Remove the Shroud: The King's Ranger Book 3

by AC Cobble

  As they drew close to Stanton, Rew’s mood darkened. With each passing village, he saw more and more evidence that while these people were scrambling to protect themselves, they were woefully unprepared for what was coming. The fortress had held fifty armed killers, and every one of them had died. These people were farmers, tradesmen and women, holding the tools of their crafts. Children, barely old enough to apprentice, were now standing guard.

  They were all in grave trouble.

  11

  When they finally reached the outskirts of the city, Rew saw it was of a similar size to Falvar and Yarrow, but instead of being ringed by walls, it had a sprawl of empty paddocks and marketplaces. The city had grown because it was halfway between Spinesend and Carff, but it thrived on regional trade that didn’t reach those two cities.

  As they drew closer, Rew could see that trade had dried up to nothing. Only some of the markets showed robust business, and most of the paddocks were empty. The herders, knowing it would be impossible to flee with their charges before the Dark Kind, would avoid the place at all costs. Small merchants would take greater risks but only if there were still customers to purchase their goods.

  Instead of vigorous enterprise, Rew saw a steady stream of men moving around the city on patrol. They were heavily armed, and most had decent armor, but they didn’t enjoy the benefit of the walls the party had seen in the Eastern Territory cities. Here, on the highway to Carff, it’d been ages since Stanton had needed to defend itself, and whatever walls it had once hidden behind, it had absorbed through the years. Rew imagined any walls that ancient rulers had erected were now part of the city itself, serving as sides of buildings or torn down and completely reassembled. It gave Stanton a disorganized, ramshackle look, as its markets and streets spilled out into the land around it.

  The post driver knew exactly where to go to cut through the confusion, and he expertly guided their carriage toward the gate, bouncing out over the turf on the edge of the road to avoid the line of people who were slowly trudging toward Stanton and waiting to get inside.

  “Won’t be long before they have to seal the place,” said the driver, expertly eyeing the line of people, though Rew doubted the man had any expertise in such things.

  From inside the carriage, Raif bellowed a curse, and Rew grinned. The way over the turf beside the road was not smooth, and inside of the package-filled carriage compartment, it would be like shaking the beans in a child’s rattle. It would be good for the nobleman, Rew thought, to see how the commoners rode when they were fortunate enough to find a place in a carriage.

  There was no proper gate barring entry to the city, but there were two dozen men standing around a point in road where it passed between two stone buildings. There were barrels beside them, which Rew guessed must be meant to block the way if there was an attack, but the defenses were close to laughable. Narjags could scramble over such obstacles in a matter of heartbeats, and unlike human attackers, they’d be driven by hunger and by valaan who’d care nothing for how many of the creatures died in the attack.

  The guards recognized the post carriage, if not its driver, and stepped back to allow passage. They did not check to see who was inside the carriage or why several extra passengers were riding with the driver atop of it. Another sign it’d been ages since they’d faced a real threat, thought Rew.

  There would be nothing easier than stopping a post carriage on the way into town, killing the driver, and using it as cover. Of course, he supposed, it wasn’t spies or assassins the people of Stanton needed to worry about. It was a tide of Dark Kind appearing out of nowhere in the countryside, headed to the largest city of any size to rampage.

  The post driver discharged them outside of Baron Appleby’s keep, and he watched closely as they spoke to the guards and were escorted inside. The man was still concerned about his career and what his supervisor would think about him granting a ride to strangers, but evidently, the decision to stop at the keep was enough to let them go without delay. Given what they’d been told about the Dark Kind plaguing the highway, Rew thought concerns about his job should be the least of the man’s worries. The least of everyone in Stanton’s worries.

  In the two days of riding on the post carriage, Rew had time to consider everything that they’d seen and everything that they’d heard. The Dark Kind represented a threat to any and all, and they would sow chaos even if it had been only rumors of their presence. Clearly, someone was attempting to upset the order in the entire Eastern Province. There was only one man capable of such a feat—Prince Calb.

  It had to be his work. He was a conjurer of incredible renown, though Rew had never suspected the man would be quite so vicious. The prince was the middle of the three brothers striving for the throne, and he was the one who kept the most to himself. Evidently, in that time he spent alone, he’d been preparing a flood of Dark Kind to assail Prince Valchon’s lands. Rew doubted Calb believed Valchon would fall to a swarm of Dark Kind, but it could distract the older brother, and it might weaken Valchon enough that Prince Heindaw would move against him. It was the way these things went, each brother trying to cut the other, wound them badly enough that they were vulnerable. That thousands of innocent people would die as collateral damage didn’t seem to bother any of the princes.

  “I cannot handle this myself. We must get word to Valchon,” said Baron Appleby the moment they’d been escorted into his throne room and relayed their theories to him. The crisply dressed noble was stalking back and forth across the marble dais at the head of his great hall, his hands clasped behind his back, thick wrinkles bristling from his forehead as he creased his brow in anxious thought. Wrinkles on his neatly tailored suit coat mirrored his forehead, implying it wasn’t the first day that the man had wrestled with the weight of the Dark Kind surrounding his city.

  “What would you have the prince do, m’lord?” asked a dry voice from the corner. Lord Fredrick, Baron Worgon’s son, stood and took a step toward the pacing Appleby. “These are your lands, are they not?”

  Anne frowned at the nobleman and whispered, “Where did he come from?”

  “Yarrow,” responded Rew quietly, glancing curiously at the nobleman. He’d been in Yarrow when they’d left there, just a day before the man’s father had been ambushed and killed. Why in the King’s Sake was Fredrick now in Stanton?

  Appleby stared at Lord Fredrick for a long moment and then said, “I cannot fight the Dark Kind alone. The reports of the narjags come in every day, and that’s not even counting what I can only hope are rumors of valaan. We have no idea how many there are, but it’s clear to me there are enough. My men are not trained for warfare like this.”

  Fredrick shook his head. “The Mordens respect strength, cousin. If you go running to Prince Valchon, you’ll look weak. He has no use for weak men.”

  Appleby threw up his hands. “What would you have me do? Wait until the narjags are storming through this very room? I don’t care what the prince thinks! Without him, we’ll lose it all. Maybe if we’d solicited Spinesend earlier—”

  “The duke is dead,” interjected Fredrick. “I was just there a week and a half ago. There’s no help from that quarter, I’m afraid. I’d planned… It doesn’t matter. No help was to come from there, so there’s no use dwelling on what may have been.”

  “You wanted Duke Eeron to name you Baron of Yarrow,” said Rew suddenly. “That’s why you’re here. With Eeron dead, you’ve continued toward Carff.”

  Lord Fredrick turned to look at the ranger. “I was going to Carff. It seems the road has grown rather dangerous.”

  “You left Yarrow alone and without your protection?” asked Rew. “The Dark Kind attacked Falvar. They’re here. They’ll be threatening Yarrow as well.”

  “That will be my concern once I’m named baron,” said Fredrick. He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Until then, Yarrow has walls and swords, and they can fend for themselves.”

  “Can they?” demanded Rew. “You know we were with your father. We s
aw what happened to your men. How many are left after that battle? Surely not enough to defend against a large pack of narjags.”

  “Not all of Yarrow’s strength accompanied my father,” retorted Fredrick with a tight smile. “My father was a fool. I am not. We retained enough men to guard the city until my return.”

  “But your magic c-could—“ stammered Raif, the big fighter staring in consternation at Fredrick.

  Fredrick raised an eyebrow. “What magic? Like you, Fedgley, I wasn’t gifted with my father’s talent. You of all people must understand what that is like, but I suppose you do, don’t you? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Traveling south to Carff, just as I, seeking the favor of the prince to name you Baron of Falvar? The prince, granting us dominion over our ancestral homes. Pfah. There should be no question we are the rightful heirs to our cities. A foolish formality, yet the prince has not done it. What are we to do except seek an audience?”

  Raif worked his mouth, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have left.”

  “You left,” retorted Fredrick scornfully. “That is just like the Fedgleys, to scold me for what you yourself are doing. You’ve always considered yourselves better than everyone else, haven’t you? That’s what got your father in trouble, isn’t it?”

  “That’s not… We left Falvar to save my father. He, ah—”

  “Save him? Lot of good that did.”

  Raif stood, seething. Whether because he was simply too angry to speak or because he’d learned a measure of maturity since Falvar, he did not rise to Fredrick’s bait.

  The older noble waited. Then his tone warmed as he continued, “Tell me, boy, when you petition Valchon, have you considered what approach you will take? Both of our fathers were loyal subjects to the prince, but we know that did not help them. Unfortunately, that means we are at a disadvantage because of our fathers’ failures. Valchon abhors weakness. Perhaps if we petitioned him jointly, we could make a… a strategy, I suppose, to show how the two of us will bring the Eastern Territory back under Valchon’s wing, how we’ll stamp out the treachery Duke Eeron and his ilk fomented, and grant the prince the support he needs. He’s interested in the Eastern Territory, you know? He had plans for the strength your father could bring. I overheard it. He’d promised great things for the Fedgleys. Did anyone tell you? No? Of course my father would not share such tidings with you. It doesn’t matter, you can work with me now, and we will keep both of our houses strong.”

  Raif grunted.

  “Pfah!” growled Baron Appleby, flapping at hand at Lord Fredrick. “Can you not save your machinations for another time? It’s all moot if we’re trapped here by the Dark Kind.”

  Lord Fredrick steepled his fingers, ignoring Appleby and studying the two Fedgley children over the long, thin digits. “You have thought about it, have you not? What was it, do you think, that made Prince Valchon so interested in Falvar? My father did not know, but he knew it was critical to Valchon’s plans.”

  “Your father used to do that,” said Rew suddenly, breaking his quiet. He held up his hand to show the nobleman what he was talking about.

  Fredrick blinked at him and quickly dropped his hands to his sides.

  “An unlucky turn, wasn’t it,” said Rew, his gaze locked on the nobleman, “that your father and his men were ambushed with the assistance of a glamour. That was your role in the court, was it not, to watch for low magic tricks? Unlucky for him you were not there that day, but lucky for you he didn’t march with Yarrow’s full force. Surprising, isn’t that? Deciding to challenge Duke Eeron without all of his men at his side?”

  Fredrick frowned at Rew. “What are you suggesting, Ranger?”

  “Nothing,” said Rew, giving the man a sharp smile. “How soon after your father fell did you leave Yarrow? It couldn’t have been very long. Did you go to Spinesend, hoping to solicit the duke’s blessing to rule so shortly after the man killed your father? That was a bold choice, Fredrick. If it was me, I’d be quite worried the man who killed my father had just as much reason to kill me.”

  “I’m properly called Lord Fredrick, but you are right, I was worried. Of course I was, but Yarrow needed a ruler,” snapped Fredrick. “These are trying times, Ranger. Even out in the wilderness, I have heard there is a growing presence of the Dark Kind. It seems, like the rest of us, you’ve left your post—”

  “Aye, I go where the Dark Kind go, and it seems they are here. Don’t worry, I communicated with the king just days ago. He knows exactly where I am and what I’m doing. I am his agent, after all. Why, may I ask, are you here? Why stop in Stanton?”

  Hissing, Lord Fredrick pointed a finger at Appleby. “I came here, Ranger, so that I could return to Yarrow quickly. My cousin had an invoker in his court who could’ve opened a portal to Carff. I’d be there in moments. The prince could return me after confirming my title as Baron of Yarrow. Coming to Stanton was the quickest way to fulfill my duties to the kingdom and to the Barony of Yarrow. You’ve no knowledge of the ways of the nobility, so I’d thank you to keep your razor tongue and your suspicions locked inside of your mouth.”

  Rew blinked and turned slowly to Appleby. “You have a spellcaster in your employ who can open a portal?”

  “I did,” responded Appleby gruffly, showing some frustration that the conversation seemed to have turned entirely from his city and its needs. “He’s dead now.”

  “How? Why did this spellcaster not go to Carff already?”

  Baron Appleby shrugged uncomfortably and told them, “Rumors and suspicion, that’s all we’ve had to work on. With no intelligence of what we face, my commanders can’t even prepare our defense! Should we expect attack from the east, the west? Will there be an attack at all, or will these monsters seek easier meat in the surrounding villages? Had we run to Valchon, what would we have told him? We’ve all heard stories, but none of my men had actually put eyes on what is out there. We had to know, so I sent one hundred of my best men and my invoker to learn what they could. That was four days ago. Two days ago, the party was discovered by a band of adventurers. Every one of my men was dead, including the invoker. The adventurers reported they gave as good as they got, much better even, but there were too many of the Dark Kind. Even with the backing of my strongest high magician, they were overwhelmed. So yes, Ranger, my invoker is dead. It has left us little option except to hunker down and offer hope to the Blessed Mother.”

  “If he’d portaled to Carff…” murmured Anne.

  “I know,” snapped Baron Appleby. “We could have gone to Valchon for help, but like I said, we didn’t know what we faced. Fredrick is right. The prince hates weakness. All of the Mordens do. My seat in this barony is tentative enough. If I’d gone running to the prince to save us, the first thing he would have done is throw me out of the keep and tear my family’s title into shreds.” The baron cursed then glanced around the party. “I wish I’d had the courage to face that, but I didn’t. It’s my burden, my guilt, and I acknowledge it. I may have cost the people of Stanton our lives, but dwelling on that grants us no succor. I’ve sent messengers, but they’ve turned up dead, too. We heard from the last of the merchants who made it through from the south. It’s been a day since anyone’s arrived from that direction. The adventurers… maybe they’ll go. Though I’ve little trust in such men and women, I have no other ideas.”

  Rew scratched his beard. “A band of adventurers?”

  Appleby nodded curtly. “That’s what they call themselves. Mercenaries, anyone else would call them. Who am I to complain? I’ve hired them for Stanton’s protection and wrestled with whether to keep them here to bolster our defenses or to send them with our grim tidings. Stanton is a peaceful place, Ranger. Even fifty years ago, we didn’t have to face more than scattered remnants of the Dark Kind’s forces. No, my ancestors have dealt with bandits, runaways from other territories, the occasional rabble that thinks they don’t owe their taxes, and that is it. It’s been generations since we’ve engaged in full-scale war. We’ve never
needed to. I hoped these mercenaries—adventurers, whatever—I hoped they would help, but they’ve been as useless as I have. I don’t like admitting this, believe me, but I’m afraid that it is too late, and I have failed.”

  On the side of the throne room, Lord Fredrick crossed his arms over his chest, as if condemning Baron Appleby. A fine position to take when he was hundreds of leagues from his own city, thought Rew.

  Rew turned back to Appleby. “What of your own skill? We saw your soldiers on the way in. With your help, couldn’t they—?”

  Appleby snorted. “I’m an invoker of small talent, Ranger, and I’ve only got two hundred men left under my command. We’ve wealth that I collect from merchants on the road, but most of it is spent securing that road, and what’s left over fattens the prince’s coffers. I and my people are not a military or a financial power. We’ve survived holding these lands for generations because we’re not strong enough or rich enough to draw the eye of the princes and their minions. For five generations, we’ve never attempted to rise above our station. Now, it seems, I’m to pay for that, our people as well. I don’t have the men to protect this city, and my messengers cannot get through. Not even the king’s post drivers will venture south now. I was in communication with Duke Eeron, and he’d promised support, but it never came. He’s dead, as you said. His remaining commanders and courtiers have sent polite declinations. They won’t march to our aid. They’ve their own problems, they claim. To be fair, it’s probably true.”

  “You have to do something,” barked Cinda.

  “What?” asked Appleby, spinning to face the noblewoman. “What would your father do, if he hadn’t been taken from his own throne room and killed like a dog in Spinesend? Burn a few narjags with the breath of death? Animate his soldiers when they fell to continue the fight? Pfah. I don’t care to be told what a dead man would have done in my place.”