Remove the Shroud: The King's Ranger Book 3

by AC Cobble

  After the first few of many courses, Valchon stood and told Rew and the others that his servants would show them to rooms and baths after they’d dined. No one objected to the prince leaving, but all the same, he apologized profusely as if he was retiring after a grand ball and they were his courtiers.

  Before he left, he leaned toward Rew. “One last word?”

  The ranger nodded and followed Valchon to the side of the room.

  The prince cleared his throat and inquired, “Alsayer?”

  Rew raised an eyebrow.

  “My servants reported the state of the room you were waiting in,” remarked Valchon. “He met you there? That man is like a particularly frustrating fish, always taking the worm from my hook or wriggling mysteriously through the nets I’ve placed for him. Here, in my own palace? I’ll be honest with you, Rew, I don’t know how he entered undetected, though I can make an easy guess at how he left. What happened? Did you confront him about Falvar, Spinesend?”

  “I did,” muttered Rew, speaking cautiously. “It, ah… Sorry about the damage we caused. Confront is a mild word for what I had to say to the man.”

  “Every bit worth it, I assume. I’m told you spilled his blood?”

  “Not enough of it.”

  Grunting, Valchon nodded, looking distracted. Rew’s fingers twitched, and he closed his fist, forcing himself not to yank his hunting knife free of the sheath. He waited impatiently, wondering if Valchon was finally getting to demanding the price he had mentioned earlier.

  “Where is he now?” questioned the prince.

  Rew crossed his arms over his chest. “That I do not know. We scuffled. He lashed out at the others which stayed my hand. Then, he fled through a portal.”

  “What did he want?” pressed Valchon. “Surely he must have had something important to discuss with you if he risked the conversation in my palace! Tell me what he wanted?”

  Shaking his head, Rew answered honestly, “I don’t know. That man… he keeps popping up unexpectedly, and I’ve fought with him several times in as many months, but he never finishes the fight. Each time, he’s fled through a portal where I cannot follow. He could be anywhere.”

  “Was he after the children?”

  “He has their sister already, and she’s the one with talent.”

  Frantically, Rew tried to imagine a scenario he could turn the encounter with Alsayer to his advantage. Would telling Valchon that Alsayer was interested in Stanton help or hurt the city’s chances? He certainly couldn’t tell Valchon that Alsayer had asked Rew to wait a little while before killing the prince… But what else would Valchon believe was a conversation worth the spellcaster taking the risk in the palace?

  “If I ever get my hands on that bastard…” growled Valchon. He clenched his fist, and Rew’s hackles rose, feeling the building charge of high magic. But just as quickly, Valchon released it, and opened his hand. “Which of my brothers do you think he supports?”

  Rew shrugged. He didn’t know Valchon’s angles or Alsayer’s, so he elected, instead of trying to manipulate the prince, to tell him the truth. Some of it, at least. “Both of them? Neither of them? I don’t know. I wish I did. I think at times, he’s served both of them but never faithfully. If it helps, I doubt Calb or Heindaw trust the man, either. He’s playing his own game, though it’s beyond me what it might be.”

  Valchon reached up and brushed back his hair. “The Investiture is a tangled weave of alliances and betrayals. Threads of loyalty span centuries or merely minutes. The winner of the contest will be the one who weaves fastest, who accumulates the most allies and positions them correctly. It’s like a Kings and Queens game board. One must—ah, you do not play, I forget. It’s all about recruiting allies and watching for those who will betray you. I speak to you openly, Rew, which is something I rarely do with anyone these days. I have no idea what Alsayer is up to, and it infuriates me. What does the man want? Coin, land, prestige? Power, of course, we all do, but I can’t fathom the twisted path he’s walking to get there. You are right. Neither I nor any of my brothers would trust the spellcaster at our backs once this is over. Whoever ascends the throne, they’re going to kill Alsayer the first chance they get. I have dreams of killing that man. He has to know that none of us will ever trust him, doesn’t he?”

  Rew snorted. “Don’t trust Alsayer. We all have that in common, if nothing else. What do you suspect he’s been up to?”

  Valchon threw up his hands. “That’s a good question. We should pool our knowledge, Rew. Tell each other what we know, and perhaps together, we can paint a full picture. You go first.”

  Rew scratched his beard. That was like Valchon, to speak of sharing and then insist the other go first. He looked at Valchon and saw the man’s eyes glittering back at him. Rew shook his head. “Valchon, I don’t know what Alsayer seeks. The truth? I thought in Falvar he was acting in concert with you. It was certainly risky, operating in your province against you, but whoever he was working for… It’s interesting that he did not give them the wraiths he captured from Fedgley, isn’t it? He communicated with the Dark Kind outside of Falvar, so I’d guessed that he was in league with Calb, but I believe it was Heindaw he kidnapped Fedgley for… Ah, it’s too twisted of a knot for me to unravel. Alsayer fought Vyar. I saw that, so the one thing I’m sure of now is that Alsayer is not working for you.”

  Prince Valchon grunted, his face as blank as a mask.

  Rew eyed him, wondering what that mask hid, and asked, “What do you know?”

  “Alsayer is the one who opened the portal for Duke Eeron’s army to ambush Baron Worgon. Eeron supported Calb, which is why the Dark Kind threaten everywhere in the province except for Spinesend. So you’re right, the spellcaster acted on behalf of Calb. But as you say, in Falvar, he was coordinating with Arcanist Salwart, who fled to Heindaw in Iyre. I suspect it was Alsayer’s connection with the duke that fooled Eeron into holding Fedgley in Spinesend, perhaps to confuse myself, or… Pfah! He’s thrown his support behind both of them, but who does he truly owe allegiance to? You swear it is not you? You are not working together with the man?”

  Rew laughed. “Valchon, there is little trust between you and I, and I don’t think either of us believes that there ever will be, but I assure you that I am being honest with you now. If I see Alsayer again, I plan to strangle him with my bare hands.”

  Valchon grinned. “More and more in common, Rew. Twenty years ago, who would have thought? Good night, Ranger, and—“

  “Rethink Stanton, will you?” asked Rew, raising a hand to catch the prince’s sleeve but then quickly taking a step back instead. “Those are your people, Valchon. If you don’t go and soon, they’re going to die.”

  Losing his grin, Valchon replied, “I know. They are my people, and I’m going to let them down. It’s the bitter calculus of what we do, Rew, of who we are. Those are my people, but soon, all of Vaeldon will be mine. If I move to protect Stanton, it will leave somewhere else open, and my brothers will take advantage, and people will die. I can’t save it all, so I’m doing what I can.”

  “Are you?”

  “You’ve seen enough of the pieces on the board to tell I’m playing defense. It is not I surrounding towns with Dark Kind. It is not I attacking barons in their keeps, killing their wives, and imprisoning them. I am doing all that I’m able, but I cannot fight both of my brothers at once. The only way this ends is when they die. That, Rew, is how I’m trying to save lives.”

  “It shouldn’t be like this.”

  “You could help me.”

  Shaking his head, the ranger stepped back. “That’s your price, is it?”

  “We don’t have to be enemies, Rew. I offer you no threats, to your person or to your secrets. All I ask is that you think of what I’m suggesting. Calb and Heindaw will kill countless people. You know that. You’ve seen that! If you want to stop them…”

  “Rescue Stanton, and I will seek out your brothers,” said Rew quietly, looking away from the prince. “If you
want my help, you have to earn it.”

  Valchon drew himself up, standing half a head taller than Rew, and responded, “I’ll think about your offer.”

  “Valchon, there’s not much time…”

  “I’ll think about it, but remember no matter what I decide, it is my brothers who are forcing this. They are the enemy of us both. In your heart, you know it is not I who released the Dark Kind on Stanton or killed your companions’ parents or ambushed Baron Worgon. The blood is not on my hands. If you want it to end, then help me end it!”

  “I’m not going to be your assassin, Valchon.”

  “Then you carry the same guilt as I.”

  The prince inclined his head, spun on his heel, and left the banquet hall.

  Scowling, Rew returned to the table and waved for another glass of Valchon’s wine.

  Late that evening, Rew sat in their rooms, slumped in a stuffed leather chair. One leg was hanging over the arm of the chair, and a glass of wine was cradled in his hands. The windows were flung open, and the pervasive scent of flowers and spices filled the room. It was a chilly night, but not as cold as they’d been on the road, and with a fire, he was enjoying the contrast. He was staring into his wineglass, watching the firelight illuminating the ruby liquid, making it seem as if it was alive, when the nameless woman settled beside him. He wanted to be alone, so he did not look at her. She did not let that stop her.

  “That could have been worse.”

  Rew grunted and did not respond.

  “He said he’d think about it, right?” she pressed. “Maybe tomorrow there’s a way you could—“

  “What is it you want? Why are you still with us?”

  The woman raised a glass. “I told you. I’d heard he had the greatest wine cellars in Vaeldon.”

  “You did say that,” muttered Rew, rolling his eyes. “You also said there was no Cursed Father.”

  The woman offered him a wry smile. “Perhaps I misspoke. There is a Cursed Father, but it—he, I should say—is not what you think. It’s a construct started by the first Vaisius Morden. I don’t know why, so don’t ask, but I know it to be true. Its lore, Ranger, written in the most ancient histories of the Sons of the Father.”

  Rew frowned. He’d had too much wine. Vaisius Morden had started a death cult? His thoughts were sluggish. The woman wasn’t making sense, and as he considered it, he decided she hadn’t answered his question. “What does that have to do with why you’ve joined us?”

  “My father devoted his life to a religion which is nothing more than chicanery. It’s a story told by the kingdom’s greatest charlatan. Why? Why is that, Ranger?”

  “How should I know?”

  “I don’t expect you to know,” she replied with a laugh, “but I expect you to get me into the places where someone does know. The king finances the priesthood. It is his tax revenue that fills the coffers which allows the priests to fill the crypts. Why?”

  Rew drank his wine. It felt like following the trail of his thoughts was wading through knee-deep mud. The woman didn’t mean for him to answer her, he thought. He wouldn’t respond, even if she pressed, because he realized he knew the answer. Why would the world’s greatest necromancer establish a cult that was purported to bless the departure of a soul from a body? Who but the world’s most powerful necromancer would want crypts full of corpses? Rew didn’t need to speculate about the details. The concept was terrifying enough as it was.

  He considered whether that made his plans more or less dangerous and decided it didn’t change much at all. Morden was already far more powerful than Rew and more powerful than Cinda ever would be. More powerful than anyone would ever be, Rew hoped. It wasn’t strength that could give them an advantage. It was trickery. That was had been and would be their only hope. Still… He sighed. That a two-hundred-year-old death cult formed by an immortal necromancer was not more frightening spoke to how difficult their challenge was… and to how much of Valchon’s wine he’d drank, Rew admitted. Ten years ago, he’d known with certainty that he did not have the ability to stop the king. Did he have a chance now, even with Cinda? His thoughts were muddled. He wasn’t sure.

  But what did that have to do with the nameless woman? They’d made it in front of Prince Valchon, and she hadn’t said a word about the Cursed Father or any of it. What was she waiting for?

  “What else did you learn, studying with the Sons of the Father?” asked Anne.

  Rew jerked, nearly spilling his wine over his stomach. Anne had been sitting quietly beside him the last hour, and he’d forgotten she was there.

  “You’re worried the Blessed Mother is a fabrication as well?” asked the woman.

  Anne shook her head. “No, I am not. The Blessed Mother is real. I’ve felt her.”

  The woman shrugged and lifted her wine. “That could be. I don’t know. I’ve never personally felt anything of the sort, but I won’t discount those who say they do. In the literature of the Sons of the Father, the Blessed Mother is considered his equal. She’s the giver of life. He’s the taker. Balance. It’s a neat fiction. It resonates with people and gives them answers to what they are seeking, allows them a framework they can use to make sense of their lives. Could part of it be true? I suppose so. I make no claims about the Mother, only about the Father, and he is nothing more than a dangerous fabrication.”

  Anne shook her head.

  “That still doesn’t answer why you are with us,” said Rew, staring at the woman, trying to pin her down with the weight of his sight. “If you want answers, why are you pestering me and not Valchon? It’s his father who… who is the Cursed Father.”

  “My father taught me about the Cursed Father until we were discovered,” said the woman. “It is illegal to share the secrets with anyone outside of the cult—and particularly with any woman, but he persevered. He’d obtained the highest tier in the Sons of the Father, and he didn’t like what he’d found. He thought to arm me with both knowledge and skill to survive in a world that was far more terrible than he’d believed. My father diverted funds from the temple to pay for my education in arms. He bought me this armor, and he told me what he knew. His punishment was to be taken by the Father.”

  “Ah,” said Rew, feeling sick. He finally understood what the woman’s purpose was.

  “In his studies, my father found a way to sever my connections to the world. The king can no longer find me with his magic, but my father could not do the same for himself. The king would have known if he suddenly disappeared, so instead, my father burned the temple down around himself, destroying all traces of who I was and giving me the head start which has kept me alive. You know the king, though, Ranger. You know that death is not the end. In death, the king took my father. He still has him. That, Ranger, is why I am following you. I’ve been traveling for four years, crossing back and forth across Vaeldon, searching for someone who could help me, anyone who could help me. I found you. Only you.”

  “Why do you think I will help you?”

  “You helped the children find their father, did you not? It seems to be a specialty of yours.”

  “Aye, and their father is dead now,” snapped Rew. “Call it a specialty if you like, but the doesn’t mean I’m any good at it.”

  “My father is already dead,” said the woman stoically. “What worse could happen?”

  Chastised, Rew murmured, “I am sorry. I didn’t mean—“

  “I’ve heard the stories of what this group has done. A spellcaster and the ranger commandant? Imps? Dark Kind? I saw what you could do against those with my own eyes. The valaan…” The woman shuddered. “And then, tonight, your word alone got us an audience with Prince Valchon. He respected you as an equal. I’d planned to confront the man and beg for his help until I saw that.” The woman sat forward, her eyes like burning embers in her face. “The others did not understand, but I did. Prince Valchon respected you as an equal. He feared you, Ranger.”

  Rew turned away.

  “I do not need your secrets, but
I do need your help,” declared the woman. “With you, we will free my father from the Cursed Father and grant him his peace.”

  “Despite what you may have heard, I am not in the business of saving people’s fathers.”

  The woman opened her mouth to retort, but Anne shushed him and said, “We have matters to attend to. We cannot make you any promises, but we will not turn you away, either. You are free to continue with us as an equal member of our group as long as you respect Rew’s leadership and you understand our direction is determined by him, not by you. Perhaps, in the end, your father’s soul may be freed. We will assist if we can, but our mission comes first.”

  The woman sat quietly and thought for a moment before agreeing. “That is fair.”

  Anne nodded as if something was settled, and the nameless woman stood up and left them.

  Rew let his head fall back against the chair. Quietly, speaking to the ceiling, he asked, “Do we not have enough going on already without taking in another stray?”

  “She’s different,” said Anne. “She’s not like the children.”

  “Aye.”

  “She may help us, Rew. She could not stand against the valaan, but the woman can fight.”

  “She may help us. She may not,” he grumbled. “How does that make her any different from any other stranger we stumble across? If she travels with us, how can we be sure we can trust her? Today, a single wrong word in front of Valchon, and all of us could have been killed.”

  “She did not say that word. She held our confidence and earned our trust.”

  “She’s a skilled fighter, I’ll grant you, but she comes with complications.”

  “Complications and knowledge,” retorted Anne. She put a hand on his leg. “Rew, tell me, can we not use this secret information about the Cursed Father she claims to have? If you mean to… the king… Can you tell me her knowledge isn’t valuable?”