the king was to tell the truth. I suppose we could have killed him, but I wasn’t prepared to do that. I don’t think you were, either, l
ass.”
“Stealth was imperative, before,” said Cinda, “and Rew is right, none of us would be in favor of killing to steal a carriage. That’s the sort of thing we’re fighting against.”
“But stealth doesn’t matter now?” challenged Zaine.
“The king knows exactly where we are,” said Rew, “and we’re no longer worried about Duke Eeron chasing us down, as he’s busy holding his own head in his lap. The princes will still be after us, and maybe they’ll have an easier time finding us now, but you saw what happened to the bandits. We need to get to Stanton and warn the baron.”
Zaine grimaced. “All we have to worry about is the princes… Still seems like something pretty concerning to me.”
Rew shrugged.
“We can’t avoid them forever,” murmured Cinda, glancing at Rew.
He met her gaze, and shook his head slightly. Cinda knew what was coming, but the others did not. It wasn’t time, yet, to tell them.
“We can try,” complained Zaine.
“We’ve agreed it’s important to alert Stanton of what is out there, which means if the princes have spies in the city, they’ll hear about us no matter what. We have to hope they aren’t looking. For now, speed is more important than stealth.”
“It’s always a balance,” murmured Raif. “My tutors said that, you know. I heard them, but I never understood…”
“Aye, experience is a better teacher than us all.”
“And what if Prince Valchon hears we’re coming, and he’s waiting for us in Carff?” pressed Zaine.
“Then I’ll deal with him,” answered Rew.
The thief blinked back at him.
Anne asked quietly, “Can you?”
Rew shrugged. “I’m not sure, and let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It may not matter. The post carriage can get us to Stanton. We’ve still a ways to go and much that could happen before Carff.”
“Confronting a prince, that’s a bold claim, Ranger,” said Raif.
Rew didn’t respond.
Cinda frowned and turned to her brother. “Stanton. Why is that familiar?”
“Appleby,” replied Raif. “You recall him? He’s a friend of Fredrick, Baron Worgon’s son. He’d come visit every couple of months, though more often Fredrick went down to Stanton. He’ll see us if we request an audience, but if we do, we can definitely forget stealth…”
“Appleby, of course,” muttered Cinda. “Didn’t Fredrick mention that Appleby was in Yarrow just before we arrived there?”
Raif shrugged.
“Appleby?” questioned Rew.
“Baron Appleby,” said Raif. “He seemed friendly enough when I’ve encountered him, though he’s of age with Fredrick and paid me little mind.”
“Baron Appleby.” Rew scratched his beard. “Thought that sounded familiar. You know him, then? Would he lend us a carriage? The baron ought to have access to faster vehicles than we can hire with the coin we took from the fortress.”
“I don’t see why not,” replied Raif. “I’m the rightful baron in Falvar now, even if I never take the seat, and courtesy requires nobility share small favors. I’ve never had reason to think ill of the man, and I don’t believe he thinks ill of us. As long as he hasn’t been turned against us, he should lend us a hand, and if nothing else, he could help facilitate finding transportation. I’ve never been to Stanton, but I understand the city is of a size with Falvar. Someone ought to have a carriage there.”
“To Stanton, and Baron Appleby,” said Rew.
The group looked glum at the prospect of shedding their secrecy, but Rew was sure they were making the right decision. If someone really was flooding Dark Kind into the countryside to undermine the region, they needed to tell someone, and they weren’t going to do that quickly unless they got off their feet. Besides, it was already done. Now that Rew had identified himself to the post driver, their secret was coming out no matter what, unless they killed the man.
But the next morning, as they were piling into the post carriage, Rew thought back and realized they hadn’t even begun to look glum.
“Who has so much to write about?” growled Zaine, perched precariously atop the carriage.
“It’s double the normal load,” drawled the post driver, a wry grin on his lips. “Big shake up in Spinesend. Duke Eeron is dead, haven’t you heard? Nobles, merchants, people with relatives—if they can’t afford to flee the city, they’re sending letters. Thick ones, too. People are scared or greedy. Happens like that, you know?”
Rew nodded and then glanced back at Zaine and Raif. “You on?”
“Sort of,” muttered the nobleman, his hands gripping a low rail that ran around the edge of the carriage’s roof.
“Hold on,” instructed the driver. He slapped his reins, and the vehicle lurched into motion.
The was a squawk inside and the thumping of a rolling body. Rew winced. Anne and Cinda had been stuffed inside the carriage on top of a mountain of letters and twine-bound packages. Evidently, there was enough room still that one of them had managed to go crashing toward the back when they started rolling. Rew hoped, for all of their peace of mind later that evening, that it wasn’t Anne.
“Thought about what you said,” mentioned the post driver as they rumbled away from the inn, speeding up as they reached the hard-packed dirt of the highway. “King’s Ranger but of the Eastern Territory? Didn’t think there was much east of Yarrow, just monsters out in the wild, but I suppose that’s where you come in, eh? What are you doing here on the highway, Ranger?”
Rew smirked. “You didn’t have so many questions last night.”
“I slept since then,” said the driver, reaching over to tug on a bell that rang merrily, alerting a plodding wagon ahead of them that they were coming.
Whether because of the bell or the pounding of the horses’ hooves that pulled the carriage, the wagon swung to the side of the road, and they rumbled by it.
“I’ve got business to attend to,” said Rew.
“The Dark Kind?” wondered the post driver. “That’s the business of your sort, ain’t it?”
“Dark Kind?” questioned Rew, looking at the man out of the corner of his eye.
“Narjags, ayres, valaan,” said the man. “People been seeing them all over. Surely you know—ah, I see. Of course that’s what you’re up to, ain’t it? Makes sense one like you would be out here now. Monsters come outta the wilderness, so do the rangers. It’s good you’re here, mate, and I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time last night with the papers and all. Times like these, you gotta be careful. You understand, one king’s man to another?”
“Where have people been seeing the Dark Kind?” questioned Rew.
“All up and down the highway, Ranger,” responded the post driver. He frowned. “That is why you’re out here, ain’t it?”
“Aye,” said Rew. “I’ve been hearing the rumors and seen some things that are more than rumor. I mean to do something about it, but it’s been years since I’ve traveled this highway. I’m more familiar with the wilderness now. I also haven’t had a chance to talk to many people who cover as much ground as you do. I figure you’ve heard more rumors than anyone else on the road, haven’t you?”
“Well, there have been plenty of rumors,” said the driver. “More’n just rumors, as you say. Down south of Stanton, it’s gotten bad. Some say all these packs of narjags are converging there. Glad it’s not my route. I know post drivers who run that territory, and they’re doing it with mounted guards at their side. Nobles aren’t going to spare an arm and a sword unless they have to. They’re real worried down in Stanton, mate, real worried. Pfah, that’s not what I signed up for.”
Rew rubbed the top of his head, feeling his cold scalp. “You said valaan. People have seen valaan, truly?”
“Aye, I thought they were a myth, to be honest, but enough people say a thing, you start to believe it. Heard it from some of the soldiers in a little village about a day south of here. Serious men, Ranger, and they wouldn’ta
told me unless they believed it. Now, I ain’t seen ‘em myself, but you’re not like to find anyone who’s seen a valaan and is still drawing enough air to tell you about it. It’s true enough for me. Could be the valaan that’s drawing in all of these things around Stanton. I don’t know about that, but that’s what they did fifty years ago, ain’t it, last time we went to war with these awful creatures?”
“How long until we get to Stanton?”
“Two days,” answered the driver before slapping the wooden side of the carriage. “Maybe two and a half, seeing as we’re loaded heavy. Can only push the horses so hard.”
Rew eyed the beasts in front of them askance and did not respond.
The two days in the post carriage passed in tense, miserable quiet. The group did not want to speak openly in front of the driver, and they were all uncomfortable riding in a vehicle that was not meant to carry passengers. Worse, though, were the cold stares they received as they breezed by small villages and other travelers. The farther south they got, the more evidence they saw that things were not right. Backing the post driver’s claims, close to Stanton, some of the villages had even erected temporary fortifications—wicker fences, wagons drawn up to block gaps between buildings, and the like. How much of the rumors were true, and how much farce, remained to be seen, but entire villages did not erect makeshift walls around the place unless they had good reason to. Rew and his companions had seen the portal stone. They’d seen what the Dark Kind did in the fortress, and he suspected similar incidents had happened nearby. As he’d feared, it wasn’t an isolated event. It was an overarching strategy to destabilize the entire province. It was madness.