“We shall see...” Mörygan held out an open palm and conjured a ball of fire.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ro Dosarn
Resting her head on Nathaniel’s bare chest, Reyna rose and fell with the heavy breathing, as they both regained their breath. The elf was impressed with the Graycoat’s stamina. She had been led to believe that humans made terrible bed-mates, due to their inferior bodies. There was nothing inferior about Nathaniel’s body. He was strong, yet soft and attentive. Their bodies had come together as if the gods themselves had made them for one another.
Glistening with sweat, the princess rolled over to cool off, unable to remove the smile from her face. Reyna turned to Nathaniel and found him looking back at her with content. His beautiful dark eyes were easy to fall into and be transported away from the reality of her reason for being here. While the two were so engrossed in each other, Reyna had caught the glimpse of a green flash outside the balcony, when Mörygan had released a magical flare. The princess doubted that the flare would be seen amidst the storm and gathering mists between here and Korkanath.
With a delicate finger, Reyna traced the outline of Nathaniel’s muscled stomach, up to his chest and over the scars, until she rested her hand against his cheek. His rough hand caressed her thigh and gently spread out across her hip, which he used to pull her closer and kiss her with an intense passion that left the elf craving more. Using her greater strength, Reyna rolled over Nathaniel and pulled him over again so that she was underneath him. They giggled like children and kissed again, enjoying the warmth and touch of each other’s bodies. To Reyna’s astonishment, Nathaniel was ready to go again. The elf wrapped her legs tight around his waist and streaked her fingers down his back, enjoying Nathaniel’s kisses along her neck.
Reyna’s keen ears picked up a sound outside the room - a sound her instincts told her was danger. She pushed Nathaniel back to inspect the door and he followed her gaze with surprise.
“What’s wrong?” The Graycoat was oblivious to the sounds beyond the door.
Reyna could hear someone taking great care to muffle the sound of a dying moan, while another carefully placed one of the armoured guards on the floor, rather than letting them fall.
The princess threw Nathaniel onto the other side of the bed and slipped out of the covers to put her night dress on - all before the Graycoat could even look up. Two swift strides put Reyna in front of the door, pausing only for a second to pick up her sword on the way. There was a person on the other side of the now, she was sure. The elf angled her sword, ready to plunge it through the wood and into the skulking shadow outside. Commotion coming from Faylen’s room distracted Reyna for the precious seconds it took the would-be-attacker to kick the door in.
The door splintered around the lock and the door violently swung open on its hinges. Reyna’s reflexes saved her from the concussive blow, allowing her to spin out of the way and twirl her sword around in a defensive manoeuvre. A man, disguised in dark clothing, sprang into the room, followed by two more similarly dressed, each with a black hood and mask covering their mouth and nose. All three lashed out at the elf with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.
The blades came at the princess from three different directions, each angled to remove her head or a limb. It was immediately clear that, though these men were skilled warriors, they were no Arakesh. Reyna easily deflected two of the swords and dodged another, whipping her leg back to send one of the men flying across the central table, where it collapsed under his weight and sent food tumbling to the floor.
Nathaniel came bounding over the bed, naked, and jumped onto the fallen warrior as he was getting up. The Graycoat sent the two of them spinning into the nearby wardrobe, splintering more wood. Reyna moved to help him, until Nathaniel exploded from the broken wardrobe and tackled the masked warrior around the waist, picking him clean off the floor and charging him into one of the bed-posts. The knight could handle himself, it seemed.
The princess deflected another barrage of slashing blades and used her elven speed to slip between the two warriors and strike both, one across the thigh and the other across his arm. A dagger dropped to the floor, covered in its owner’s blood, while the other limped back to put some distance between himself and Reyna. The two killers took a breath, as if reassessing their attack. She was clearly faster and stronger than they had anticipated. It was almost insulting that only a few had been sent to dispatch her.
The painting of an Alborn summer landscape fell to the floor beside Reyna, at the same moment as the chest of drawers was knocked from its position beneath it. The princess could hear Faylen fighting on the other side of the wall, and strongly suspected that one of her attackers had been thrown into the wall with a little magical assistance. For the would-be-killers’ sake, Reyna could only hope that they had been smart enough to send more than three men to kill her mentor. Faylen could wield a sword just as well as she could muster a lightning bolt.
Behind her own attackers, Reyna could see Nathaniel’s naked body ducking and weaving between the warrior’s sword, slicing through the air. The Graycoat caught the man’s sword arm by the wrist and bent it downwards until the bone snapped and the blade fell to the floor with a clatter. The black-clad warrior was quick however, indifferent to his pain, as he brought his dagger round to cut Nathaniel’s shoulder. The Graycoat fell back, gripping his new wound, but never taking his eyes off the warrior. His attacker was left with only one good hand now, leaving Reyna confident in his ability to fend off the man. The elf shook such worries from her mind. Nathaniel Galfrey was a knight and an accomplished fighter, easily capable of besting one assassin... even if he was naked.
The elf’s attackers came at her again with renewed fury, now wanting revenge for their injuries. Their aggressive attack was sloppy, giving into their pain, with wild slashes that Reyna easily parried and evaded. An upward thrust of her scimitar cut the man with the injured leg up the centre of his body, slicing everything open from his groin to his head. A high parry kept the second attacker from removing her head, their eyes meeting in the soft glow of the candlelight. The man’s eyes were full of hate and determination, desperate to end her life out of duty and personal need. With her free hand, Reyna called on her innate magic and cooled the air around her palm at an incredible speed, producing a foot-long icicle that she launched from her hand and into the attacker’s chest, killing him instantly. He fell backwards and landed on the cold floor with a loud thump, the bloody icicle shattering to pieces.
Looking up from his body, Reyna’s eyes were drawn to the wet footprints leading from the open balcony, shimmering in the candlelight. The prints were too fresh to belong to Nathaniel or herself and... her attention was prised away by the fitful gurgling of the last attacker’s final moments. Nathaniel held him tight around the neck in a headlock, before a swift turn of his powerful arms snapped the man’s neck, ending the struggle.
Both were left panting in the dim light, both splattered in strangers’ blood.
Nathaniel groaned as he stood up, making no effort to staunch the blood running down his injured arm. Reyna’s skin tingled - as it did in the presence of magic - before she saw it, the air rippling behind Nathaniel and the dark figure emerging from the shadows. Even her elven speed was no match for the Arakesh, who with a single step forward, plunged his short-sword through Nathaniel’s back, until it pierced his abdomen. The Graycoat gasped, frozen in place with shock, while the blindfolded assassin rested his hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder, keeping him upright. The princess stopped, too afraid to attack in case the Arakesh adjusted his sword and killed him.
Blood dripped off the end of the sword, dulling its shine. The Arakesh held a stony expression beneath his blindfold. This was a professional killer, not an amateur as the others had been.
The assassin spoke in a gruff voice, with a hint of intelligence not dissimilar from Asher’s. “Where’s the ranger?” He twisted the sword just enough to elicit pain from Nathaniel.
“Stop!” For the first time, Reyna didn’t know what to do while holding a sword. Wielding a blade was one of the few times the princess felt in control of her life, but now she could only hesitate.
“Where’s the ranger?” the Arakesh asked again in the same controlled tone.
The short-sword moved again, doing more damage and causing more blood to flow down Nathaniel’s stomach.
Reyna didn’t know what to say, she didn’t even know where the Outlander was. Beyond her room she could still hear Faylen fighting her own intruders and knew that there was no one coming to help her.
You’re getting too old for this...
Asher pulled himself up the palace’s outer wall, ascending the slippery stone and fighting against the relentless rain. The ranger had been climbing the high wall for nearly an hour, after catching sight of the familiar shadow tackling the same wall. It had bothered Asher that he had only seen one Arakesh. Nasta Nal-Aket will have surely sent more than one assassin to complete the task.
A misplaced foot almost sent Asher to his death. His muscles reacted with pure reflex, like a cat landing on its feet, with his arms reaching out for the nearest handholds. Looking down, there was no question of whether he would die or not, however, death had accompanied the old ranger as far back as his memory could go. Nightfall had banished the concept of fear long ago, honing the warrior into a beast, fit only for killing.
The sound of clashing steel floated down on the wind, strengthening Asher’s resolve to finish the climb. The Arakesh had already scaled the palace and disappeared over the lip of the balcony he assumed was the princess’s. It troubled Asher to think of the speed with which the assassin had scaled the palace. They were taught magic at Nightfall, but most preferred to rely on their combat skills rather than sorcery. It was possible, however, that in the fourteen years since he had gone into exile, the practices of the secret order had changed. Either way, this Arakesh was certainly using magic now, leaving Asher with only one option if he wanted to keep up.
He hated this part.
Using magic felt horribly unnatural to the ranger, as if he wasn’t completely part of reality when he used it. He thought of the ancient word for air - not that he needed to, it just helped him to focus - and willed himself to float upwards, towards the balcony. Asher didn’t look down, as his hands and feet left the wall, afraid that it would break his concentration and end the spell. He flew ever upwards and the balcony came up fast through the rain. Timing was everything when it came to ending the spell, and Asher released his hold on the magic, just as the bottom ledge of the balcony was in reach.
The ranger hung there for a moment, holding up his body weight on his hands alone. Climbing canyons, in the south of The Arid Lands, had more than prepared Asher for traversing every kind of terrain. His hands were rough from a youth spent competing with other students of Nightfall, to scale the high walls that encompassed the caves they called home.
Once on top of the balcony rail, Asher perched there while he assessed everything he could see and hear. Two balconies along, the glass doors blew out over the edge in a purple flash, in what could only have been a magical explosion. The clashing steel he had heard earlier was coming from the adjacent room, between the three balconies. The room in front of him however, was quiet and concealed by the flapping curtains in the wind.
Moving undetected was as easy as breathing for the old ranger. He moved to the edge of the door and allowed the curtain to conceal him, while he took in the room’s contents. It was a mess. Broken furniture and food littered the floor between three dead bodies and several pools of blood. Asher saw Reyna first; standing facing him with terror etched across her face and spattered blood over her night dress. The elven scimitar she wielded was coated in blood but held down in what the ranger recognised as a defensive stance. Following her gaze, Asher found what was causing the princess’s look of panic. A naked Nathaniel was being kept upright by an Arakesh, who had driven his sword through the Graycoat’s back.
Once again, Asher’s stomach flipped as it had when Nathaniel and Elaith had nearly been killed, south of the Unmar. Besides Hector, the ranger had never really cared who got hurt in the big bad world, but the thought of his friends being harmed...
Friends?
Asher couldn’t believe the foreign word that ran through his head. A Graycoat of all people; ironic, he thought. Nathaniel gasped in pain, ending his reverie. Friends were distracting, apparently.
“Where’s the ranger?”
The unforgettable voice of Ro Dosarn gave Asher pause. Ro had been his equal many times at Nightfall and offered a greater challenge than any one of the assassins sent previously. Like Asher’s, his hair had lost most of its colour, but his physique was still that of a younger man. The red blindfold did little to hide the new scars Ro had earned across his face. Why was he looking for Asher? Had he not been sent to kill the elves like the others? It was possible however, that the diligent assassin was making certain that he knew where any and all threats might come from.
The amount of blood leaving Nathaniel’s body was becoming alarming. It wouldn’t be long before the man’s knees buckled and the colour would leave his skin. Asher began to think through every scenario that would allow him to save Nathaniel before Ro could deliver a killing blow. As it turned out, the ranger wasn’t giving the Graycoat enough credit, who, in a burst of action, stepped forward and elbowed the Arakesh in the face at the same time. Both actions sent the two men in opposite directions, releasing Nathaniel from the bite of Ro’s sword. Free of the blade, the knight fell to his knees and more blood poured from the wound in his abdomen.
Asher didn’t hesitate to leap into the room, drawing his broadsword, and attacking Ro Dosarn. The Arakesh reacted as if he had always known the ranger was there, moving naturally into a defensive stance and parrying the ranger’s first slash of his sword. Ro jumped backwards and rolled over the bed, until he landed on the other side, where he retrieved his second short-sword from his back. The two previous students of Nightfall looked at one another across the bed. Despite the blindfold, Asher knew that Ro was looking at him with magical eyes that took in everything besides the ranger. The blindfold would give the Arakesh an advantage in this battle, but Asher refused to wear his own, believing in his natural abilities.
The usual confidence he had, when facing an opponent without his Nightseye vision, was lacking. It wouldn’t help either that Asher was sure he was using some other form of magic that helped him climb the palace so quick. Extra precautions had clearly been taken to ensure the assassin’s success.
Behind the ranger, Reyna came to Nathaniel’s aid, pressing her hands into the open wound in his stomach. The blood found every gap and continued to pour out, taking the knight’s life with it. Asher stepped out from the side of the bed and met Ro in the middle of the room, each sizing one another up.
“You’re looking old, ranger.”
Asher had nothing to say to the assassin. They had been rivals like so many others in Nightfall, but the ranger had never taken it personally. Nasta Nal-Aket had taught him early on to put such feelings aside and focus on what was in front of him.
Launching himself at Ro, Asher brought his broadsword down in an arcing motion that would cut any man clean in half. Faster than should have been possible, Ro side-stepped the attack, leaving Asher’s sword to collide with the stone floor. The assassin’s counter-attack was too fast to dodge and both short-swords cut into the ranger’s shoulder and ribs, slicing through the tough leather. The pain could be ignored, but the force of the blow could not, exposing Asher’s torso for a swift kick. The impact took the ranger off his feet and threw him into the wall.
Ro smirked at the fallen warrior. “You’ve gotten slow, too...” The assassin raised both short-swords, ready to deliver a mortal blow.
As it had in the past, the black gem inside Asher’s ring called to him in his moment of peril. The instinct to raise his hand and unleash the magic stored inside, inste
ad of raising his sword, was overwhelming. He needed the assassin to move slower and give him time to recover, and so the ring responded with his desire. Asher raised his hand and felt the invisible force ripple across his open palm, expanding outwards until it captured Ro within its spell. The Arakesh almost stopped completely, as if he was moving through treacle, his expression frozen with aggression.
Asher didn’t know how long the spell would last and rolled out of the way, picking up his fallen broadsword. As he got to his knees, the assassin’s blades came down where Asher had just been lying, his speed returned. Ro couldn’t hide his look of surprise at the empty space. With the Nightseye elixir coursing through his veins, the assassin didn’t need to physically look at Asher, but he whipped his head round anyway, as if to check that his senses were still working.
The ranger took advantage and came up, twirling his broadsword either side of the Arakesh to push him back, away from Reyna and Nathaniel. Ro parried and evaded every swing, as he stepped back towards the door, their swords clashing together with enough force to remove a limb. Asher saw the opening and didn’t hesitate to give the assassin a swift fist to the jaw, knocking him back and out of the room.
Ro slammed into the wall of the darkened corridor, tearing up the hanging portrait of a relative of King Rengar. Blood trickled from his mouth and stained the assassin’s grey goatee. Asher pressed his attack, trained to never give an inch in combat, and brought his broadsword down in arcing sweeps that would remove the head from a Minotaur. Ro was faster than he should have been and ducked and rolled away from the incoming blade.
The two fought through the corridor with furious abandon, each parrying the other’s attack as they stepped over the dead bodies of the Velian guards. The narrow corridor forced them to tailor their strikes and stay close to each other. Asher kept pushing the fight down the corridor, away from Reyna’s room, and into the light of the foyer beyond. Ro had the advantage in the darkened hallway, with the Nightseye elixir keeping him constantly aware of his surroundings. The ranger could see his error, not wearing his blindfold. For the last fourteen years it had hung at his belt and reminded him to trust in his own skills. It tempted him always with the power it gave him in battle, but he felt stronger every time he defied its pull.
Rise of the Ranger (Echoes of Fate: Book 1) Page 25