The King's Ranger: The King's Ranger Book 1

by AC Cobble

  “Stay back,” snarled Baron Fedgley from before his throne, gesturing wildly at his daughter. “I just need another moment!”

  Casually, Alsayer flung another of his dark clouds at Cinda, sparkling flakes inside of it shimmering like the stars at night.

  Rew spun on his back, kicking the girl’s feet out from under her.

  She flopped onto her side, her lightning blinking out. Another of Alsayer’s dark clouds speckled with the razor-sharp flakes flew overhead, tinkling into the wall behind them.

  Baron Fedgley raised his arms, and the room darkened. “You’ve erred, Spellcaster. You should have struck me down first. I did not want to do this, not in my own hall, but you’ve left me no choice. Your time in this great game is over.”

  “King’s Sake,” cursed Rew, rising to his feet. Next to him, the younglings stirred, and he demanded, “Stay down!”

  Either aware of what their father was capable of, or sensing the panic in the senior ranger’s voice, they stayed down. Rew stood, frozen in indecision. He didn’t know if he should attack the spellcaster who’d just murdered scores of soldiers and then had tried to kill him, or the necromancer who just called upon the power of a barrow wraith in the middle of a populated town.

  “How many can you control?” wondered Alsayer, speaking to Baron Fedgley.

  “Enough,” snarled the baron, his face ruddy with exertion, his arms splayed, his hands curled like claws.

  A chill wind swept through the room, and the terrifying wail of the undead sent a shiver down Rew’s spine. He stepped toward Fedgley then glanced down at the man’s children who were huddled together on the floor, eyes wide at the sounds of the approaching wraiths.

  Rew turned to Alsayer. The spellcaster was standing calmly, not attacking. Fedgley certainly had invoked defenses around himself, but with the ease Alsayer had burned through the baroness’, Rew couldn’t understand why Alsayer didn’t even attempt to strike the baron. Was the man waiting for the wraiths to appear? That was madness. Why was he not—

  “He’s not going to kill you, Fedgley,” warned Rew, raising his voice to be heard over the approaching cries of the wraiths. “He’s going to capture you.”

  “He’s going to try,” boomed the baron, the man’s mad grin baring his teeth, sweat already pouring from his bright red face. The baron’s hands were raised, his fingers twitching as he pulled upon some invisible binding to the wraiths. He exuded confidence, certain that Alsayer could not deal with the spirits he was drawing into the room.

  Rew shivered, unsure. Alsayer knew the baron had the capability to call upon wraiths, and he was waiting for them to arrive. He hadn’t attacked the necromancer earlier because he’d known exactly what the man could do and that calling wraiths took time. Alsayer had planned this entire attack so that Baron Fedgley would muster his undead minions.

  A stifling sense of fear assailed Rew, and he turned. Five terrifying shades drifted into the room. They floated, insubstantial but frighteningly real, like a passing shadow or a reflection of light off a mirror in a dark room. An agonizing wail echoed around the stone walls, though Rew knew it was only in his imagination. The wraiths were dead silent, and it was only their psychic energy that pierced his conscious and made him quake. The wraiths congregated on Alsayer, but the spellcaster waited calmly.

  “These are from before the Great War?” the spellcaster asked, amused. “It’s true, then. An excellent vintage indeed.”

  Rew watched in surprise as the spellcaster removed a small, silver box from within his robes and opened it. The wraiths, like smoke pulled into a chimney, were sucked into the box. Alsayer snapped it shut as the fifth shade disappeared, and the room seemed suddenly brighter. “We’d hoped you could summon more than five, but so old, they will be quite powerful. It’s a pity there are not more, but this began before any of us planned, didn’t it? We’ll work with what we have.”

  Rew started forward, raising his longsword, but Alsayer swung his hand, and a visceral thump resonated, echoing through the throne room. Rew wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d heard it throughout the keep and even in the town.

  A wall of pure sonic energy flew from the spellcaster, and Rew dropped to his knees, stunned Alsayer could call upon such a potent spell after the devastation he’d already wrought. The man’s stamina was greater than the ranger ever would have guessed. Rew crouched, his arms rising to cover his ears in the instant it took the spell to smash into him.

  He was shoved back along the floor, his body ringing like a bell struck by a mallet. His guts twisted, threatening to blast forth every meal he’d eaten in days. His eyes watered, and his ears pounded, on the verge of bursting. Then, the wall passed behind him, and he jumped to his feet.

  Alsayer was at the dais, gripping the front of Baron Fedgley’s intricately embroidered doublet. The spellcaster glanced at Rew and cut his eyes to where the baron’s children were coughing and gagging after being swept across the room by the sonic wall.

  “Remember, cousin, the power of high magic lies in the strength of the blood,” said Alsayer. He twisted his free hand. Next to him and the baron, a circular vortex appeared, violently churning purple slashed with silver and gold. “At least two of the princes are interested in the baron and his talents. It won’t be long before they turn their eyes to his progeny. Watch the children for me, will you?”

  Alsayer flung the startled baron through the open portal, winked at Rew, and then stepped through himself. The opening in the fabric of reality winked shut, and Rew fell to his knees, staring in shock at where Alsayer had just vanished.

  The throne room was silent, but the keep was filled with alarmed shouts and the sounds of running feet. Outside the windows and the walls, he could hear the roar of battle. The bells atop the keep’s highest tower rang frantically, signaling no pre-arranged message, but one that was nonetheless understood. Panic.

  Rew looked to Raif and Cinda and saw they were still alive, though looking as if they wished they were not. Raif was on his hands and knees, coughing viscous yellow bile. Cinda was curled on her side, clutching at her stomach, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Without steeling themselves against it, Alsayer’s spell could have crushed their internal organs, destroying critical parts of their anatomy on the inside, but they were breathing. Their lungs were working. Rew thought that was a good sign. He suspected Alsayer pulled his punch and released his hold upon the magic the moment it passed Rew. The devious bastard hadn’t lied about that. He wanted the children alive because he was planning to come back for them.

  “Zaine,” barked Rew. The girl ducked her head around the doorway where she’d been hiding just outside of the throne room. Rew pointed at Raif and Cinda. “Run to the arcanist’s tower and tell Anne that they were struck by a sonic wall.”

  Zaine, her jaw hanging near her chest as she saw the aftermath of the fight in the room, didn’t seem to have heard.

  “Get them to Anne!” shouted Rew, “and when I’m done, you’d better still be here.”

  “What—What will you do?” asked the thief.

  “Falvar is under attack from an army of the Dark Kind,” growled Rew, glancing at the empty dais and the forty bodies of mutilated soldiers lying around the throne room. “Since no one else is left, I believe I’d better go assume command and organize a defense of the city.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Rew strode out of the throne room, out of the building at the center of the keep, and into the courtyard in front of the still-closed gate. Fifty men were milling about in the open space and atop the walls. He demanded, “Who’s in charge here?”

  The men blinked at him, horrified, and he looked down. He was covered in the blood of the two imps he’d battled, and maybe a little bit from the thief in the Ralcrist’s tower. Combined, it was a lot of blood.

  He growled, “Well?”

  “I am,” said a man, taking a hesitant step forward. “I am Sergeant Gage—What, ah, what’s going on inside of the keep? We heard noises, but no
one has come out… Could’ve been, well, some of the lads thought it was thunder. We couldn’t abandon our post to go find out. Dark Kind are outside. We sent two messengers—”

  Rew interrupted the man. “We’ll speak of it later. For now, you should know that Commander Broyce left the city and has not returned. Baron Fedgley is indisposed. I am Rew, the King’s Ranger, and by the authority of the king, I am taking control of Falvar’s garrison. Can anyone tell me the disposition of the narjag forces outside of these walls?”

  “The baron is indisposed?” asked the unnamed sergeant. He sounded incredulous.

  “You haven’t received orders from him, and the two messengers you sent haven’t returned, all in the middle of an attack by an army of Dark Kind,” snapped Rew. He looked around the men. “If the baron was capable of coming out here and taking charge, don’t you think he would have by now? I am sorry to say those messengers are not going to return. Surely one of you was on duty at the gates or in the throne room when the baron received me yesterday. One of you must know that I am who I claim.”

  The man in charge shifted uncomfortably.

  “Anyone have family out there?” cried Rew. “If we don’t act, thousands of people are going to die for no reason.”

  “He is the King’s Ranger,” said a voice from the side. “I saw him meeting with the baron yesterday.”

  “Do you really have authority to take command of the garrison?” wondered the sergeant.

  “Probably,” said Rew, “but we don’t have time to go sort it out with the legal scholars now, do we?” Growing frustrated, he shoved through the crowd of soldiers and climbed the stairs to the wall above the gate. Immediately, his heart leapt into this throat. “King’s Sake, you fools! I don’t give a damn about your protocol. What are you still doing behind these walls?”

  The city gates of Falvar had been breached, and in front of them, Dark Kind were furiously storming through. A narrow line of soldiers held the street before the gate, but even from afar, it was evident they couldn’t hold long. There were as many soldiers lying on the ground as standing, and beyond the gates, even in the pouring rain, Rew could see the dark mass of more narjags attempting to force their way into the breach.

  “Most of ‘em is mercenaries,” hissed a man by Rew’s side.

  Rew scowled and turned to find the sergeant had ascended the stairs with him. The man was looking out, hopeless, scared.

  The sergeant continued. “The baron has put severe punishments in place for breaking the rules, and the mercenaries don’t have family or friends in Falvar. They’re more afraid of the gibbet than the Dark Kind.”

  “I’m going to order this gate opened,” called Rew, raising his voice over the tumult of the rain and the battle so that every man in the courtyard could hear him. “When I do, I want archers moving two blocks off to the left then making directly for the walls. Get up on the battlements, shoot the narjags outside. You can’t miss. Thin them out. Get them looking up instead of ahead. Every man that doesn’t have a bow is behind me. We’re going to assist the men holding the gate, and if we can find an engineer, we need to clear space for them to get those doors repaired. If there is any man that does not do as I instruct, I’m going to come find and personally hang them the moment this fight is over.”

  Around him, men swallowed and glanced at their fellows.

  “Ranger,” said a man down in the courtyard, “you might have authority over the baron’s men, but most of us is—“

  “I’m the King’s Ranger, Soldier, not the baron’s. You may not be from Falvar, but you are a subject to the king, are you not?” interrupted Rew. He raised his longsword so that the men could see the dark blood staining its length. “Besides, as far as I’m concerned, you signed the baron’s contract, you’re wearing the baron’s colors, so you’re the baron’s men. As the baron’s men, you’ve a responsibility to this city and these people. If you think to shirk that responsibility, tell me, and we’ll settle this now, so I don’t have to waste time tracking you down later.”

  Rew pointed the tip of his longsword down at the man, looking at him blank-faced. He’d hoped he could appeal to the men’s honor, to the idea that they needed to rush out and play the hero, but if that didn’t work, he would do it the other way. There was no time for anything else.

  The man below raised his hands, backed up, and protested, claiming it wasn’t what he meant. His companions shifted away from him, not looking at the man or at Rew.

  Rew could see some of them looked resigned to their fates—the mercenaries. Others looked scolded and ashamed—the locals. They knew what was happening outside the gates, even if they’d been too scared to open them on their own. Whether they were scared of the penalty for breaking protocol or scared of the mercenaries stabbing them in the back if they tried, Rew didn’t care. If need be, he would give them something to really be afraid of.

  Shaking his head in disgust, Rew pushed his way down the stairs, calling for men to get the gates open and for the archers to grab a second bundle of arrows from the storage lockers alongside the courtyard. If they were going to get on the walls and start firing into the narjags, they may as well make sure they had plenty of shafts.

  Rew walked to the center of the gate and waited. The cranks turned, and the chains pulled tight. Inch by inch, the huge wooden slabs swung open, and the steel portcullis rose.

  Rew guessed the soldiers had managed to get the barriers closed a lot quicker than they were getting them open. Cowards, he wanted to call them, but the truth was that most of them were just following orders. It was easier to do that, to lead where someone else pointed, particularly when that way seemed to be the safer route. It was why they were opening the gates now, because Rew had taken responsibility. Without someone to direct them, too many people were willing to sit there and watch others die. As long as they had their own walls to hide behind, a place to run to. An escape. As long as—

  He grunted and forced the line of thought away. It would do him no good, thinking like that, it was too close to… He shook it off. There was nothing but trouble down that road.

  The gates had swung open, and as soon as the portcullis rose to shoulder height, Rew moved forward, ducking beneath it, and stood on the other side. Ahead of him was the long, broad avenue which led directly to the northern gate. He could see the narjags swarming, threatening to overwhelm the thin band of defenders.

  “Hope you men know how to run,” shouted Rew.

  Then, he broke into a trot, the curtain of rain falling around him, his boots splashing through shallow puddles. He gave a grim smile at the clink of chainmail and the heavy stomp of booted feet. The soldiers fell in behind him, and he slowed his pace slightly, setting a pace the armored men could match.

  They rushed down the avenue, the soldiers around him breathing heavily and struggling before they were halfway to the gate. As they ran, they saw their fellows ahead of them falling. They saw the swirling mass of Dark Kind that threatened to overwhelm the town. Maybe some of them had families in the buildings and structures around them. Maybe some of them came to the simple conclusion that their fate was tied inexorably to that of Falvar. Maybe they finally understood what it was they faced, the Dark Kind, anathema to all natural life. Maybe some of them were scared of what the ranger would do if they didn’t join him, but as they ran, Rew began to feel the determination growing in the men. This might not be their place, and they might not have been hired for this fight, but the Dark Kind were their enemy, and it was impossible to see them so close and not know it. Their guts would be telling them to fight or run. Luckily, these men were ready to fight.

  Men died, and narjags howled. A handful of the awful creatures broke loose, racing down the avenue, weaving drunkenly as if they couldn’t decide which homes to break into first, which place to begin their slaughter.

  And then Rew and the soldiers from the keep arrived. Speeding up, jogging out ahead of the others to give himself room with his longsword, Rew met the first narjag,
swinging his blade and hacking through the thing’s neck. Then, he continued the motion and skewered another, twisting the dying creature’s body as he ran past and jerking his blade free. He darted through the scattered narjags that had gotten loose, trusting the men behind him to take care of them, and he headed directly for the back of the line of Falvar’s defenders.

  Rew picked a gap that had broken open in the line and plunged in, drawing his hunting knife as he slammed into the first of the narjags. He punched a fist into the chest of one of the short creatures and tried to shove it back to give himself and the other men room. Rew felt like he was pushing a wagon. He realized there were too many Dark Kind pressing against the backs of their first rank, so the ranger changed tactics and slashed his hunting knife across the throat of the startled narjag. He began to thrust over its shoulder with his longsword. The elegant steel weapon moved like a needle sliding in and out of a length of cotton, stitching its way across the narjags, felling half a dozen of them in moments.

  The narjags, attacking in an unorganized, ferocious pack, had sent the soldiers reeling, and where the men still stood, they did so crouched behind heavy wooden shields. The soldiers were attempting to hold their ground, but their efforts to fight back were stilted by the power of their fear. Sensing the weakness, the narjags came at them with little thought, clawing and biting at each other as often as the men in vicious attempts to force their way farther into the town.

  The Dark Kind must have already sensed victory and were not prepared for the violence brought by the ranger. Rew tossed aside the body of the narjag he’d been stabbing over the shoulder of and stepped forward, using the length of his longsword to thrust into the second rank, holding his hunting knife close to deflect any strikes from narjag spears.

  Around him, he felt the lines flex as the men from the keep joined the fray. Rested and motivated, perhaps embarrassed it took so long, they joined their exhausted brethren and gave them hope.