by AC Cobble
“They’re coming in the back!” shouted a voice. “Run!”
“Where?” screamed another man. “They’re already inside the front!”
Rew gripped the legs of the table he was crouched behind. Thinking it was perhaps a foolish plan, he surged off his knees, moving forward. Hefting the wooden table like a giant shield, he charged the thieves.
Another crossbow twanged, and the bolt blasted into the table, but Rew was completely hidden behind the bulky furniture, and no one had a line on him until he crashed into the thieves’ own hiding spot. His table struck theirs, and he dropped it, offering a silent hope no one would be standing a few paces away from him aiming a deadly steel bolt right at his face. At such close range, he would be dead if they were. Over a constant stream of shouted curses, he heard the clatter of the soldiers rushing in behind him, and instead of firing at him, Rew found a dozen thieves were tossing their weapons down and holding up their hands.
One man, who must have recognized Rew from earlier in the day, called, “Ranger, we had nothing to do with the attack at the keep. It was Balzac. He did it all! He didn’t tell none of us about it. We’re innocent, honest.”
Rew snorted. He thought the man might be telling the truth about Balzac keeping the attack secret, but the thief was as far from innocent and honest as one could get.
Rew demanded, “Where’s Balzac now?”
“Back in the arms room,” said the thief, evidently hoping his candor would earn him mercy. “Ranger, he’s not going to go peacefully.”
Rew nodded.
“Ranger,” said one of the sergeants of the soldiers. “Shall we go root this man out?”
Rew shook his head. “I’ll do it.” He glanced at the thief. “Anything I should know?”
“Balzac keeps a small push dagger coated in poison up his left sleeve,” said the man. “If he doesn’t think he can stick you with it, he’ll stick himself.” The man pointed toward one of the hallways and said, “Third door on the right. There’s a lotta blades in there, Ranger, and there’s no way out.”
Without responding, Rew started down the hallway and easily found the door the thief had referred to. He could see light bleeding out from the crack beneath the door, but over the sounds of the soldiers storming into the warehouse and capturing the thieves, he couldn’t hear anything behind the barrier.
Rew reared back and smashed his boot into the door. With a crack, it burst open, and the ranger darted inside, intending to dive out of the way just like he had on entering the building, but he paused.
Standing in the center of the room, surrounded by racks of weapons, was Balzac. The thief, lit from behind by a single flickering lantern, grinned maniacally like some legendary conjuring from the demonic planes. In one hand, he held a cocked crossbow. It was pointed toward the door but not directly at Rew. In his other hand, he clutched a fist-sized glass orb that swirled with clouds trapped inside.
The thief crowed, “I was waiting on you, Ranger. I’m glad it is you who found us.”
Rew frowned at the orb. “Is that…”
“It’s a portal device,” claimed Balzac, raising it high.
“I don’t think it is,” said Rew, taking a half-step back. He didn’t recognize the orb, or the swirling mists contained within it, but it defied imagination that a thief in a backwater town in a backwater duchy would have access to a portal device. Rew had seen those before, and they were beyond rare. They also didn’t look like a tempest in a sphere. “Where did you—“
“Your friend the spellcaster told me to use this as a last resort,” snarled Balzac, gesturing with the orb and raising his crossbow menacingly. “He said it’d get me to safety no matter how many surrounded me. I suppose I should have used it already. That would have been the wiser choice, but I wanted to see your face. You ruined my plans, Ranger. I meant to rule the guild in Falvar, maybe Spinesend and the entire duchy by the time I was done. I was willing to do whatever it took, but I know that won’t happen now.”
Rew eyed the crossbow. “You mean to kill me and then run?”
Balzac snickered, his eyes gleaming madly. “No, Ranger, I mean for you to live. I want you to live knowing that I’m out there, coming for you and those you love. The baron’s brats, the empath… I’ll do them just like I did your apprentice and Axxon. Whoever else I can find, Ranger, I’m going to kill. You’ve ruined my plans, my life, and I will ruin yours. That’s why I waited, to see the horror in your eyes, knowing there’s no way you can protect them all, nothing you can do but wait for your loved ones to die.”
Rew looked back at the thief, not responding. He watched the orb and saw the mists captured inside of it swirling. Finally, he advised, “That’s no portal device, Thief.”
“You nobles with your noble blood, thinking you know everything, treating us commoners like dirt,” growled Balzac, his words snapping off like the crack of dead wood. “I can’t make you all pay for what you’ve done to the world, but I can make you pay, Ranger.”
“What are you talking about?” hissed Rew, gripping his longsword and calculating that he could reach the man before he aimed the crossbow and got off a shot, but that he couldn’t stop Balzac from dropping the orb.
“I know your story, Ranger,” said Balzac. “I know more than you think. The spellcaster told me all. You, him, everyone with your tainted blood, plotting and killing. It’s disgusting!”
Rew cursed. Alsayer again. One day, he was going to have to do something about that man.
“Coming here to Falvar, claiming you’re free of the Investiture,” cried Balzac, shaking his head and laughing mirthlessly. “If you were free of it, how were you in the company of the girl and the boy? How were you the one to find us in Arcanist Ralcrist’s tower? How did you confront the spellcaster in the throne room and then locate our guildhall? You’re neck deep in it. I know you are. That spellcaster told me all of it, all about your foul plots! But you missed me, and you’ll miss me again. How many of your friends will die because you failed your responsibilities this time, Ranger?”
The man raised the orb high, and Rew saw the tightly coiled clouds flashing orange and red, as if a storm raged within—or an inferno.
“Blessed Mother!” Rew shouted. “Do not throw that down!”
The thief swung his fist, and Rew backpedaled toward the door, shouting over his shoulder, screaming at the soldiers to flee.
“It’s time for me to portal out of here!” cried the thief as he released the orb, holding the crossbow up to prevent Rew from attacking him.
Rew didn’t wait for the orb to hit the floor. He sprinted out of the room, bellowing, “Run!” at the top of his lungs.
The soldiers whipped around and stared at him in shock as he barreled into the common room where they were still securing the thieves.
Rew screamed at them, “Out of the building, out of the building! Get out now!”
Perhaps it was his words, or maybe the panic in his eyes, but they turned and ran, both the baron’s men and the thieves. Or, it could have been the incredible whoosh of air being drawn into the armory and the rib-rattling thump that resounded through the building as that air ignited.
Rew ran out the warehouse at full speed, soldiers and thieves racing around him in a wave. From the other side of the structure, he could hear panicked calls as soldiers fled from the other entrance. Rew hoped they were all getting out. If they weren’t—
It sounded as if one of the lions of Carff was roaring behind them, a bestial, deep cry that sent a shiver down Rew’s spine. A billow of flame exploded from the doorway and the windows of the warehouse, blasting wood and glass in a hail of shrapnel. The fire burst out, wrapping and consuming the wood of the structure like a hungry beast.
Rew skidded to a stop and spun to watch.
Many of the soldiers and thieves kept running, and he let them go. The soldiers would turn up later. The thieves might not, but they couldn’t hold his attention right now. In moments, the entire warehouse was engulfed in
brilliant, searing flame. Arms of fire snaked out the openings and curled around the outside of the structure, seeming to draw it into the belly of the blaze.
“What—What is that?” asked a solider beside him.
“Fire elemental,” mumbled Rew. “A conjuring, released from a… Released by accident by the leader of those thieves.”
“Accident?” wondered the soldier, staring in awe at the raging inferno.
“The man certainly didn’t expect this to happen,” said Rew, holding up a hand to block the heat of the blaze from his face.
Shaking his head, he looked around and began directing some of the soldiers to guard the handful of thieves who hadn’t fled, and then, he sent another contingent to circle the building and look for the other squad of men who had been covering the back. He told them the fire elemental would only consume the building it was released in but to move any flammable debris that was laying nearby. The debris wouldn’t be ignited with the same frantic rage that the elemental unleashed on the building, but fire was fire, and anything that caught would burn.
By the time the fire brigade arrived from where they’d been sheltering in the town, there was little left for them to do. The warehouse was burned to the ground, but no other structures had caught fire. The soldiers had already removed loose crates and other combustibles from around the warehouse. The thieves were taken into custody, though no one knew what crime to charge them with, and in short time, Rew and the soldiers returned to the keep.
It was well after midnight when he walked out onto the battlement overlooking the town of Falvar. He could feel the pull from Mordenhold, and he could feel an even stronger desire to leave the town, to flee over the Spine and into the wilderness. He could slip away in the night and be gone from this place. In the weeks it would take him to return to Eastwatch, whatever would happen would happen, and he would be free of it. He—He would have to leave Anne behind.
He rubbed his hand over his hair, feeling the tight stubble and the slick smoothness from the ash that had landed on him from the burning warehouse. He looked down at his sooty hand. It was black in the night. Sighing, he turned to go back inside, to wash, and to sleep. It would take days to sort out the mess in Falvar, but the quicker he got started the next morning, the quicker it would be done. He would take those days to talk Anne into leaving Falvar behind them, and returning to Eastwatch where they belonged.
The next morning, an hour after dawn, Rew sat at a table in the throne room. It’d been brought in for an emergency council to meet, and he felt it rather uncomfortable, sitting in the huge open room where none of the servants and staff could miss their deliberations. They couldn’t have made it more obvious that Falvar was in a panic, and the baron and his wife were both gone. Every time a servant poked their heads in, they could hear that the leaders of Falvar had no answers, no plan. No one had asked Rew, and he did not want to become even more entangled in Falvar’s troubles than he already was. Soon, he would leave. As soon as he could convince Anne, he would leave.
Matters were already settling down, and experienced hands were back on the plow. Messengers had finally found Commander Broyce, and he’d traveled through the night to return to Falvar. In the hours before dawn, he’d taken control of the response in the keep and the recovery of the baron. Rew had only met the man briefly, but in that short time, he’d been impressed. Broyce was an experienced hand and loyal to the Fedgleys. He would be a good advisor to Raif and Cinda. The commander had also agreed to let Captain Gage’s promotion stand and had instructed the captain to continue what he was doing out in the town. Evidently, the two men knew each other well, and both had a great deal of respect for the other. Rew took that as an excellent sign.
Rew had shared his thoughts with the men and gave what information he could. He’d made his suggestions and even acquiesced to sending a post to the king explaining what had happened, though he’d informed them the king was unlikely to respond. Unlikely to read the message, if it even made it into his hands, but they’d insisted. Rew felt that simply agreeing to their request was the easiest way to untangle himself from the affairs of Falvar and the Fedgleys.
Rew covered a yawn with a fist, half-listening to the others speak, and leaned forward to refresh his coffee. He’d woken four hours prior, well before dawn, to cart Jon’s body outside of the city walls. Rew had found a quiet copse beside the river and buried the young ranger there in an unmarked grave beneath a shelter of beech trees. Jon, in his last moments, had proven himself worthy of the title of ranger. His woodcraft and skill with the blade could have used a bit of work, but when it had mattered, Jon’s valor had been beyond compare. He’d committed himself and paid the ultimate price.
Sipping the steaming cup of coffee, Rew hoped Jon’s sacrifice was worth it. Anne had been keeping a sharp eye on Zaine, and so far, the thief had not attempted to scuttle away, but she could be waiting for the right moment. If she helped the Fedgleys recover their father, then Rew thought Raif and Cinda would grant her leniency for her role in the conspiracy. If she didn’t… Well, she would live what was left of her life as a fugitive and likely dangle from a rope when they caught her.
Rew reached to refill his coffee cup. Blessed Mother, he hoped Jon’s sacrifice was worth it.
He glanced at Cinda out of the corner of his eye, around the gleaming silver pitchers that held the coffee and the piles of fruits and pastries the servants had placed around them. He was waiting for the girl to speak up, but she showed little of the fire that he’d learned to appreciate while they had been on the journey together. It seemed the shock of returning to Falvar after several years away and watching the bedrock of her life wash away beneath her was too much to bear. It was a lot, and it was tragic, but it was the Investiture. This was just the beginning.
“We must protect the town against the Dark Kind,” insisted Captain Gage, drawing Rew’s interest back to the conversation around the table. The captain was looking around at the other soldiers who’d joined the group. “There are still at least one hundred of them out in the grass lands, if not more.”
“Aye, we need to protect the town, but I worry we’re quickly going to lose the loyalty of these mercenaries Baron Fedgley brought on,” said Commander Broyce, straightening his prodigious mustache and glancing at Cinda out of the corner of his eye. Evidently, he was waiting on her council as well. “If we send them out into the barrowlands to face the Dark Kind, we might lose them.”
“Lose them?” questioned Gage.
“They work for coin and nothing else,” reminded the commander. “They’ve no loyalty to Falvar. With the baron gone, I’ve heard rumblings that some of them are already nervous about how long we’ll keep paying. Truth be told, I wonder that myself. Falvar’s resources are spread thin, and these men are a significant drain on the baron’s treasury. If it wasn’t for the threat of the Dark Kind and the baron’s situation, I’d say we don’t need them. But as it is…”
Frowning, Captain Gage snatched a pastry and sat back. Rew saw him glancing surreptitiously at Cinda as well, but the girl remained quiet, letting the men discuss the future of her family’s barony without her input.
A young arcanist, Ralcrist’s apprentice Rew had heard, suggested, “What of a letter to Duke Eeron? If we let him know we’re undermanned and that we’ve Dark Kind to worry about, he’ll, ah… We suspect the baron is somewhere in Spinesend, did you say?”
“Of course, we send a letter to Duke Eeron!” exclaimed Captain Gage, raising his pastry in the air. “All we need to do is explain the situation, and… You don’t think he knows what his arcanist is up to, do you?”
Hopeful eyes turned to Rew, and he met their looks with a scowl.
“What is it, Ranger?” asked Commander Broyce. “What do you advise?”
“There’s more to this than a duke’s arcanist abducting a baron,” responded Rew. “I can’t tell you if Duke Eeron knows what’s happening or not, but either way, the duke is not who you should be concerned with.”
“I don’t understand,” responded Captain Gage.
“Whether or not Duke Eeron is aware of his arcanist’s actions, that arcanist is not the man behind the curtain. This conspiracy does not end with anyone in Spinesend,” declared Rew. Around the table, the other men stared back at him in confusion. “One of the princes is behind this. I am sure of it. There’s nothing we can do.”
“I don’t understand,” said Commander Broyce. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting that Baron Fedgley is lost, at least for now,” said Rew. He glanced at Cinda apologetically. “His children and the people of Falvar should be your priority, and their safety is far from assured. Gage is right, there are still Dark Kind out in the barrowlands. I suggest you fortify the town, and then, send out patrols of loyal men to track down the surviving narjags. They should be easy enough to follow. Handle them before the next payment is due to the mercenaries. If the mercenaries don’t have to risk their own necks out in the barrowlands, they’ll be content to wait for that payment before they vanish. When the narjags are dealt with, that will put the townspeople at ease, and normal life can resume for a time. You’ll need more guards around Cinda and her brother, of course—“
“Wait,” said Cinda, suddenly snapping out of her malaise. “Are you recommending we do nothing to recover my father?”
Rew looked at her but did not respond.
“You have to do something!” insisted Cinda, standing suddenly, clenching her hands into fists at her side. She pointed a finger at the ranger. “You have to!”
“I don’t have to do anything,” replied Rew. “I am the King’s Ranger for the eastern territory. The squabbles of nobles, the whirlpool around the Investiture, they are not my concern. I understand you want to get your father back, but what would you do? You don’t have enough men to face Duke Eeron’s forces, even if you convinced the mercenaries to join you and you were willing to leave Falvar undefended. You don’t have the leverage to negotiate your father’s release, assuming you could figure out who to negotiate with. You don’t have the connections to try subterfuge or to enact a rescue mission. You are the most powerful spellcaster in Falvar, and I am sorry, lass, but I’ve never actually seen you cast a spell. But all of that is irrelevant because Duke Eeron is not your real enemy. It is the princes you should fear. They have your father, and I don’t mean to scare you, Cinda, but they are going to come for you next!”