by AC Cobble
Rew had begun to wonder if perhaps Alsayer was wrong, that there had been no beacon affixed to him or that its effect was also dampened by whatever affected the spellcaster’s own magic. Rew shivered and tried to ignore the sneaking suspicion that the spellcaster had been lying about the beacon, but then they came across the site of a battle.
They heard it first, the neighing of horses and the shouts of men. The party had glanced at each other, surprised there would be enough people out in the barrowlands to make such a racket, but when they moved along the curling road and cleared one of the low hills, they saw why.
Men, clad in the azure livery of the Fedgley’s, dull chainmail shirts beneath their tunics and helms on their heads, were moving about a trampled field covered in dead Dark Kind. There were dozens of the men and near a hundred dead narjags and ayres. At the edge of the battlefield, a tent had been set up, and Anne immediately started toward it, ignoring the surprised calls of the armored men when they saw the party appear.
“Let her go,” said Rew. Then, he gestured for Raif and Cinda to lead the way to the warriors. When the nobles moved off, in a lower voice, Rew asked Alsayer, “Could the Dark Kind have been preparing an ambush for you? I didn’t know they were capable of such tactics without a valaan to lead them.”
The spellcaster smirked and pointed to a giant narjag surrounded by his peers. “That’s the shaman from back at the tower. Led by one of those, yes, they can conduct some simple tactical operations. You should have killed the thing when you had the chance.”
“A true shaman?” wondered Rew. “There hasn’t been a Dark Kind capable of casting a spell in… Could its magic have been blanketed like yours?”
Alsayer shrugged. “It’s dead. We’ll never know.”
“We’re lucky we didn’t run into this,” remarked Jon, coming up to walk beside them, watching Raif and Cinda conferring with their father’s men.
“A hundred Dark Kind,” said Rew, raising a hand to rub his head. “Out in the open like this, nowhere we could hide, just these low hills to set up a defensive position. We’re very lucky these soldiers happened to come by.”
“Should we, ah, should we return to Eastwatch, sir?” asked Jon, watching the baron’s soldiers gather around the younglings. “It seems they’re safe, and we have the answer we needed about why the Dark Kind were moving about the wilderness.” He gestured at Alsayer, who winked back at him.
Rew looked at the road behind them, the twin dirt tracks cutting through the barrowlands. His gaze lifted to the sharp peaks of the mountains, and he sighed. Anne was in the tent with the wounded. He knew she would be reluctant to let them travel to Falvar without her care.
“No, we’ll continue on,” said Rew. “It’s just another day to Falvar, and with Tate down, I need to send a letter to Commandant Grund. We need another ranger to replace him. Sending the post from Falvar will save us several weeks. We can restock our rations and see if there’s a carriage headed over the roads we can hitch a ride on. It’s a long walk back through the wilderness back to Eastwatch.”
Jon nodded, and Rew glanced at Zaine, who seemed to be hiding behind the men.
She scowled and asked, “What?”
Giving a wan smile, Rew started forward, joining Cinda and the others as the young noblewoman explained to her father’s captain what she knew.
The walls of Falvar rose like a leviathan out from a grass sea. Pale rock, quarried in the foothills of the Spine, was stacked thirty paces high. The battlement was wide, extending in a sheer cliff for a quarter league. Atop it, flags fluttered and soldiers patrolled, but not like they once did. The fortress had been constructed in a different era, when the threats to the peace of the kingdom were external rather than internal. Now, the grasslands were empty except for the herds of the shaggy cattle that roamed beneath the open skies and the occasional shade that was disturbed when man or beast breached its prison. Despite what they’d seen in the last few days, Rew knew that it’d been generations since there had been a real threat to Falvar. Even the last migration of the Dark Kind had been easily repelled before the creatures crossed over the Spine and fled into the wilderness.
But a fortress built is a fortress that must be maintained, lest the defenses of the kingdom fall fallow and those external threats return. Baron Fedgley was tasked by the king with protecting the distant edge of the realm, so he did, though there was little to protect it from.
Rew considered that as they drew closer. The war party they’d stumbled across was made up of thirty well-equipped soldiers. They’d had reports, they’d said, of Dark Kind near the road. Rew had no reason to disbelieve, but thirty mounted men was a strong contingent, and as he began to pick out the troops upon the walls, he counted dozens more. Beyond the fortress, near the bridge and the river it crossed, he saw the low-slung hovels of the working folk and a scattering of azure-tabarded men moving amongst the buildings.
He counted close to one hundred men in Baron Fedgley’s livery, all purported to guard an endless, quiet graveyard. Rew had himself and five in his command to cover the entire expanse of the wilderness, which was packed full of dangerous beasts. He guessed if there were a hundred men in uniform and on duty now, there had to be hundreds more off duty somewhere within the town of Falvar, and he could only speculate how many out in the barrows. A sick feeling began to grow in Rew’s stomach as they walked closer, and it got worse when Alsayer showed no surprise at the strength of Baron Fedgley’s forces.
“We should have turned around and gone back home,” hissed Rew under his breath.
Beside him, Jon looked confused, but Anne stared ahead, her lips tight. She’d helped to heal several men who’d been injured in the engagement with the Dark Kind, and she had promised to accompany them back to the barracks where their own physicians could take over. She felt an obligation to them, forged by the connection an empath establishes with a patient, but even she could tell there were far more soldiers present than ever would be necessary in such a remote outpost.
Cinda and Raif walked far ahead of them, in between Alsayer and the captain of the soldiers.
Rew turned and found Zaine close at his heels. “Lass, is this many men normal? It’s been years since I was in Falvar, and I don’t recall such a strong garrison.”
Zaine shrugged. “It’s been some time since I was here as well.”
Rew’s eyes narrowed. Seeing his look, she swallowed uncomfortably but was spared having to respond when the captain of the baron’s soldiers came trotting back on his horse.
“Senior Ranger,” he called, turning his mount so he paced them in the grass beside the road. “When we reach the city, Baron Fedgley would like a word with you.”
“He would, would he?” asked Rew with an eyebrow raised skeptically. “He told you that?”
The captain flushed. “I am certain he would like to see you. You saved his children, after all. They’ve told me everything. That sort of heroism deserves a reward, I should say.”
Rew watched the man as he squirmed atop his mount. A military man used to direct words and direct action. The subterfuge was killing him.
“I suppose I ought to see him, then,” allowed Rew.
“When we first arrive, along with Spellcaster Alsayer,” said the captain.
“Not before his own children, surely?”
The man swallowed. Glancing at the backs of the younglings, he said, “We shall see, but I think it best if we proceed immediately to the keep and don’t leave the baron waiting.”
“Very well,” said Rew.
The captain trotted back up to the nobles and the spellcaster. Alsayer turned and winked. Rew glared at the man.
“I understand I owe you my thanks,” boomed Baron Fedgley. “My thanks, and perhaps a reward?”
He sat upon a raised dais in an ornate wooden throne. Beside him, his wife’s throne was empty, but Rew had seen the woman on the way in. She’d nodded but not spoken as she glided out to find Raif and Cinda.
Rew offered t
he baron a shallow bow. “No reward is necessary, Baron Fedgley. I was merely doing my job.”
“The King’s Ranger,” said the baron, fidgeting with a fat, emerald ring that graced his finger. “A bit of an archaic position, is it not? I’ve never understood why the king does not install a nobleman and a proper garrison in the territory.”
Rew held the baron’s gaze but did not respond.
Fedgley turned to Alsayer. “And you, I’m told you have a message for me? Shall we discuss it privately?”
“I believe the senior ranger can be trusted to hear it, m’lord,” said Alsayer. “Who knows? Maybe he will have some useful comment to add.”
Rew clenched his teeth.
“What does Prince Valchon have to say, then?” questioned Fedgley.
Rew clutched his hands in front of his waist to stop himself from throttling the spellcaster. Prince Valchon, so that’s who Alsayer was claiming to work for. Alsayer and, it seemed, Baron Fedgley. Despite the children’s ignorance of the Investiture, Rew had no doubt now that their father was up to his neck in it.
“The prince is wondering how the recruitment of the wraiths is coming,” said Alsayer. “As I am sure you’ve realized, the Investiture has begun earlier than expected. Not all of the prince’s preparations are complete, but we’ve no choice except to proceed.”
Rew forced himself to breathe evenly, forced himself to stand still. Recruitment of the wraiths! Blessed Mother, what was Alsayer playing at?
“Of course…” murmured the baron. “My men have been harried constantly by the Dark Kind while working in the barrows. We’ve lost three necromancers just in the last two weeks.”
“Three?” questioned Alsayer.
Baron Fedgley waved a hand dismissively. “They weren’t very good ones. Still, it’s slowed us down.”
Alsayer nodded. “I myself had some encounters with the Dark Kind on the way in. It looked as though your men are clearing the roads, though?”
“As best we can,” grumbled the baron.
“Do you have more necromancers?” wondered Alsayer.
“I have two left, though neither one is much more talented than the three who died,” complained Baron Fedgley, standing and beginning to pace on the dais. “Can the prince send me more? As you know, we’ve a lot of ground to cover out in the barrowlands. It can take days for the necromancers to move between the far crypts, and when they breach them, we find more than half are empty. Even when they’re not, there’s no guarantee of success. It’s a tricky business, capturing those old souls. These two necromancers I have out there, well, I suspect even if the Dark Kind don’t catch them, they won’t last long against shades of this vintage.”
Alsayer, tugging on his neatly-trimmed goatee, declared, “I’m afraid resources have become suddenly constrained with the start of the Investiture. You must finish your task with what tools you have available, Fedgley.”
“If the prince wants his wraiths, he must give me the spellcasters to collect them!” thundered the baron, suddenly losing his temper and stabbing a finger at Alsayer. “What he asks is not easy. It’s impossible to speed our efforts without help.”
“If you mean to advance from this backwater barony, you’ll figure out a way to do it,” replied Alsayer calmly. “The prince allies himself with those who can handle their responsibilities and rewards those who do so successfully. If you cannot manage your part without the prince’s help, then what good are you to him?”
“You threaten me?” snapped the baron.
Alsayer shook his head. “I am only sharing that the prince has requested an update on your progress and that he expects it to be significant. If it’s not… he’s authorized me to take what actions I deem necessary. If you cannot finish the task, Fedgley, then I will.”
Rew shifted, his heart hammering, his mind screaming to fight or to flee. Alsayer looked over and grinned at him. The ranger bit his tongue, struggling to remain quiet, to not reach out and smash his fist into that smug face. Blessed Mother, the baron was raising an army of wraiths for Prince Valchon! If those miserable creatures were let loose, they would wreak havoc on the world. The things were nearly impossible to control. It was reckless, completely—
“There’s another necromancer who could command the wraiths,” stated Alsayer, raising an eyebrow at the baron. “Perhaps it’s time you got off that throne and made yourself useful, Baron.”
“I’m needed in the city, not lost days away from here in the grasslands,” growled Fedgley.
“Prince Valchon expects results,” said Alsayer coldly. “If it’s another necromancer you need… What should I tell the prince, Fedgley? You need him to send you someone because you’re too comfortable here in your own hall? You’re too, what, frightened to venture out on your own?”
Fedgley looked away, his face red as a beet. “You know not of what you speak, Spellcaster. My family has been dealing with these wraiths for generations. There is no one who—“
“Worgon suspects what you’re up to,” interrupted Alsayer. “Has he attempted to interfere?”
Fedgley shook his head. “Not yet, unless it is he who sent this plague of Dark Kind against us.”
“Your children are spreading word to everyone who will listen that Worgon is plotting against you,” mentioned Alsayer. “There will be no avoiding the coming conflict. I’m here to ensure you collect the wraiths as promised, but it’s important to tend to your mundane defenses as well. I saw the men in the city. When it comes to it, will they fight for you? And, Fedgley, make no mistake, it will come to it before all is done.”
“I believe we’re getting into territory that should be discussed privately,” grumbled the baron, still fidgeting with the emerald ring on his finger. “I know the king’s agents are to remain uninvolved in the Investiture, but…”
“Senior Ranger Rew is my cousin,” stated Alsayer.
“Your cousin?” asked Fedgley, suddenly looking at Rew with interest.
“He can be trusted,” assured Alsayer.
Rew, not wanting to be trusted with the information the men were sharing, not wanting to hear any of it at all, returned the baron’s look without speaking. Alsayer was not a man who carelessly spilled his plans to any open ear. There was a reason he wanted Rew to listen to his plotting, and that terrified the ranger.
“I planted rumors of an insurrection in Yarrow against Spinesend,” said Baron Fedgley, crossing his wrists behind his back and continuing to pace the dais. “Duke Eeron will believe that Worgon is plotting against him, and he’ll deal with the man for us. I suspect any day now, the duke will begin marching his troops. Whichever of the two comes out on top, they’ll be severely weakened, and then the Duchy of Eeron will be in my sole control within months. I’d planned to consolidate the lands under my banner as we continued our work in the barrows, but as you say, the Investiture has begun. We must all adjust our plans.”
“Your children know nothing?” questioned Alsayer, glancing at Rew from the corner of his eye. “If they do know, I must commend them on their acting. They had me convinced they were innocent.”
Baron Fedgley snorted. “They’re not good actors, as far as I know. I thought it best if they believed the lies I intended them to spread. I sent them to Baron Worgon in Yarrow years ago, knowing no one would suspect I would move against the man while my children were in his possession. Who would believe I would risk fostering my heir and his sister while plotting against the baron? And if I’d told them… You traveled with the two for several days, and you must have seen they’re just as much children as they are adults. They wouldn’t understand the import of what we do.”
Alsayer nodded. “Of course. What children would?”
Fedgley grunted. “After the Investiture, after Prince Valchon takes the throne, I will explain all. They will understand, but until then, I believe it best if they are ignorant of the way the world really works.”
“Wise, m’lord,” said Alsayer, his voice slick like soap.
“I must go see them,” said the baron, rolling his eyes and chuckling. “If not, Cinda will be battering down those doors trying to get in here to warn me about Worgon.”
“She seemed rather strong-willed,” agreed Alsayer with a smile. “She’ll grow into a fine woman.”
Baron Fedgley, ignoring the compliment, asked the spellcaster, “Is there anything else?”
“I will remain here for several days, Fedgley,” said Alsayer. “I will monitor your progress and suggest improvements where I see they can be made.”
“I’ll accept your help, but do not think to threaten me,” growled the baron.
“It is best if we work together,” responded Alsayer, “but the prince sent me here for a reason, and I for one, will not fail him. We will procure the wraiths he needs, Baron, and we will do it quickly.”
Baron Fedgley grunted then waved the spellcaster and the ranger to depart. “Tell the guards to send for my children on the way out, will you?”
“Of course,” said Alsayer, a predatory smile curling across his face.
They walked out of the baron’s hall, Rew two steps behind the spellcaster, his hands still held tight so he didn’t instinctively reach out and strangle the treacherous bastard right there in the baron’s foyer.
The spellcaster murmured, “The baron had the right idea. A private word?”
Rew followed the other man as he asked the guards to send for Raif and Cinda and then led Rew to a secluded alcove near the side of the keep’s expansive foyer.
“Wraiths?” hissed Rew the moment they were away from anyone who could overhear them. “The baron is gathering an army of wraiths? That’s dangerous, Alsayer, incredibly dangerous. And if you meant for me to learn of it, why didn’t you just tell me yourself?”
Alsayer shrugged. “I believed it would be best if you heard it from the lips of the baron. If I’d told you, you would have suspected it was some intrigue of mine. It’s not, cousin, as you heard from the baron himself.”