Rise of the Ranger (Echoes of Fate: Book 1)

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “My name is Nathaniel, by the way. Nathaniel Galfrey...” At least Asher would stop calling him ‘Graycoat’.

  Asher finished his mouthful of meat. “As in, Tobin Galfrey?”

  There it was. The shadow Nathaniel would never escape. “He was my father.” It was the first time in many years since he had said the words out loud.

  Asher tore off another strip of meat. “I thought Graycoats were supposed to keep it in their pants?”

  Was it possible the old assassin possessed a sense of humour?

  “We’re forbidden from starting families, no ties or vulnerabilities as the Lord Marshal calls them. Though, sex in general is a grey area at West Fellion...” Nathaniel stopped himself, unsure why he was talking so openly to the ranger. It was easy to forget what he really was.

  “Sound’s dull...” Asher continued to chew his mouthful of meat. “So old Tobin got his beak wet, huh?”

  “Take a care, assassin.” Nathaniel shot Asher a threatening look that he wasn’t sure he could follow up with action.

  “I meant no offence.” Asher held up his hands. “I actually met your father once. He certainly lived up to his legend; I’ve got a scar across my hip to prove it.”

  “You fought with him?” Nathaniel had never heard this story, and he had heard all the stories about his father’s adventures.

  “He didn’t know I was an assassin at the time. I was passing as an Outlander trying to...” Asher appeared to catch himself, and returned to concentrating on the meat in his hand for a moment. “...Well Tobin Galfrey never took kindly to Outlanders, especially when they camp outside the Wild Moores.”

  Nathaniel looked into the fire, imagining such a battle. He wanted to know more but sensed the ranger’s reluctance to even share what little information he had.

  “You must hold a high position at West Fellion, the son of such a legend.” Asher was watching him closely. “Ah,” he had the look of an epiphany, “you’re living proof that the bravest Graycoat strayed from the code, eh?”

  “And what would a killer know of any code?” Nathaniel spat.

  “Even the Arakesh have their code,” Asher calmly replied. Nathaniel was caught off guard by the smallest of details regarding the assassins. “Let me guess; that’s the most any Graycoat has ever heard about Nightfall?”

  “We know plenty about your kind. You fight with two swords, traditionally short, like the one on your back. Whoever rules Nightfall is referred to as ‘father’ or ‘mother’. And we know you can see in the dark...” Nathaniel held his tongue, not wanting to reveal all they knew.

  “Is that so?” Asher had a smile on his face Nathaniel just wanted to smack.

  “Well how else could you shoot a deer under a moonless night?”

  Asher held his arrogant smile and continued to eat. “Would you like to see it?” The ranger nudged the folded bow with his foot. “It’s the only thing I kept.”

  Nathaniel looked at the red cloth around Asher’s belt and knew the bow wasn’t the only thing he kept. Still, the weapon was from Nightfall; that meant it was used by all Arakesh. It would make sense to use the opportunity to learn as much as possible about the enemy.

  “How does it work?” Nathaniel sounded disinterested.

  Asher passed it over and the Graycoat marvelled at the weapon’s elegance. The upper and lower limbs were folded on a series of hinges hidden by a complex pattern of cogs. The bowstring ran through a groove that cut down the centre of the entire bow. He flicked the small latch, built into the riser, and held the weapon at arm’s length as it snapped open. The bowstring was pulled taut inside the riser and the limbs until it appeared as any other bow.

  “Incredible...” he whispered.

  “You favour the bow,” Asher stated to Nathaniel’s questioning look. “Your hands...” The ranger quickly glanced over at the Graycoat’s hands.

  Upon examining his own hands, Nathaniel could see the markers that betrayed him as an archer, and was impressed that Asher had noticed the minor details as well.

  “And you favour a broadsword, unusual for an Arakesh.” The double-handed sword still stood on end, its spiked pommel gleaming in the fire.

  “It fits my line of work better.” Asher hesitated before continuing. “And I’m not an Arakesh anymore...”

  “Does it have a name?” Nathaniel regretted his question at seeing Asher’s smirking face.

  “My sword?”

  “Yeah. I thought you ranger-types liked to do that sort of thing, you know, build a legend around your weapon...” Nathaniel did his best to sound casual.

  Asher laughed to himself. “No, my sword doesn’t have a name. It’s a sword. I’ve found that the men who do that are usually overcompensating for something...” Both men looked at one another and shared a brief laugh.

  Elaith was restless and rolled over under her blanket, showing them her back. Nathaniel wanted to be angry with Asher for his past life, a life devoted to murder, but found his honesty quite disarming. His mastery of eloquent speech was not mirrored by his gruff appearance and grizzly voice - which should have reflected the intelligence of, well, an Outlander.

  Nathaniel readily accepted the bottle of golden ale Asher offered him. It was only after his first mouthful did he realise that the drink may be poisoned. The ranger’s disarming nature was clearly one of his many weapons.

  “So what does a ranger do?” Nathaniel handed the ale back.

  “Same thing as you, only I get paid better.” Asher’s arrogant smile returned.

  Nathaniel couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t doubt it. Our patrols last three months. Three months on the road and all they see fit to give us are a hundred and fifty bits.”

  Now Asher laughed. “I was paid four hundred and seventy bits for the Whistle Town job alone!” The ranger seemed to catch himself again and reined in his moment of familiarity.

  Seeing his change in mood, Nathaniel did the same, leaving another awkward silence to lie between them. The Graycoat looked up to the sky and thanked the gods the rain had abated. Thick clouds continued to roll overhead, promising to soak them in the morning, however.

  “My order has been hunting you since Lirian, Asher. You revealed yourself then, put yourself out there for all of Illian to see.” The ranger remained silent, focused on his food. “Why would you save Queen Isabella after spending decades assassinating people like her? Why did you leave Nightfall?” These were questions West Fellion had been asking for years.

  Asher stood up suddenly and sheathed his sword. “That’s a story for another campfire, Galfrey.” He removed his own blanket and unrolled it across the floor. “You should get some sleep - long ride tomorrow. And don’t worry; you won’t need to take shifts. It’s like you said, I’m going to need you if I’m to actually meet the king.”

  Nathaniel nodded his understanding, but had no intention of falling asleep until he woke Elaith up. Asher was certainly more interesting than Nathaniel had given him credit, but he trusted the ranger about as far as he could throw him.

  By dusk the next day, Asher could make out the grey stone of Velia’s outer wall and the scattered village that lay sprawled at the city’s base. The rain had hammered them since they left camp and their fingers were starting to wrinkle. Beyond Velia, the rain blocked the usual sight of The Adean and the numerous sails of the boats entering and leaving the port.

  Asher pulled his hood aside to see Nathaniel and Elaith cloaked in black ponchos over their famous coats, their hoods pulled tight against the wind and rain. A flash to their left was followed by an ear-splitting thunder clap. The horses neighed, becoming hard to control when a nearby tree collapsed under its own weight and high winds.

  “We should find shelter until it eases up!” Nathaniel shouted over the rain.

  “It’s only a couple more hours!” Asher shouted back.

  Before they could argue their points anymore, Elaith steered her horse for the shelter of a rocky outcropping. The slab of rock that jutted out of the
hillock acted as a shelf, with the boulders and trees creating a perfect alcove to wait out the storm. The young Graycoat jumped off her horse and struggled to remove the soaked poncho.

  “Argh! I am so sick of being wet! We might as well have swam to Velia!” Her short, spiky hair was plastered to her forehead.

  Asher tied Hector to a tree and pulled the sodden hood off his head. He tightened the knot in his small ponytail and wiped the water from his face. The ranger caught Nathaniel massaging his own behind in an attempt to get some feeling back into it.

  “This storm isn’t going to let up.” Asher removed his green cloak and hung it over a small tree inside the alcove.

  “We’ve made good time, Asher. The king demands that you be there by tomorrow, we’ll finish the journey before the sun rises.” Nathaniel started to gather wood for a fire.

  Asher sat on a boulder, restless. He hated to be anywhere for too long; if he wasn’t moving he was vulnerable. The ranger had been running for fourteen years, the Arakesh baying for his blood on one side and the Graycoats happy to torture him for information on the other. Staying on the move had been one of his earliest lessons when it came to surviving, and a little storm had never stopped him before.

  “At least we can sleep for a little while.” Elaith was already going for her blanket.

  “Not until you go through your routines.” Nathaniel dropped the sticks and gave Elaith an unyielding look.

  She seethed. “Fine...” Leaving her blanket, Elaith unsheathed her one-handed sword.

  Asher noted the Graycoat emblem of a sword entwined within a snake’s body, the tip plunging into the animal’s head, on the disc-shaped pommel of her hilt.

  Elaith moved into some space, away from where Nathaniel was building the fire. She took a moment to control her breathing, before exploding into action with her sword. The techniques were well practised, with recognisable styles all woven into one fighting form. It reminded Asher of the way he had been taught to fight; never be tied to one style, always keep your opponents off balance with a variety of techniques. A couple of twirls with her sword over head were definitely elven in origin. Asher had witnessed this use of elven form when confronted by Graycoats in the past; of course he found it easy to counter with a complete knowledge of elven fighting styles.

  “How did you learn to fight like an elf?” Asher asked them both.

  Elaith paused to look at Nathaniel, who in turn gave her a look to continue her training.

  “I’ll tell you, if you tell me how you can light this fire without a wand?” Nathaniel had finished building the fire pit and was about to attempt lighting it.

  Asher met the Graycoat’s dark eyes, but instead turned back to Elaith. The ranger didn’t entirely dislike the Graycoat, but he wasn’t ready to divulge all his secrets, especially one he couldn’t explain himself. The fact that after nearly three days he hadn’t even thought about killing Nathaniel was new to him. All of West Fellion had fallen into one category during his life, even after leaving Nightfall, and that was kill or be killed. There was something about this Galfrey though; something that made the knight feel apart from his order, and that was something Asher could relate to. The ranger tried not to dwell on the fact that for the last fourteen years he had mostly related to his horse, Hector.

  “You know at least three elven techniques.” Asher slowly walked around Elaith, as she twirled and pivoted with her sword flying in every direction. “To the average fighter that would make you formidable, give you an edge. But if you ever cross swords with an Arakesh it will not be enough. Just when you should flow into the complete elven style you revert back to fighting like a human. Your form is stunted. You keep your sword in the same hand; this tells your opponent where the next attack is coming from. Don’t be afraid to change hands mid-flow.”

  Elaith stopped and looked at Asher. “Show me.” She nodded at the sword on his hip.

  Asher obliged and removed his sword, while taking up his position opposite Elaith. Nathaniel left the unlit fire and came to stand closer. Surprisingly he didn’t try to stop them sparring, as Asher predicted he would, but he did give the ranger a warning look.

  “Don’t worry,” Asher said. “I haven’t killed one of your order in fourteen years, and I don’t intend to break that streak now.”

  The young Graycoat held her sword in the elven form, with the blade resting over the back of her neck. Asher knew exactly what form of attack came after that particular stance and smirked at the girl, baiting her. Standing, with his sword lowered casually at his side, he waited patiently for Elaith to lunge - and lunge she did.

  With reflexes he knew she wouldn’t be expecting of a man his age, Asher flicked up his sword and knocked Elaith’s attack wild. With her sword flung outwards he used the flat of his blade to smack the back of her legs, followed by whipping his free hand out to catch her just above the breastbone. As planned, the Graycoat was on her back in seconds, her sword out of reach.

  Nathaniel laughed. “That was just embarrassing.”

  Elaith picked herself up and collected her sword, pausing to shoot Nathaniel a threatening look. It was a look Asher had seen a hundred times in the Arid Lands, to the south. The young girl definitely had the southerners’ temperament.

  “Again!” Elaith held her sword out in front of her, in another familiar style.

  As she attacked, her sword predictably rose over her head for a downwards stroke. Again Asher stood with his sword lowered, but ready with his counter-attack. As her blade came down, the ranger span on his heel, twirling his own sword to confuse her, and turned his whole body, until he was behind Elaith. When her blade reached the ground, Asher’s sword rested against the back of her neck.

  “You’re dead,” the ranger stated.

  They both relaxed and walked away from each other, until Elaith quickly turned on Asher with her sword flipping end-over-end. She wanted to attack him again but Asher held out his hand to stop her.

  “You fight as if it’s a competition of skill.” Asher rested his sword over his shoulder with one hand. “Fighting is about one thing; survival. You aim to kill your opponent, so showing off your skill is pointless if they’re going to be dead soon. Your battle stance is a poster for your next attack, never give anything away. Let your opponent think you’re as useless as a mule in combat, then spring.”

  Elaith breathed out a sharp sigh, before immediately attacking again. This time she burst into action from standing still, making her first thrust unpredictable. After a very human attack, the young Graycoat broke out in a flurry of elven techniques that made Asher work to avoid the edge of her blade. After four or five attacks it became obvious that Elaith had exhausted her knowledge, and possibly that of her entire order. The ranger brought his sword into his bodyline, to give him more manoeuvring room, as he span round the girl after an exotic parry, and finished with his blade to her throat.

  “You’re dead.”

  Elaith smiled this time. “I’ve never seen moves like those!”

  “The Arakesh are taught to fight using every style, with every weapon. Remember, your sword is an extension of you; but you are the weapon, not the blade. Don’t be afraid to use your entire body.”

  Thunder echoed across the darkening sky, the trees and fields exposed in the lightning flashes. Asher turned to Nathaniel who was watching intently, no doubt hungry for more information about the assassins.

  “We’ll stay a few hours and see if the rain dies down.” The Graycoat returned to light the fire. “Elaith, bring some of that deer over.” Elaith was more than happy to have some food by a warm fire rather than continue her sword practice. “Would you mind?” Nathaniel looked from Asher to the collection of dry sticks.

  Asher sat on the ground and waved his hand over the branches, setting them alight. Like every other spell he cast, the ranger only had to think about what he desired, and wait for the warm tingling sensation to flow out from his ring.

  The Graycoats studied him closely. They shared
out the remains of the deer and relaxed in the warmth of the fire for an hour. Asher was happy for the silence while they ate. He had spoken more in the last two days than he had in the last two months. The ranger refused to admit to himself that he enjoyed conversing with the Graycoats.

  “I can’t explain it...” Asher announced, looking at the fire, some time later. “I’ve been able to use magic like that since I was a child.”

  “You don’t require a wand, or Demetrium?” Nathaniel tried to appear as disinterested as he had the previous night, but Asher could see the knight’s fire.

  “I think I’ve got a wand in one of my packs.” The ranger looked off to his horse, beyond the fire. “Picked it up in Skystead a few years back. Very nasty dark mage if I recall...”

  “What about the ancient words?” the Graycoat pressed.

  “I know a few but I’ve never needed them.” Asher absently stared at the silver ring on his finger. Without his gloves on, the shard of black crystal glistened in the light.

  “You must have a bucket-load of elven blood running through your veins.” Elaith stopped inspecting Asher’s bow to make the comment.

  “And what do you know of magic?” Nathaniel asked.

  “They don’t teach us magic, but they teach us about magic. Times have changed since you were at West Fellion,” Elaith replied. “Master Vintrell says that the strongest of magic casters have elven blood in their family. That means a thousand years ago, an elf and a human started your family tree.”

  “Master Vintrell sounds like a wise man.” Asher had heard similar theories over the years, but there was no way to prove it.

  “Master Vintrell wears his trousers back-to-front...” Nathaniel added quietly. Asher stifled his laugh with the last piece of deer.

  “Could your mother or father do the same?” Elaith asked eagerly.

  Asher felt the usual urge to pull back and end the conversation before it went any further. Lying about his past and his life in general had been another lesson at Nightfall. Not every mission allowed for stealth and killing from the shadows. There were occasions when he had to appear as someone else for a time, or gain a person’s trust to reach his target or gather information. He had spent months, as part of his tests, living amongst the people in Calmardra, in the Arid Lands, learning to craft the perfect lies and manipulate conversations to his favour. But he had grown tired of that life.