The Ranger's Path: The King's Ranger Book 2

by AC Cobble

  They passed busy workmen on nearly every block, putting up fresh sand and mud plaster on the walls, raising a new frame, or repairing the brick streets that had been cracked by heavy wagons or turned up by the passage of innumerable feet. The city rang with the sounds of the work, and Rew remembered how much he disliked the place because of it. The wood of the buildings was a constant reminder of the wood in the forest, and in Yarrow, he was always aware of how much he’d rather be somewhere else.

  His companions must have felt the same. They cut nervous glances down every cross street and into each darkened shop. The people of Yarrow paid them no mind, though. They were passing through the poor quarters of the city, and after several days of hard travel and panicked flight, the companions looked as if they belonged.

  All of them were eager to pass through as quickly as possible and find the open road beyond, but it was foolish to ignore the chance to resupply and to rest. A single good night in a bed could do wonders even for a ranger who had no qualms about sleeping beneath the stars. That, and Rew wouldn’t mind an ale or two.

  “What about this place?” asked Rew, nodding at a humble building they were passing. “I’ve taken a meal there, and while it was simple, I remember the food being hearty and fair priced.”

  Raif shrugged. “May as well. We can’t go to any of the places I’ve been. They’ll be filled with people from the keep.”

  “Have you ever stayed at this place?” asked Anne, eyeing the low-slung building skeptically. “It looks like it’s no more than a tavern. Are there even rooms inside of there?”

  “There could be,” answered Rew.

  “Rew…”

  “If there are no rooms, we’ll find somewhere else, but we have to start trying somewhere,” said the ranger with a wink.

  Around them, the current of foot traffic continued, and Rew gestured for the party to move to the side of the street. No sense in forcing people around them and drawing attention.

  “Maybe we should sleep somewhere we know it will be clean,” muttered Anne. “That’s a better place to start from, don’t you think?”

  “The inns where the rangers stay will know me on sight,” said Rew. “I don’t think Worgon or his minions have any reason to be looking for me, but it’s best if we move through Yarrow unnoticed, so Anne, unless you happen to know of a good inn in this city, we have to start somewhere, and it may as well be here.”

  Sighing, Anne looked up and down the street, as if somewhere in the poor quarter she would find a nicer place to stay.

  “There’s a grocer we passed just a block down and a general goods store across the street,” mentioned Rew. “We can pick up all of the supplies we need without having to traipse all over Yarrow. I know it probably won’t be to your standards, Anne, but we cannot hike for hours trying to find the cheapest, cleanest inn that none of us have been to before. If we want to be safe,” he waved a hand around them, “we have to stay somewhere we wouldn’t normally stay.”

  Reluctantly, Anne agreed, and Rew led them into the smoke-filled common room of the inn. He made arrangements for rooms, which fortunately, they did have. They settled in, and Anne and Zaine went out to collect additional provisions for the final leg of their journey to Spinesend. They’d all agreed, the empath and the thief were the two least likely to be recognized by someone in Yarrow.

  While the women were out, Rew purchased parchment from the innkeeper and scrawled a note to Ranger Blythe. She would be expecting him back soon, and it was clear enough he wouldn’t be going back. Not now, likely not ever. He grunted. If Vyar Grund really had been working for the king and not one of the princes, then Rew wasn’t going to be welcome anywhere anytime soon.

  Still, he owed it to Blythe to tell her what he could and to warn her. Grund knew that she was Rew’s favorite, and that meant she would need to step carefully around the commandant. She’d also need to find her own recruits to replace Tate and Jon—and himself, Rew supposed. It was about time to begin requesting funds from the capital for the next year, and… He laid down the quill and scowled at the note. There was so much to tell her. Too much for the few sheets of parchment he’d gotten from the innkeeper, but Blythe was as good of a ranger as he could hope for, and Ang and Vurcell would support her in whatever ways she needed. He hoped it’d be enough, because it would have to be. The other rangers were on their own, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about except scrawl down a few brief bits of advice.

  Rew bent back, finished his letter, and left it with the innkeeper to post the next morning. He ordered an ale. He drank it down but stopped at one. The memory of how easily the scout Rodger had approached in Umdrac was still fresh in his mind, and if they’d found trouble in quaint Umdrac, Yarrow was only going to be worse.

  Rew waited in the common room until the two women returned. Then, he took advantage of the inn’s baths. His muscles screamed with protest from the bailing he’d been doing all day to keep their ketch afloat, and as he sank into the steaming hot water, his legs trembled like over-cooked noodles. He slumped down in the wooden tub until only his head and his knees poked above the surface of the water.

  Steam enveloped him, and he blinked at the moisture, unable to see the rest of the room. He wasn’t worried. There was no one but him in the chamber, and he trusted his senses to alert him if someone else entered. After a while, though, he caught himself falling asleep, so he pushed his body up and grabbed a bar of harsh soap sitting beside the tub. As he scrubbed, he tried to recall the details of the layout of Yarrow and the easiest route out of there in the morning. If they wanted to make good time, there was no way to avoid the western gate, but that was where the greatest risk was. If someone was indeed looking for them, they would be posted at that gate.

  Rew finished his bath, toweled off, dressed, and went to meet the others in the common room. He found the four of them hunched over a table in the corner of the room, half-empty ciders and wines in front of them. An untouched plate of pickles and bread sat in the middle.

  Taking a seat with his back to the door, Rew glanced at the others. It would be better if he were in position to watch the room, but he didn’t want to deal with the fuss of arguing with them about it.

  The party sat silently. The only topics they wanted to discuss were too sensitive for the crowded common room. To entertain himself while he waited for their food, Rew ordered a pitcher of ale, pretending it was for the table and forgetting he’d planned not to drink. Waiting for his ale, he crunched on the sour pickles.

  Behind him, he could hear the din of steady conversation. It sounded like locals and a scattering of other travelers, all leaning in close over their drinks, discussing the weather, the abundant crops coming in from the south, and how it was forcing down the prices for local farmers to the point the dirt-tillers didn’t have a spare copper to spend in the city. There were rumors of Dark Kind somewhere out in the countryside, though no one seemed to know anyone who’d actually seen them. Rew heard a vigorous debate about whether the favorite horse from last season would perform nearly as well at the races in the next weeks or whether it was time for the knackers. Then, he heard talk of Duke Eeron.

  “Aye, I know Baron Worgon is his bannerman, but the baron won’t stand for such treachery.”

  Rew tapped on the table quietly and tilted his head to the left, indicating the others should try and overhear the conversation happening at the adjacent table.

  “What’s Worgon going to do?” argued a second voice. “Eeron’s got four times the men, ten times the spellcasters, and he’s the duke, for King’s Sake!”

  There was a sharp snort, and a woman’s voice silenced the two men. “Worgon has the support of Prince Valchon. Eeron is nothing more than a roach beneath the boot of the prince. When it comes to it, the soldiers Eeron can put in the field, his pathetic spellcasters, they’ll be swept away like summer wheat. The prince’ll back Worgon’s play. I know it.”

  “You know it,” cackled the first man. “You don’t know nothin�
��.”

  “I know the prince has personally requested Worgon’s assistance locating the children,” snapped the woman. “I overheard it yesterday when I was escorting Seneschal Kaleb. Worgon was like a father to those two. Remember, they fostered here in Yarrow the last three years.”

  Rew’s gaze turned to Raif and Cinda. The two nobles shuffled back into the corner, Raif raising his hood over his head, Cinda picking up her mug and shifting behind Rew’s pitcher of ale as if to hide.

  “Aye, they fostered in Yarrow,” admitted the first man. “Everyone knows that. It doesn’t mean Worgon’s got any more chance to find them than anyone else. King’s Sake, woman, if they wanted anything to do with Worgon, they wouldn’t have fled!”

  “I know what I know,” declared the woman.

  The second man spoke, his voice quieter than the other two. “You don’t know any more than anyone knows in any tavern on any street in this city. It’s true, Fedgley’s children fostered with Worgon. It’s true, more like than not, blood will be spilled between Worgon and Eeron. Whether Prince Valchon truly supports Worgon and would take action against Eeron, no one knows ‘cept the prince himself. Not even Worgon knows that. It’s why he hasn’t marched yet. And whether those children will shelter here in Yarrow after what Eeron did to their family… It all depends on what they believe. I mean, it’s no more than rumor that the duke was behind the attack on Baron Fedgley, right? I’ve heard every wagging jaw in this city talking about it the last two days, but I ain’t heard Duke Eeron confessing to it. The children fostered with Baron Worgon, but the duke is their liege. Don’t be so sure they’ll listen to the tavern gossip.”

  The first man chuckled. “Aye, fair enough. There’s no telling what the children know or the mind of the prince.”

  “Prince Valchon wants those two,” insisted the woman. “He wants them, and the safest place they can find right now is inside of Baron Worgon’s keep. Maybe they know that, maybe they don’t, but I’d bet gold if they do know, they’ll come here and they’ll seek shelter. If they do, I’d bet the rest of my gold that Prince Valchon comes and supports the baron.”

  “You don’t have any gold,” retorted the second man.

  Ignoring him, the woman continued, “It’d be something, wouldn’t it, to see one of the princes in battle? If he comes, I mean to march with the rest of ‘em. I’ve heard stories of what high magic is like, and I’d be pleased to see a bit of it before I’m buried.”

  “If you see the prince’s high magic, chances are you’ll be buried then and there,” cried the first man. “Pfah. If the baron decides to march against the duke, I don’t plan to be around for it.”

  “You’ll desert?”

  “I’ll retire,” responded the man. “I’ve put in my years. War ain’t worth the trifle pay they give an old-timer like me.”

  Rew heard the clunk of an empty mug on the table, and the woman said, “You’re a coward, you know? If the baron marches, I aim to be on the first rank, and I’ll be telling my children and their children about what I see.”

  “You ain’t got any more children than you do gold,” cackled the second man.

  A chair scooted, and someone stood. The woman declared, “I’m tipsy enough. Let’s get on with it and finish our patrol. Another hour and we’re off duty, and I don’t mean to earn any extra time tonight, lads.”

  “Going to see Johan again, eh?” asked the first man, standing as well.

  “Only way I know of getting children,” said the woman, bursting into a drunken chortle.

  They moved away from the table, and Rew risked a glance to see the backs of three soldiers wearing the ochre livery of Baron Worgon. He turned to the others, picked up his ale mug, downed half of it, and asked, “Well, what do you think of that?”

  9

  Rew waited while the two nobles sat in confused shock. Finally, well after the soldiers had left the inn, Cinda stammered, “But… But Worgon was plotting against Father? We heard it. We know he was!”

  “Those soldiers thought you might come running to Yarrow,” said Rew. “They don’t believe the baron was plotting against your family. It didn’t sound like they’d ever been tasked with trying to hunt you down, either.”

  “Father was working with Prince Valchon, too, wasn’t he?” questioned Raif, scratching his head in confusion. “How can the prince be allied with Worgon as well? They must be mistaken.”

  “The Investiture,” murmured Anne. “It makes for strange bedfellows.”

  “If Worgon is opposed to Duke Eeron, but we know it’s the duke who took Father…” murmured Cinda, her face scrunched up as she worked through the problem. “We overheard Worgon plotting against—“

  “Did you overhear Worgon himself?” questioned Rew.

  “Well, not the baron himself, but his close confidants,” responded Cinda.

  “How close?” pressed Rew. “Seneschal Kaleb?”

  “Kaleb’s too careful for that,” interjected Raif. “He…” The young noble was staring at Rew and Anne, who were sharing an uncomfortable look. “What?”

  Neither the ranger nor the empath spoke.

  Cinda leaned forward on the table. “What are you hiding from us?”

  Rew looked down into his ale mug, hoping Anne would speak, but she gestured for him to explain.

  “Ah,” started the ranger, “from what we understand, it wasn’t Worgon plotting against your father, but instead it was your father plotting against Worgon. Baron Fedgley himself planted those rumors and arranged for you to see what you saw. He meant to pit Duke Eeron and Baron Worgon against each other, which seems to be working, except Duke Eeron moved against your father before he did Worgon.”

  “What!” cried Raif, half-standing.

  Zaine caught his arm and tried to pull the big lad back down into his chair.

  Cinda stared at Rew and Anne, her eyes narrowing.

  “I don’t believe it!” exclaimed Raif, his voice harsh with the strain of keeping it from a shout.

  Rew shrugged in response.

  “Where did you hear this?” asked Cinda.

  Rew turned to Anne again, but she shook her head. She told him, “You heard it, not I.”

  Grimacing, Rew admitted, “Your father told both Alsayer and I when we first arrived in Falvar that he was behind the plot. He said he’d planted the rumors, he’d arranged it all. He wanted it to appear that Worgon was betraying him. Raif, Cinda, it was your father who was planning to turn on both Duke Eeron and Baron Worgon. His downfall was that he didn’t think the Investiture would start so soon, and he didn’t foresee Duke Eeron striking first.”

  Cinda sat back, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Raif clenched his fist on the table and hissed, “Ranger, if we weren’t in hiding, I’d jump across this table and smash your face.”

  Rew stared back at the youth, unsure of what to say to that.

  “Now, now,” said Anne, attempting to play the peacemaker. “Rew is just relaying what—“

  “You knew?” asked Cinda. “You knew and said nothing?”

  Wincing, Anne replied, “I knew, but there wasn’t a time when—“

  “Is this why you tricked us into coming to Yarrow?” demanded Raif, glaring at Rew. “You hoped if you could get us here, you’d drive us into Worgon’s arms? Are you working for him?”

  “No!” hissed Rew. “Of course I’m not working for Worgon. I didn’t want to come to Yarrow any more than you did. We were forced here by Duke Eeron’s soldiers and the assassins in the forest, remember?”

  Raif snorted, shaking his head in disbelief, his body trembling.

  “I’m not trying to direct you toward Baron Worgon,” added Rew. “Think about it, Raif. Haven’t I been saying we should leave immediately, that we should avoid the keep? Worgon wasn’t behind the plot against your family, but that doesn’t mean he’s your friend. Prince Valchon is not your friend, either. You’re best off running away from all of this, but if you insist on going to Spinesend and tryi
ng to rescue your father, then our plan should remain the same. Ignore Worgon, let’s slip from Yarrow unnoticed tomorrow morning, and we’ll do what we can in Spinesend. You shouldn’t trust any of these nobles.”

  “Don’t trust the nobles!” snapped Raif. “I’m a noble, or have you forgotten?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” muttered Rew, wincing.

  “And what do you mean, our plan to go to Spinesend?” barked Raif. “At every turn, you’ve tried to talk us out of it!”

  Rew threw up his hands. “I’m trying to help you, lad.”

  “Yes, help us,” snarled Raif. “Help us do what? Turn from our mission, move farther and farther from where we’re supposed to be? We shouldn’t trust any nobles, should we? Pfah. I see where you stand, Ranger.”

  “You’ve moved farther from where you should be well enough on your own,” growled Rew. “Unless you’ve forgotten how we met in the first place, or how I rescued you from Vyar Grund?”

  “Ah, yes, the ranger commandant,” scoffed Raif. “Your boss, you mean? As far as we know, you’re in league with the man.”

  “King’s Sake, lad,” growled Rew. “You watched me fight him. You saw the cuts he left on my body.”

  Smacking a fist down on the table, Raif declared, “I’m seeing things for what they are, now. Eeron, Worgon, and even the rangers. You’re all working together, trying to drive us where you want us to go.”

  “What possible reason would I have for any of that?” asked Rew, gritting his teeth in frustration. “I had you locked in a jail cell. Grund had you bound on the floor of that cave. If either of us had wanted to take you somewhere, we would have!”

  “Locked in a cell,” said Raif, his jaw bunching. “Thank you for reminding me of that. I’ve been stupid, haven’t I? It’s been apparent since we first met you.”