Remove the Shroud: The King's Ranger Book 3

by AC Cobble

  There was no reason to wait, now. Stanton’s fate was sealed.

  Rew twitched again, and his gaze flicked between the plainly-dressed woman, Stanton, and back. Would Cinda act? He couldn’t risk looking at her, couldn’t risk prodding her. If Valchon’s guardian saw, she may understand in an instant. Could Cinda, untrained, master such a geyser of power quickly enough to lash out against all of those on the hill? Rew wasn’t sure, but he knew if he looked at her, they would lose that precious surprise.

  Valchon stood still as stone, his arms raised high. The woman, his most trusted protector, never looked away from Rew. She grinned at him.

  After several minutes, it was over. Cinda had not struck, and Valchon’s spell was spent. The clouds, still hot and boiling, began to dissipate slowly, and the rain of meteors streaking down into the city trickled away until only a few small, whistling missiles crashed into the billowing heat and smoke. What was left of Stanton was engulfed in flame and black clouds. Rew knew when those fires finally died down, the buildings, the narjags, and the people would be completely obliterated.

  Without question, no one had survived the attack. Nothing had. Any trace of what Stanton had once been was gone forever. There was nothing to rebuild, nothing to start over from except blasted ruins. The monument to Stanton would be there for a hundred years, and as Valchon turned to look at Rew, the ranger saw the prince had planned it that way. Valchon had wanted this. Maybe he’d told the truth about the wraiths, and he would have used them if he could, but without them, he’d made a show of destroying his own people, his own city, as a message to all others—not just his brothers, though they were a part of the audience. Valchon wanted everyone in Vaeldon to know what had occurred there that day, to know now, and to know in the future, when he planned to take the throne and rule as king. Stanton was Valchon’s promise of the type of king he would be.

  Bile was rising in Rew’s throat at the sight of the man looking at him, a man he’d known for years, a man who’d… There was a finality to it. Before, Rew had planned to kill Valchon and his brothers. He’d thought to find a chance to slide a blade home. He’d wondered if that chance would arise and what he’d do if it didn’t. He’d stayed his hand at dinner the night before. He would not do that again. Rew couldn’t live in a world where these men ruled, where they even existed. Chance or no chance, Rew couldn’t coexist with such evil. They had to be stopped. Nothing else mattered.

  The plainly-dressed woman stepped closer to the ranger. Over the distant cracking of heat-shattered stone and roaring flames in Stanton, she demanded, “Has the girl not seen death before?”

  Rew, for the first time since Valchon had begun calling his magic, looked to Cinda. She was bone-white, quaking, only able to stand because Raif had an arm wrapped around her. Her eyes were blank, as if she could not see anything around them. Now that he was looking at her, Rew heard tiny whimpers. She hadn’t cast her magic because it was too much for her, more than she could manage. It’d been their opportunity, but she was a novice. She hadn’t been ready.

  Rew cleared his throat and loudly declared, “She’s a sensitive soul.”

  “Is she?” wondered the plainly-dressed woman, taking another step toward Cinda.

  “She’s my apprentice,” claimed Anne, putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

  The woman looked at Anne curiously and then grinned, her teeth flashing white. “Ah, yes, the empath. I’ve heard of you. A unique talent, we have been told. You must feel what happened below. You passed through Stanton a week ago, no? Was that enough to forge a connection? Tell me, does it hurt? Could you feel them dying?”

  “You’ve heard of me?”

  “It’s my job to know who comes before Valchon,” responded the woman. She turned her gaze to Rew. “It’s my job to stand between him and danger, whatever form it might take. Are you satisfied the threat of the Dark Kind is over, Ranger? Was this what you wanted?”

  “You have us at a disadvantage,” responded Rew, his voice cracking. He kept his arms locked across his chest to prevent himself from drawing his longsword. “You know much of us, but I’m afraid I know nothing of you. Who are you, to be so trusted by the prince?”

  Behind the woman, Valchon opened a portal back to his palace in Carff, and like before, a trio of spellcasters led the way, followed by swordsmen, and then the prince himself.

  The woman held her position between Rew’s party and the portal until Valchon was safely through. Smirking, she said, “I would not be very good at my job if you knew who I was.”

  “Odd, then, that you chose to accompany the prince today. It’s not often you see a spymaster out in the open.”

  “No, I suppose not,” said the woman, her cruel smirk growing broader. “But for the right occasion—“

  Behind the woman, through the open portal, there was a scream. A screeching wail was followed by a bestial shriek and then shouts as swordsmen and spellcasters responded to an attack. The woman spun and sprinted toward the open portal.

  “After her!” cried Rew, shoving Raif and Cinda before him and spinning to grip Zaine’s arm and haul her after. “If that closes, we’re stuck a week away from Carff!”

  The rim of the vortex, purple with crackling gold, began to close. Not the violent snapping shut they’d seen before, when a caster ended their spell, but a closing because the caster was distracted, under attack, and had lost concentration on maintaining the portal.

  The prince’s spymaster seemed to flow between the swordsmen and spellcasters trying to force their way through the slowly closing opening, displaying a supernatural grace that ought to have been impossible.

  Rew moved after her through the swordsman and spellcasters like a lawn bowling ball crashing through a set of pins. He shoved and flung men out of his way as he led the party toward the portal, and when they got there, he paused a breath to make sure his companions were still on his heels.

  “Stay behind you. I know!” shouted Raif.

  The fighter and the nameless woman were bringing up the rear, and as Valchon’s minions realized they’d been pushed out of the way, they suddenly surged forward. Raif swung an elbow back into a man’s face. The nameless woman tripped another and stepped over him. Rew charged through the portal, his companions and several of Valchon’s people rushing in behind him. Half the remaining people on the hill squeezed through, and then the portal winked out. Rew looked around the room they’d stormed into.

  He quickly regretted the decision to use the portal.

  Prince Valchon stood in the middle of his throne room, his arms raised, whips of lightning trailing from his fists. He was lashing them about, wrapping the crackling strands around hulking imps and charring them to cinders with a pulse of blazing energy.

  His spellcasters had spread out and were locked in their own battles with a horde of imps that were pouring through the windows and the doors of the throne room. Invokers were flinging heaving globs of liquid fire or thrusting out hands and launching jagged spears of ice. Conjurers were smashing vials, releasing captive summonings of their own, and sending their imps into the midst of the battle, where no one would tell which side which imp was on—including the imps themselves—so they simply began killing everything they could get their claws into. Swordsmen raised their blades valiantly and, for the most part, died where they stood.

  Rew tugged Cinda tight and shouted in her ear, “No matter what, you do nothing! Cinda, do nothing!”

  They’d missed their chance to take down Valchon with the flow of power from Stanton, so now all Cinda could do was give herself away. Rew glanced at Anne, who stood on the other side of the noblewoman, and she nodded understanding. Prince Valchon—and the king—thought it was Kallie Fedgley who was the necromancer that Heindaw wanted. Valchon had proven that by allowing Cinda to witness the destruction of Stanton, and if the king had any doubts, they would be assuaged if he learned of the event. The Mordens didn’t realize Cinda was capable of necromancy. It was worth her life to maintain tha
t fiction.

  Rew, Raif, and the nameless woman formed a triangle with the others inside. Zaine fired an arrow, catching a giant imp in its muscular shoulder. The creature, the size of an overgrown bull, snarled in rage. Then, it charged.

  Rew wanted to curse at Zaine for drawing attention to them but didn’t have time. The imp was to them in two gigantic bounds, and the ranger rushed forward to meet it. He didn’t want that thing within arm’s reach of the others.

  The imp swept a huge, clawed hand at him, and Rew ducked beneath the blow and came up swinging, hacking into its tough hide with his longsword before deciding he should have taken more care and delivered a killing blow.

  The imp spun, smashing him with the back of its arm, and Rew went tumbling across the marble floor before springing back to his feet and lunging. He rammed his longsword into the imp’s chin, plunging the blade into its brain. He fought free then leapt at the back of another imp that was battering Raif.

  The fighter had fallen to his knees as the creature’s heavily muscled arms flailed against him. Blood streamed down one side of his face, but Raif kept his greatsword up, meeting each of the imp’s ferocious strikes.

  Rew stabbed his longsword into the creature’s back, and at the same moment, the nameless woman’s scimitar flashed across its neck.

  “We have to get our backs against a—pfah!” cried Rew. They needed to get their backs to something, but the imps were still cascading in through the windows and the doors. The space along the walls was covered by a rain of muscles, claws, and teeth.

  Another imp came screaming out of the boiling conflict, and Rew stepped in, slashing at its face to stall it. Raif lunged forward, putting his weight behind a thrust and skewering the beast through the chest.

  “Nicely done,” called Rew as they both backed away toward their companions.

  A dozen paces away, an invoker gripped the arm of an imp, its flesh smoldering where he tried to cast enough heat into the beast to finish it, but before he could summon the power, the imp grasped his head with its other hand and dug a clawed-finger deep into the man’s eye. The imp wiggled its finger, scrambling the man’s brain, then threw his body aside.

  The imp turned toward Rew and the others, but before it could attack, Valchon’s spymaster came spinning gracefully through the madness, wielding two gleaming silver poignards. She plunged one into the side of the imp then moved on, drawing the slender blade free. The poignard shone in the wicked light from the spells being cast all around them. It was spotless. Rew watched in awe as the spymaster fell upon another imp, felling it with the same casual ease. Whatever the woman’s other skills, it was obvious the two blades she wielded were imbued with deadly enchantments.

  In the center of the room, Valchon roared and spun, his lightning whips churning wildly around him. His people had fallen away, evidently deciding they faced better odds near the imps. None of those creatures had reached the prince, but it was difficult to tell in the insanity of the room which side was getting the better of it.

  A cloud of ink black speckled with shimmering stars blew through the room a dozen paces away, tearing through three imps and one swordsman like they were made of soft clay.

  Rew spun and saw Alsayer stalking down the stairs at the front of the throne room and joining the battle, waving his hands like he was orchestrating a stringed quartet playing for some pretentious nobleman. Around the spellcaster, space cleared almost as much as it did around Valchon. Alsayer laid waste to the nearby imps.

  “You!” bellowed Rew, pointing at his cousin with his longsword.

  “I don’t have time for this!” shouted Alsayer, his voice barely rising above the tumult of the battle. He flung his hand up and sent a burning jet of fire past Rew, catching an imp in the chest, igniting the thing like a pitch-soaked brand.

  “Watch them,” growled Rew to Raif and the nameless woman. He took a step toward Alsayer.

  The spellcaster was killing the imps, but Rew couldn’t believe the man wasn’t somehow responsible for all of this.

  “I don’t have time,” cried Alsayer again. He raised his hands, palms up, and the marble floor beneath Rew’s feet shattered, tilting wildly and throwing Rew sideways where he slid a dozen paces across the slanted surface.

  He rolled down the sloped floor and jabbed up with his longsword into a small imp that had sprung after him. He shoved it off and staggered to his feet. Alsayer cast one his black clouds into another pack of imps, shredding them and two of Valchon’s spellcasters in the process. Alsayer pursed his lips in a frown, as if pondering whether sacrificing the two spellcasters to kill a few imps had been a good bargain. Rew started toward Alsayer, hoping to catch the man while he looked the other way, teetering on the edge of the shattered flooring.

  Alsayer sensed him coming and twisted, sending a hissing jet of fire at Rew.

  The ranger dodged, but his cloak caught flame, and orange and red sparks trailed him as he twisted out of the path of the spellcaster’s attack.

  Then, Valchon was beside Alsayer, and the two men began unleashing a spiraling matrix of white stars, battling in a coordinated fashion that was impossible to believe was spontaneous. The stars they released gleamed too bright to look at and spun too fast to be tracked even if you could. In a blink, afterimages were burned into Rew’s vision. He looked away, but it wasn’t difficult to follow the path of the destructive spells. They spun in a circle around the two spellcasters, and where they went, flesh and bone was hewn.

  Imps roared and screamed as they were shorn apart. It was like a dozen giant saw blades from a lumber mill had been sent rolling around the room in ever-expanding circles. Arms, legs, and torsos were severed, and heavy chunks of flesh cascaded across the marble floor. The stars were directed, to an extent. Many of Valchon’s men survived, though plenty died as well. The survivors stood where they were, too terrified to move, and Rew saw more than one man stain their pants as they lost the battle against pure terror.

  Flapping his cloak to extinguish the flame that kissed the hem, Rew stalked toward the prince and the spellcaster.

  “The portal stones,” Alsayer was shouting. “That’s where they’re coming from. We have to shut them down.”

  Valchon turned to the entrance of the throne room, and Alsayer risked grabbing the other man’s sleeve. “By the time we fight our way there, even more will have come through.”

  Alsayer pointed down, and the prince nodded curtly.

  Rew crouched, prepared to spring at the backs of the men. He hefted his longsword and offered a hope to the Blessed Mother. Valchon or Alsayer—he hadn’t decided yet. He had a chance to take one of them but likely not both.

  He pushed off a raised ledge of shattered masonry, launching himself toward the men, his longsword raised above his head to chop down with a devastating blow. Then, the floor in front of Valchon and Alsayer exploded, and Rew was hurled back. The ranger, thrown like a leaf before a storm wind, cartwheeled and rolled across the floor. He slid into the wall and lay there, crumpled.

  “King’s Sake,” he groaned, opening one eye to see Valchon and Alsayer standing at the opening they’d created through the floor of the throne room. It seemed neither man had been affected by the explosion. As one, the two spellcasters jumped down into the hole before them. Rew repeated, “King’s Sake.”

  Anne rushed toward him, falling to her knees and sliding against him. She put her hands on his body, but Rew shoved her away.

  She looked at him, astonished, and he gently took her wrist. “I’m all right, Anne.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “No empathy,” muttered Rew. He tried to stand but wavered.

  The empath stood, and he braced himself against her arm. Together, they dragged his battered body up so he was on his feet.

  “This is madness, Rew.”

  “No empathy,” he said again then began stumbling toward the hole in the floor where Valchon and Alsayer had disappeared.

  Without the two spellcasters, the fig
ht in the room was turning against the men. Imps were still pouring in, though not as quickly, and their opponents were tired and shocked. More soldiers pounded in through the main doorway, but the floor of the throne room was scattered with huge chunks of shattered marble and broken bodies. The soldiers stepped inside, and their enthusiasm waned the second they saw what they were dealing with. It appeared most of Valchon’s spellcasters were already engaged or dead.

  Rew glanced around frantically and saw that the rest of their party was still intact, though Raif had blood dripping from his face onto his armor and walked with a limp, and the nameless woman held one of her arms close, as if she was worried it was broken. Cinda and Zaine seemed all right, though the noblewoman’s face was pale as milk. She held her belt knife in her hand, and from the distance, Rew could see it gleamed with blood. Zaine only had two arrows left in her quiver, but one was nocked on her bow, and as Rew watched, she fired it at an imp that was leaping onto the back of a soldier.

  She touched the arrows at her side and called to Rew, “I’m saving these two in case I get a shot. Did you see? They jumped down into that hole, wherever that goes.”

  Rew gave her a quick nod. “Let’s go after them.”

  “Rew, are you sure?” called Anne, crouching close to the others, looking around wildly as the battle raged throughout the room.

  He gestured around them and said, “Valchon can’t get any more distracted than this, and you saw what he’s capable of. I don’t want him to see me coming.”

  Leading the party toward the yawning hole in the floor, Rew tried to steer them around the tangled swarms of imps and battling swordsmen and spellcasters when he could, and he cut their way through the fighting when he could not avoid it. They reached the edge of the hole in the floor, and Rew saw that beneath the throne room was the chamber which housed Carff’s portal stones. A dozen arches that linked to the other major cities in the kingdom and wherever else Valchon wanted to dispatch his minions in a hurry. In the center of the room, Valchon and Alsayer were surrounded by dead imps, and one by one, the portal stones were flickering quiet as the spellcasters sealed them with their magic.