Asher heard the lips of the scrawny man part, but no words left his mouth. He had obviously noticed the lack of spindly legs hurrying across the bone-littered ground.
The wolf’s claws dug into the mud, the sound exaggerated to Asher’s ears. He stood his ground, steadying his breathing, while replacing his rune sword and unsheathing the double-handed broadsword. He gripped the hilt with both hands, feeling the balance of the blade. The wolf charged with a snap of its jaws, leaping high into the air. Asher dropped to one knee and buried the base of the spiked pommel into the ground, the blade pointed to the hidden sky. He braced his arms as the full weight of the wolf landed on the point of the sword. The blade had entered through the mouth and come out through the top of the wolf’s head, killing it instantly.
Asher turned the beast over and placed one boot on the creature’s chest as he pulled the sword free. He could feel it lying there, lifeless in the dark, a beautiful animal twisted by the malevolent will of the scrawny man.
There would be no atoning for him now.
With his free hand held high, another orb of light formed in Asher’s hand and took flight, illuminating the massacre. The scrawny man looked about in fright and no small amount of shock.
“It’s... it’s not possible.” His eyes finally fell on Asher. “What are you?” The scrawny man was defenceless without his creatures, appearing more pathetic than before. “I just wanted them to notice me...”
Asher had nothing to say. The ranger side-stepped and span on the spot, his sword a blur as it cut through the staff and beyond, into the man’s face, where it separated everything above his nose. With the staff broken, the dark magic would lose its grip on the area, allowing the trees to return to their original splendour in time. Had the magical infection been allowed to grow any further, it would have caught the attention of the woodland folk of Felgarn and the kingdom of Lirian. A greedy part of Asher wished he had allowed the infection to grow; the Queen of Lirian would have paid a larger sum for his skills than the governor of Whistle Town. Asher noticed the slaughtered body of a child and tried to forget he had ever entertained the thought.
Thinking of his intended reward, he regarded the remains of the scrawny man. The governor would have a hard time believing the pathetic corpse, of what appeared to be an old man, to be the cause of so many deaths, especially when they already believed a great beast was the menace. Asher hefted the broadsword one last time to bring the blade down on the wolf’s neck, cleaving the head from its body.
Chapter Two
A King’s Order
The sun was setting low in the west, the tips of The Evermoore taking on an orange hue as storm clouds moved in from the east. Nathaniel twisted on his horse, looking back at the land he had covered over the last four days. The sanctuary of West Fellion was well beyond the horizon, its high walls a comfort he wouldn’t see for many months, though in truth he preferred his life on the road, serving out the justice his order had been charged with almost a thousand years ago.
The dull visage of Whistle Town lay sprawled before him in all its antiquated glory. As an original human settlement it had no Elven structures, leaving it free of their elegant architecture and grandeur. It was also the poorest town in all of Alborn, an otherwise rich region of Illian.
A heavy sigh from his left reminded Nathaniel that he wasn’t alone on this particular edict. He turned to see his new ward, Elaith, looking as sullen as ever. It had been a long four days in the company of the eighteen year old girl. Unlike Nathaniel, she had not volunteered to be trained as a Graycoat, but was instead taken in as an orphan over a decade ago. Elaith’s olive skin was testament to her previous life in Ameeraska, in the southern region of the Arid Lands. Not an easy place to survive as an orphan on the street.
“My first mandate outside of West Fellion and I end up in this shit-tip...” She wore her large leather coat the same as any other Graycoat, only it still shined with a mere five days of life, unlike Nathaniel’s which had taken on a lighter tone of brown after years of wear.
The coats were their badge of identification when travelling across Illian, known in all the continent’s regions by their specific tailoring. The coat was buttoned tight across the torso, ending just above the waist, where it billowed with two flaps that reached to the ankle. Nathaniel wore his sword belt within the flowing coat, whereas Elaith had started wearing hers over the top, since she had been presented with it upon their departure, five days ago. He had to admit, she wore it well.
They had identical bows and quivers slung across their backs. Nathaniel enjoyed the weight of it, comforted by the bow’s presence. He had more skill than any Graycoat when it came to archery, though the order was loath to admit it. He cast away the thoughts of prejudice he had lived under, trying not to dwell on the order’s opinions of him.
“Whistle Town has its... charms,” he lied.
“We couldn’t have been charged with hunting trolls in Vengora, or patrolling the Ice Vales for bandits?” Elaith continued.
Nathaniel had endured four days of the whining, “The beasts that lurk in the Slumbering Mountains are not to be taken lightly, take it from someone who’s actually passed through Vengora and got the scars.”
“You’re from Longdale, right, in the Iron Valley?” Elaith’s tone implied a lack of knowledge regarding Nathaniel’s past, despite the fact that there wasn’t a Graycoat alive who didn’t know about him. Like other wards before, she was prying for more information about the order’s ugly duckling.
“And the Ice Vales would come as a shock to someone from Ameeraska; it lives up to its name.” Nathaniel continued without answering the question.
Elaith sighed, the bait untouched. “But Whistle Town...? Alec and Bjorn were taken to The Narrows to destroy a nest of Sandstalkers, that’s right on the edge of the Wild Moores!”
“Then consider yourself lucky, this is your final test to keep that coat. All we have to do is escort one man to Velia, Alec and Bjorn will be lucky to return at all from The Narrows!” Nathaniel flinched at his own words; he shouldn’t have said that, Elaith had been training with them since she was eight years old. A moment of awkward silence passed between them. “I’m sure they’ll be fine though, Masters Vayga and Selena accompany them, veterans each.”
“So who is this man we’re to escort?” The whining teenager was now replaced with what sounded like a professional Graycoat.
Happy with Elaith’s change in subject, Nathaniel explained, “I don’t have all the details, but this mission came directly from Lord Marshal Horvarth.” That particular detail perked Elaith’s interest, as it had Nathaniel’s when the orders were handed down from the commander of West Fellion. “Our man in Whistle Town’s sector house sent word that this individual has been temporarily hired by the governor. Our window of opportunity is small. We are to escort him to Velia, where brother Devale will take custody.”
“So this man is to be our prisoner?” Elaith asked.
“I would imagine so, and possibly a dangerous one at that if Darius Devale is to take charge of him, though why he is needed in Velia I couldn’t say.” Nathaniel did his best to hide the fact that they were simple delivery boys for the Graycoats’ most accomplished warrior. The danger posed by the mystery man was of little concern to him - Nathaniel Galfrey was sure he had seen the worst the world had to offer.
The rain was falling hard by the time the Graycoats entered the muddy streets of Whistle Town. Nathaniel dug his heels in, spurring his horse on to reach shelter as fast as possible. Elaith’s short spiky hair was flattened against her scalp, though it did nothing to ruin his own shaved hair. The streets cleared quickly, as people sought cover in the nearby buildings, while the market stalls sat empty having already been cleared before the rain fell.
Water poured out of the gutters, under the thatched roofs, creating small rivers in the mud. Looking on, Elaith appeared to be unable to change her expression of disdain. Lanterns were ignited throughout the town, bringing a soft, y
ellow glow to the windows. Smoke defied the rain and rose from almost every house and inn. Nathaniel led them through the streets to the sector house in the north-east corner, a crooked and decrepit looking building with old wooden beams cut across the white exterior.
They herded the horses into the small stable, adjacent to the sector house, and knocked heavily on the dark door. Turning up their collars did little to keep out the cold rain, as they waited for the door to open. They were greeted by a young teenage boy with curly ginger hair and a face full of freckles.
“They’re here, Master Bail!” the boy shouted back into the house. Their coats were always the giveaway.
Nathaniel stepped past the boy without a word, thankful for the heat emanating from within. The interior was just as unkempt as the exterior, with used plates and cups strewn haphazardly across every surface, books stacked to ridiculous heights and dirty scrolls littering the floor. The few candles that had been laid out failed to illuminate the dark corners and winding staircase.
“Welcome, brother Galfrey.” Master Bail remained seated behind his long table, wine-cup in hand. Had it been any other Graycoat at his door, Nathaniel was sure the master would have stood and greeted him with respect.
Bail was a shadow of his former self, once a young and ambitious Graycoat, before a ghoul tore out his calf and disfigured his face. In his late fifties, he was now bound to these four walls, crippled and useless as a travelling Graycoat, good only for managing a sector house. His girth prevented him from wearing his coat, instead favouring a large black cloak lined with fur. His facial scars kept his hair line high on the left side of his scalp in long, grey scraggy knots.
“Brother Bail,” Nathaniel gritted his teeth and gave a curt nod. “This is Elaith Nevandar; she is taking her final trial.”
Elaith ran a gloved hand through her hair in an attempt to look more presentable.
Bail turned to the young boy. “Well don’t just stand there boy, bring food and water!” He hurried off into a room behind the table. Bail winced at the clatter of pots and pans created by the clumsy teenager. “I have to say, I’m surprised Lord Marshal Horvarth sent you for this mission. I thought they just let you loose on the land and left you to it.”
Nathaniel’s leather glove creaked as his grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. He glanced at Elaith who did her best not to react to Bail’s comment.
“It’s a simple escort job; I’ll be off the beaten track before the week’s end. Remind me, where will you be, Master Bail?” Nathaniel noticed the hint of a smirk on Elaith’s face, but maintained his own stony expression.
Bail’s eye twitched as he looked from one Graycoat to the other. “You obviously don’t understand the gravity of your mission, brother Galfrey.” The old Graycoat opened the top draw of his desk and removed a tightly bound scroll. He continued to roll out the parchment where Nathaniel noticed the wax seal of Lord Marshal Horvarth at the bottom. “You are a small cog with a very important job. I can only hope that you’re up to the task. The order has been commissioned by King Rengar of Velia. We are to bring before him the ranger known as, Asher...”
Bail’s words hung in the air, filling the room with silence, as if it were a physical being. Nathaniel was sure the old man must have misspoken. The red-headed boy returned from the kitchen with two plates of bread and dried fish. He looked at them all in turn, clearly wondering why nobody spoke in his presence, before Bail waved him away.
“We are to deliver Asher to King Rengar...?” Nathaniel couldn’t take his eyes off the scroll.
“Eh, no. You are to deliver him to Brother Darius Devale. He will present Asher to the king.” Bail began to break off strips of fish and drop them unceremoniously into his mouth.
Elaith’s expression crumpled in confusion. “Who is-”
“Where is he now?” Nathaniel interrupted.
Bail’s reply came through mouthfuls of fish and bread. “He has a room at the Green Hag. Paid for one more night.”
“How accurate are your sources?” Nathaniel probed, doubtful of Bail’s information.
Bail stopped eating. “He accepted a job five days ago to rid the town of whatever beast was hunting on the edge of The Evermoore. After questioning several townsfolk, he set out into the forest and returned this very afternoon with the head of a giant wolf. He presented the kill to the governor and accepted his coin willingly. My latest report came not one hour past, stating that the ranger was happily spending his reward on the Green Hag’s famous golden ale.” Bail gave Nathaniel a look just begging to be challenged. He may be useless to the order in the field now, but his network of spies could not be questioned in their efficiency.
Nathaniel stroked the stubble that had grown over the last four days. “Why wasn’t this beast handled by the order?” He wanted as many facts as possible.
“I put the request in for assistance a month ago, but no other Graycoats were available.” Bail continued to stuff his face.
“Well at least you kept the sector house in order...” Nathaniel glanced at the filth beneath his boot and continued before Bail could protest, “What does King Rengar want with him?”
“A king’s wants are not for us mere mortals to know.” Bail downed his cup of wine greedily. “He has asked for the Graycoats’ assistance, and Lord Marshal Horvarth has answered. Illian may not be under one banner anymore, but we are still servants to the realm and its leaders, are we not?”
Nathaniel could only wish that he had lived in such times. It was almost a millennium past when all of Illian was ruled by the one king, Gal Tion. After the Elves left for the shores of Ayda, in the east, King Tion unified the land under his banner with the help of Lord Tyberius Gray, the original patron of the Graycoats. They had been simpler times, when the Graycoats patrolled the land as knights, with the authority of the king, dealing out justice and slaying the horrors that preyed on the weak. Now they were living on handouts from the royal families, though even Dragorn, the island nation between Illian and Ayda, didn’t pay for their continued service to the land, since they claimed not to need it.
West Fellion was inhabited by orphans and occasional volunteers now. Under King Tion’s rule their ranks had reportedly swelled under the amount of volunteers that flocked from across the realm. Those days were long gone.
With the six kingdoms that now shared Illian, Nathaniel was forced to live in a world of politics, where the knights of West Fellion were more akin to peacekeepers between the greedy kings and queens, each with their own agendas and need for more power.
“Is he alone?” Nathaniel asked.
“He is. But if you are to believe the rumours, he always travels alone.” Bail poured himself another cup of wine.
“It’s not the rumours that concern me...”
Bail nodded in agreement, though Elaith continued to look puzzled. “I will have a bird sent to Velia, notifying brother Devale of your presence. He will expect you in no less than three days.”
Nathaniel took a moment to consider his options. This was not going to be easy, if possible at all, especially with a fresh-faced Graycoat at his side and no reinforcements. Either Lord Marshal Horvarth had great confidence in his ability to fulfil this task, or he was simply hoping it would be the mission that finally rid the order of their black mark. Nathaniel assumed it was the latter.
The Graycoat looked from the boy to Master Bail. “Get word to your man watching him. Tell him to wait for us outside the Green Hag and show us in through the back, I want to lay eyes on Asher before he sees us. Surprise is going to be our greatest weapon.”
One look from Master Bail sent the boy sprinting back into the kitchen and out through an unseen door. “Your orders, brother Galfrey,” Bail handed the signed parchment to Nathaniel. “Try not to get yourself killed, eh?”
“I didn’t think you cared?”
“I was talking to her.” Bail eyed Elaith as they turned to leave.
The rain had reduced to a light drizzle when Nathaniel and Elai
th found the Green Hag. As requested, Bail’s man was waiting under the shelter of a balcony, outside the inn. Elaith had questioned Nathaniel for most of the ride over, giving up when she realised her mentor was in a completely different world. He had trapped every kind of animal and most forms of beast in his time, but he couldn’t fathom how he was going to capture this monster.
Bail’s man showed them in through the back door and discreetly ushered them into a dimly-lit booth. From their position, Nathaniel could see most of the tables and the entire length of the bar. His target was easy to identify amidst the everyday rabble of the townsfolk. Asher was older than Nathaniel remembered, with grey hair to his shoulders, the front tucked back into a small ponytail on the crown of his head. His face remained hidden for the time, as the ranger sat on a stool, hunched over the bar with an empty plate and a tin mug, frothing with ale. He wore a muddied, long green cloak with a short-sword slung across his back, tightly packed against a stuffed quiver. As an archer, Nathaniel noticed the absence of a bow, though he certainly noticed the second sword that hung at his hip, with a spiked ball for a pommel.
Nathaniel could see the frustration on Elaith’s face and decided to elaborate, now that he knew for sure that Asher was indeed his target.
“This ranger is no ordinary man.” He spoke in hushed tones despite the din. “In all your years to come, you can only hope to never again come across an individual as uniquely skilled as this man.”
“Why? Because he’s a ranger? That just means he knows his way around a sword. So do we.” Elaith’s hand went to the hilt on her hip.
“Before he took to his life on the road, he lived a far darker one. I first encountered him fourteen years ago, on my first trial as a Graycoat, as you are now. I watched him cut through six Graycoats before assassinating the High Priest of Woodvale. And he did it all with his eyes closed...”
Elaith’s face lit up, as she looked on in amazement at the grey haired man, sitting ten metres away. “Arakesh...” she whispered.
Rise of the Ranger (Echoes of Fate: Book 1) Page 3