To Asher’s surprise, he had been left to take the group in any direction he pleased, having no resistance from Darius Devale and his knights. Darius had seen firsthand what the Arakesh were capable of, and the other knights had seen the massacre in the dungeons. They were clearly of one mind that the ranger should guide them home, to where they thought they were safe. How wrong they were.
Asher looked over the horizon, to the south, where he knew Nightfall lay in secret. What was the Father planning next? His first two attempts had failed, though the second attack in the palace had been very different. Ro Dosarn had tried to take his ring as well as his life. The Arakesh had been sent after Asher specifically, and yet the elves had been the first targets. For a moment it crossed the ranger’s mind that he had made a great mistake in getting involved. He had gained the attention of the Arakesh once more, after fourteen years of getting lost in the world and avoiding them.
The sight of Nathaniel and Reyna soothed his doubts, though he knew not why. It felt good to be doing good. He had slayed many monsters and foul beasts since carving out this new life, but it had always come at a price. Asher reasoned that it had been a way of surviving without breaking the law, but it had never felt as if he was doing a good deed, always a service. And yet now, the ranger had fulfilled his obligations with regards to the elves’ safety and delivering them to King Rengar. It simply felt good to be helping them. It will never atone, he thought, but then nothing ever would.
Perched on a small log, Asher cupped his cheeks in contemplation and realised his stubble had quickly become a short beard. His clean clothes and armour were dirty again, along with his green cloak, which was covered in mud up to his calves. Life outdoors took its toll on those who dared, except for the elves, who both appeared as immaculate as the day they left Velia.
The Graycoats watched Faylen in wonder, as she removed the large, heavy chest from her sack and unpacked the necessary parts for their tents. The Graycoats were not as accustomed to magic as Asher, and had never seen the use of pocket dimensions. In Nightfall, the ranger had seen his elven teacher, Alidyr, use pocket dimensions to store potions and other belongings in his training halls. Personally, Asher’s eyes were more drawn to Faylen, easily the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, if a little cold towards him. It was clear that the elf didn’t like Outlanders and had already judged the ranger accordingly. Asher couldn’t blame her really; though he had no memories of living in the Wild Moores, he had met his fair share of its inhabitants. Outlanders were no Darkakin, but they were still savages and barbarians by comparison to Illians human inhabitants.
Faylen was watching him staring at her. Asher blinked hard and looked back to the horizon and the fading sun, somewhat embarrassed. His interaction with women had been limited. As an assassin he had bedded many women, enjoying the luxuries of the order’s wealth and rewards. As a ranger he had kept to himself, enjoying the touch of a woman only when suitably intoxicated. Like him, those women had never been looking for anything but sex and self-gratification. Despite knowing there was no world in which Faylen and he could be anything of note, he still had no idea how to talk to her. The elf was undoubtedly intelligent, wise and a lot older than he, with more experiences now than he would have his entire life.
Asher pushed the thought aside, focusing on the here and now. The black gem poked out of his fingerless glove, reminding him that their troubles were far from over. It seemed that he had become a target once more, along with the elves. How safe was West Fellion really? If an Arakesh wanted to breach its walls they would, and after two failed attempts there was no telling what measures they would employ next.
Elaith appeared at his side. “Nathaniel says I have to go through my routines again...” The young girl looked down at him, her finger tapping the hilt of her sword.
Asher turned to regard the other Graycoats, all three of them watching the ranger. There was a chance that sparring with Elaith would end the peace between the knights and himself. Still, Elaith looked down at him with big brown eyes, pleading to learn from someone she apparently respected more than those in her order. The young woman’s interest in him was possibly more curious than the friendship he had struck with Nathaniel. Another new connection in his life.
“Try not to die this time.” Asher rose from the log and removed his cloak and sword belt. He propped the broadsword against the log and stood to face the young woman, much to her surprise. “The Arakesh fight with short-swords.” The ranger slid the silvyr blade from his back and spun it a few times in his hand. “You have the advantage of distance and leverage, but you lack their agility and speed. An Arakesh will move to get inside your reach.”
Asher came at Elaith with a long stride, flicking her sword away and coming to a halt with his hourglass blade at her throat. He turned his back on her, knowing that the Graycoat would attack. Her technique was predictable, as she brought her sword down in an arc. Using reflexes honed over years of fighting, Asher sidestepped, deflecting her sword with little effort, before jumping to her side and pointing the tip of his blade into her ribs.
“With a short-sword, the wielder is less likely to parry, instead favouring evasion.” Asher put some space between them again, making every effort not to laugh at Elaith’s frustrated expression.
The Graycoats had stopped preparing their tents and moved closer. Asher looked to Nathaniel, who surveyed the entire scene, ready to intervene if his fellow knights made a point of getting involved. Reyna watched also with fascination, but Faylen ignored them and continued to prepare the camp, indifferent to it all.
Elaith came at him again and Asher decided to let her get some of that frustration out. The ranger parried most of her attacks, evading and twirling out of the way of others, yet still she pressed the offensive. Every now and then he came back with his own attacks, forcing Elaith to think about her footwork and the different ways a short-sword could be used against her. He was impressed with the speed with which she adapted to his fighting style and quickly used it against him, wielding her sword with a different technique to keep the long blade closer to her body. The ranger had no right to be proud of her, having had no role in her life up until recently, and yet that was how he felt.
Asher decided to teach the young knight one last lesson. He ducked and rolled under the swipe of her sword and grabbed a handful of mud at the same time. When Elaith turned to challenge him again, the ranger flung the mud at her face and blinded her momentarily, putting her off balance. With the flat of the silvyr blade, Asher wrapped her knuckles, making her drop her sword to the ground.
Elaith howled in pain and wiped the mud from her eyes. “That’s not fair, you cheated!”
“Fighting isn’t about being fair, it’s about surviving. The Arakesh are trained to survive...”
“They’re trained to kill,” the Graycoat, who Asher knew to be called Orvin, remarked with some disdain.
Nathaniel stood up but Asher subtly waved his hand to calm the knight. This confrontation had been building since they departed Velia; even Darius did nothing to stop the inevitable. Asher had a feeling the senior Graycoat was eager to watch him fight some more, in hopes of studying his techniques. Such knowledge would do nothing to sway the fight in the Graycoat’s direction, however.
“Is that not what you are trained to do?” Asher countered, walking away from Elaith.
“We are trained to protect!” the other Graycoat, known as Tick, exclaimed, resting his hand on his hilt.
“At the point of a sword...” the ranger added, glancing at their blades.
“Perhaps you would like to see the point of my sword a little closer, ranger?” Orvin unsheathed his blade, before Tick followed suit.
Asher looked to Nathaniel again, seeing the concern on his face. The ranger knew well enough that it wasn’t concern for his life, but that of the Graycoats and any future peace. Reyna came to stand with Nathaniel, her hand firmly gripping the hilt of her magnificent scimitar. Faylen continued to potter around the
small camp as if nothing was happening.
Asher walked towards the two knights, happy to pass them by, if they allowed it, but also ready to fight. Either way, it was up to them. Orvin attacked first when his broad arms lifted his sword, as if to cut Asher down the middle. To ensure he didn’t kill them, the ranger threw his silvyr sword into the ground, sending it end-over-end, until it stopped at Orvin’s feet. The throw gave the Graycoat just enough pause to allow Asher the time to move inside the knight’s swing. A single thrust into Orvin’s throat, with an open palm, halted the bigger man’s attack immediately, causing him to stagger back and drop his sword in order to grip his neck. Before Orvin had dropped to his knees, Tick came at Asher from his left. The old assassin dodged three consecutive attacks with minimal movement, avoiding the blade by mere inches.
Tick was a more cautious fighter than Orvin. The lean knight stopped attacking and circled the ranger, with his sword out in front of him. Asher casually followed the Graycoat’s circling motion, only half watching him. In truth, the ranger was a little worried that he might have killed Orvin, who was now going a shade of blue. Nathaniel was on the periphery, itching to get in the middle of it, but clearly unsure how he would stop them. Tick launched at him again with a jabbing strike that would pierce Asher’s head. The ranger did everything he could to fight the muscle memory that demanded he take actions to kill the knight.
“Darius!” Nathaniel called for his senior to stop this. Asher caught sight of Devale, who simply shrugged in reply.
The lean knight twirled and flipped his sword in what Asher could only imagine was ceremonial, since his blade was neither distracting nor effective at landing a blow. This kind of sword-mastery might be effective against Outlanders and thugs, or even good for confusing monsters, but it was pointless in the face of an assassin trained at Nightfall. At the apex of a particularly delicate twirl of the sword, Asher closed the gap in the blink of an eye and ensnared Tick’s wrist in a vice-like grip, bending it just enough to cause the tendons in the knight’s hand to release his hold on the sword. Before the blade hit the ground, Asher landed a square punch across Tick’s nose, splattering his cheeks with blood and putting the man on his back.
In the commotion, the ranger had failed to detect Orvin’s recovery and the sword that was now cutting through the air in a decapitating motion. The only reason Asher had the time to dwell on his error was because an elven scimitar blocked the path of the sword, inches from his neck. It was perhaps even more surprising when he realised that Faylen was on the other end of that exquisite blade. The elf was lightning fast in following up her parry with a strong hand that gripped Orvin by the shoulder and drove him to the ground.
With the two Graycoats groaning and rolling around in pain, Faylen sheathed her sword and shot Darius a glare that cut deeper than any sword.
“Humans...” Faylen slowly shook her head and returned to her chest. “Some firewood, perhaps...” The elf looked directly at Asher.
The ranger looked at Nathaniel, unsure what to do next. He wasn’t a man who was used to thanking people and he mentally chastised himself for his inaction. Orvin shouldn’t have been able to surprise him like that; more proof that he should be getting out of the game before he gets any older.
“Firewood.” Asher repeated Faylen’s instructions and replaced his green cloak and sword belt, before heading into the nearby trees. He was sure to sheath the silvyr blade on his back, easily the most treasured item he owned, besides his ring.
“I’ll accompany you.” Nathaniel made to follow, until Faylen stood in his way.
“No, you will prepare the food.” The elf was not to be argued with.
Many hours later, when the moon was at its highest, Asher took up watch by himself on a collection of large rocks, away from the coursing Unmar. The sound of the river was loud, and the ranger didn’t like how the rushing water would mask the approach of any would-be-attacker. The group had eaten in silence, while Tick nursed his crooked nose and Orvin flexed his sore shoulder and bruised throat. Both Graycoats made a point of not meeting Asher’s eyes, each intensely fixed on the fire between them. There was certainly some wounded pride to go along with their injuries.
Faylen had silenced most grumbles with a single expression. Asher chuckled to himself; the elf had a look that could make a mountain troll quiver.
“You don’t make friends easily, Outlander.” Faylen appeared at his side, as if from nowhere.
Again, Asher chastised himself. He was getting old indeed, though he reminded himself that it had been an elf that crept up on him this time, not a lumbering oath like Orvin.
“I could say the same thing about you,” Asher replied without looking at her. He kept his eyes fixed on the dark landscape.
“I didn’t come here to make friends.”
“In that case you’re doing a great job,” the ranger replied dryly.
“I came here to protect Reyna, nothing more.” The elf sat beside him on the rock. Her perfume was sweet and distracting.
“I’ve seen the girl in a fight. I don’t think she needs you.” A sly smirk crept over Asher’s face.
“I came to protect her from everything.” Faylen turned slightly to regard Nathaniel’s sleeping form.
Asher laughed quietly. “Good luck with that. It doesn’t matter if you’re a human, an elf or a dwarf; there are some things you can’t deny. It’s nature.”
“You’re very philosophical for a hired killer.” Faylen raised her eyebrow at the ranger.
“I thought I was an Outlander?” Asher glanced back, before returning his gaze upon the dark.
“You have the unfortunate luck of being both.” An almost undetectable smile flickered across the elf’s perfect features.
The two sat in silence for a while, as the light of the moon illuminated the fields and woodland beyond. Thick clouds continued to roll over the sky from the east, threatening to hide the stars. Like the Arakesh, the storm would inevitably find them.
“How is it you recognise an elf so easily?” Faylen asked softly.
Asher considered his answer. Nathaniel’s words rang clear in his mind, weighing on him; so if you share their secrets, people will die and if you don’t share their secrets, people will still die...
There was no running away from the past now, the Arakesh were coming for him and the elves. It made less and less sense to keep their secrets, even if he was doing it to keep others safe.
“I was trained by an elf.” Asher couldn’t miss the look of surprise on Faylen’s face. “There are many teachers at Nightfall, but the best of them all is Alidyr Yalathanil.”
Faylen’s expression instantly changed from one of surprise to grave concern. The elf looked away for a moment, as Asher tried to discern the cause for her alarm.
“What is it?”
“What do you know of the Dark War, ranger?” Faylen’s tone matched her concern.
“A little. There were history lessons in Nightfall, but it was more for strategy than anything else.”
“You have been taught by none other than the head of the Hand, Valanis’s greatest General.” Faylen stood up from the massive boulder and began to pace along the edge.
“Valanis?” Asher recognised the name from Alidyr’s history lessons, though it struck a deeper chord he couldn’t quite grasp.
“The mad elf who started the civil war. He’s...” The elf looked up at Asher, who had risen with her, and stopped herself from saying anymore.
The ranger could tell Faylen was hiding something, or not telling him the whole truth. Their mission had been to start communications between Illian and Ayda, and yet they had left Velia all too easily. Now it turned out he had been under the tutelage of one of the most famous elves who ever lived. There was more coming together here than just the Arakesh fulfilling a contract.
“Well it wasn’t Alidyr who attacked us in the ruins,” Asher said. “He fights with-”
“Twin short-swords,” Faylen finished his sentence. “They
were given to him by Valanis, along with his enhanced magic. The Hand consists of five Generals; each gifted a weapon of choice, capable of mass destruction on the battlefield. Is that why the Arakesh fight with two short-swords?”
“Possibly. It was always rumoured that Alidyr started the order centuries ago, but the oldest records are lost. Who attacked us in the ruins, south of the Unmar?”
“He wielded a single sword...” Faylen rubbed her smooth chin. “It must have been Thallan Tassariön, another member of the Hand. I studied them all in Ayda.” The elf clenched her fists, but contained her anger to a silent expression. “I can’t believe they survived the purge.” Asher raised his eyebrow questioningly. “Before my people left these shores, they swept the land, ridding Illian of any stragglers or sympathisers of Valanis. There were pockets of followers, but they were all dealt with. It is an injustice that the worst of them all survived.”
“So that’s why the Arakesh are coming for you.” Asher was putting it together now. “They’re not seeing out a contract, they’re working for Alidyr.”
“For Valanis,” Faylen corrected. “Alidyr must still be seeing out his master’s last wishes. He must know we’re...” The elf looked away again, the weight of the world apparently on her shoulders.
“Know you’re what?” Asher pressed.
Faylen turned to regard the ranger, looking him up and down. Asher could see the turmoil behind her eyes, as the elf struggled to keep her secrets.
“What does Alidyr know?” Asher asked again.
“We should tell them.” Reyna came up behind them on the rocks, with Nathaniel by her side. “We need to tell them.”
“Reyna!” Faylen kept her voice just low enough to be drowned out by the flow of the Unmar.
“We will only get through this if we work together,” Reyna protested.
Rise of the Ranger (Echoes of Fate: Book 1) Page 33