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

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Elaith was riding up front with Asher, but from his angle Nathaniel could see the hard stare she was giving the distant walls. The next time she walked out through those gates, she would be a Graycoat. Seeing her now, it seemed too young an age to be sent out into the land and run headlong into danger. Nathaniel had also been eighteen when he graduated, twelve years earlier, but it didn’t change his feelings on the age of graduation now. He felt confident however, that the young knight would flourish in her work and go on to do a great many things in the service of Illian and its people.

  “You believe that West Fellion can protect us?” Faylen asked loud enough to be heard by everyone.

  Darius Devale turned in his saddle. “I assure you Lady Faylen, those walls have never been breached. The stone was enchanted centuries ago by the mages of Korkanath, reinforcing them against ballista or magical attack. Though circular, it cannot be attacked from all sides, due to the trench that surrounds the high walls. Death upon a sharp pike awaits any who would fall in.”

  Nathaniel knew well enough of the fort’s outer defences. Before graduating he had spent many months cutting down and filling logs into fresh pikes, that then had to be dug into the trench. It was back-breaking work, but the masters said it was the fastest way to hone their bodies into the physical shape required of a Graycoat.

  “The main gate is similarly enchanted,” Darius continued. “And should it be breached, there is an enclosed courtyard that has another set of warded doors.”

  “A kill box...” Asher observed.

  “Indeed ranger. Any attacker would soon fall under our arrows and hot oil. And of course, all eight turrets are mounted with two giant crossbows that launch arrows the size of a spear. We have regular patrols that can see any threat from miles around, giving us plenty of warning. You will be safe here.” Darius looked at Nathaniel and Reyna together.

  A pit opened inside Nathaniel’s stomach. He hadn’t thought about the details of this particular return and the scorning he would receive. He had been occupied with thoughts of what would happen to Asher, but it was clear that Darius knew there was more between Reyna and him, and would no doubt report Nathaniel to the Lord Marshal. Very soon he would be faced with a decision that was as clear as black and white. Helping Asher and being with Reyna in any way could only lead to expulsion from the order, and yet being a Graycoat was the only thing he had ever known. Could he leave it all behind? And for what, to be a ranger like Asher? In his heart he knew the truth of his relationship with Reyna. The princess of the elven nation could never be with a human, let alone one that wasn’t even royalty. There was a good chance that he was nothing but the plaything of an elven princess. Their urges and desires were stronger than that of humans, after all.

  Within the hour, the group was passing through the small courtyard between both sets of double doors, each large enough for a mountain giant to walk through. The hundreds of sharpened logs, which stood erected at varying angles inside the trench, appeared new, obviously having been placed in the weeks since Nathaniel left with Elaith.

  As the group trotted inside, Nathaniel looked up at the walls of the small courtyard and saw dozens of faces looking back at him. The elves were a spectacle wherever they journeyed.

  Asher had pulled back and allowed Darius and the other Graycoats to enter first. Credit to the ranger, he kept both of his hands on Hector’s reins rather than the hilt of his broadsword. When the courtyard opened up into the muddy corridor, between two stables, Nathaniel felt his every muscle tense at the sight of Lord Marshal Horvarth and a score of knights. Despite being in his sixties, the Lord Marshal appeared a formidable man, with a short, spiky white beard and matching hair. Parallel scars ran diagonally over his left cheekbone, the upper scar crossing over his eye and cutting through his eyebrow. His cold blue eyes settled On Nathaniel, before examining the elves, his stony expression giving nothing away. It wasn’t long before his gaze narrowed between the companions and focused on Asher.

  Darius jumped down from his horse and clasped wrists with the Lord Marshall.

  “Well met...” the older man said. Horvarth spoke like a soldier; direct and to the point.

  “Lord Marshal Horvarth, I present Princess Reyna Sevari and Lady Faylen Haldör.” Darius moved aside, as the elves dismounted and came to stand before Horvarth. Reyna bowed her head and Faylen followed suit.

  “Welcome to West Fellion,” the Lord Marshal said. “I read Galfrey’s letter. You were lucky to survive an attack from the Arakesh, they are killers of the highest order...” Horvarth eyed Asher with his last words.

  “We would not have survived, were it not for the bravery and skill of Nathaniel and Asher,” Reyna replied. The princess was just as aware as Nathaniel was about how welcome the ranger was inside these walls.

  “Rooms have been prepared for you both and the patrols have been doubled. If the assassins make another attempt on your life, we will be ready for them. For now however, some breakfast has been prepared for us, if you would join me? I’m afraid we can’t provide the same feast you enjoyed in King Rengar’s court, but you might find the company a little more... honest.” A rare smile crossed the Lord Marshal’s face.

  “We would be honoured, Lord Marshal Horvarth.”

  “Excellent.” Horvarth gestured for them to follow him into the main keep.

  Nathaniel remained close to Reyna, unwilling to leave her until ordered to. The knight pause, slowly reaching for his sword, unable to ignore his warrior’s sixth sense sent. He was pleased to see that Elaith had that same sense, as she too had turned around to face Asher. The score of Graycoats that had accompanied the Lord Marshal made no move to follow him and the elves, but instead began to encircle the ranger. Each of the knights gave Asher a look of pure disgust, while drawing their swords. Surprisingly, Darius stood to one side with Tick and Orvin, rather than joining their brothers and sisters in surrounding the old ranger. Darius gave an almost imperceptible shake of his blond head to Nathaniel, warning him not to get involved.

  Asher slowly dismounted and came to stand before the group, matching their looks of disgust with a hard stare of his own, daring them to raise a sword against him.

  “This isn't right…” Nathaniel said under his breath.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Reyna asked, accentuating her concern.

  Horvarth sighed, no doubt expecting the conversation, but also hoping it wouldn’t have to be said. “This man is to be our prisoner. He is a known affiliate of the Arakesh and is in possession of many secrets pertinent to the safety of the realm.”

  “He has saved my life more than once. You are to consider him an extension of me, a guest if you will,” Reyna stated at once.

  “Forgive me, Princess...” Horvarth paused for a moment. “This is not Velia or Lirian, West Fellion is not a fiefdom or representative of our race. The Graycoats are an order of knights independent of the six kingdoms, and as so, we do not need to... please you, as they do. Asher will be imprisoned here for as long as I deem. He has information on the very animals that are hunting you, Princess. With his help we might be able to bring Nightfall down and finally end this shadowy war.”

  Besides cutting the Lord Marshal down, that was the extent of Reyna’s powers. Her authority meant nothing inside West Fellion. A broad shouldered Graycoat, who Nathaniel recognised as Ned Fennick, stepped into the circle and squared up against Asher. The knight was second only to the Lord Marshal and the only Graycoat more senior than Darius Devale. In his mid-forties, the hardened knight was, in Nathaniel’s eyes, a good match for Asher in a fight, but he had no doubts that the ex-assassin would emerge the victor.

  “Relinquish your weapons... or don’t,” Fennick added with a tightening grip around his sword.

  Nathaniel removed his sword an inch from its scabbard, though he still didn’t know what he would do if Asher refused. The Graycoat’s resolve weakened further when he noticed Horvarth watching him closely. To all their surprise, and disappointment, Asher unbu
ckled his sword belt and let his broadsword fall to the ground, before methodically removing every dagger and hidden blade, as well as his silvyr short-sword on his back. Many of the knights took an interest in the compact bow dropped alongside his quiver of arrows.

  Ned Fennick sneered, “Take him below.”

  Had Nathaniel not seen Asher in battle, he would have considered all twenty knights escorting him to the cells as overkill, but perhaps in this case it was simply good sense. He let his sword drop fully back into its scabbard, as the ranger passed him by. Asher gave him a small nod that implied he wasn’t worried and that Nathaniel shouldn’t do anything stupid. The ranger was unusually calm for someone who was being escorted to a prison cell. In all likelihood, the cell he was being taken to was a lot nicer than anything he had been subjected to at Nightfall, however.

  Nathaniel turned back to follow Reyna, when Horvarth stepped in his way. “I’ll expect your report by first light tomorrow, Galfrey.” The Lord Marshall’s stern expression was enough to tell Nathaniel that he wouldn’t be accompanying them.

  Reyna followed Horvarth, looking back only to give the Graycoat a sad smile. He had no doubt that the princess would continue to bargain for Asher’s release. In the meantime, Nathaniel would see to Elaith’s graduation and make certain that Asher wasn’t mistreated. He made for the entrance to the cells beneath the main keep, when Ned Fennick turned to face him, at the back of the escort.

  “And where are you going, Galfrey?” Fennick’s appearance was as uniformed as Horvarth’s, though his greying goatee was well trimmed like his hair.

  Nathaniel looked past the broad man to see the back of Asher disappear into depths of West Fellion. This sort of treatment from Fennick was the usual way of life for the knight inside the high walls. Here he was no more than a mark against his father’s perfect record.

  “The Marshal wants your report by tomorrow,” Fennick continued. “You didn’t write one before you left with your ward, which makes it twice as long. Not to mention this mess.” The Graycoat nodded over his shoulder toward the door in which Asher had been taken through. “Better get writing.” Fennick went after the ranger and his escort, leaving Nathaniel to grit his teeth.

  Elaith came over, having seen to the horses. “What are we going to do?”

  “We are doing nothing. You are going to clean everything you’re wearing and sharpen your sword. My report’s going on the Lord Marshal’s desk tomorrow morning. Yours had better be ready as well.”

  Elaith’s expression told of the conflict they both shared.

  Nathaniel walked away, unsure what to do. Darius had already left with Horvarth and the elves, leaving Orvin and Tick to come up behind Nathaniel.

  “Looks like your boyfriend’s in for a rough night...” Tick remarked to Orvin’s hilarity.

  Nathaniel whipped around and pinched Tick’s broken nose in a vice-like grip. The lanky man squirmed and howled in pain, but Nathaniel held him in place, practically growling at Orvin, who made no move to help Tick.

  Nathaniel pulled him closer, eliciting more pain. “Did you say something?.” Tick tried to shake his head through the pain. With that, he pushed the Graycoat away, leaving him to nurse his bleeding nose. Nathaniel walked away, muttering under his breath, “There’s no place like home...”

  Asher counted twenty Graycoats ushering him towards the empty cell at the end of the tunnel. It was no surprise that they had passed the regular cells in favour of this particular prison - this cell had been custom built to hold an Arakesh. The single door at the end of the corridor was reinforced iron, with four thick bolts that slotted into the surrounding stone. There was already two Graycoats standing either side of the door, ready to greet their new guest.

  “Welcome to your new home.” It was the same knight who had ordered his weapons be left behind, that now stood by his side.

  The two guards had to work together to open the door, while Asher turned to face his jailor and the twenty Graycoats that filled the tunnel behind him.

  The part of his mind that calculated the outcome of every fight told the ranger that he wouldn’t reach the other end of the tunnel without serious blood loss. It was never in question that every Graycoat between him and freedom would be put down, but how far he got beyond that was incalculable. Let them lock him away now, and he would figure the rest out later, he thought. The Graycoats were incredible fighters and not to be underestimated, but when it came to the art of torture and imprisonment, they were amateurs.

  The guards came up from behind and roughly removed his green cloak, stripped him to the waist and pulled off his boots. Only then did the broad-shouldered man slam his meaty fist into Asher’s face, cutting his cheek. The punch launched the ranger into the cell, where the waiting guards came down on him fast, swinging clubs. Covering his head, Asher curled into a ball and presented them with his back in hopes of protecting his vital organs. The ranger knew how easy it was to kill a man without piercing the skin.

  Years of training in the darkness took over and Nasta Nal-Aket’s words rang clear in his mind. In his fifth year of training at Nightfall, Asher had been subjected to horrendous beatings for nothing more than to make him familiar with pain.

  “Through this pain you will be reborn,” Nasta had said. His old master always stood to the side and watched the other teachers lay into Asher. “Pain leads to anger, and anger never wins in combat. Only when pain feels as an old friend will you free yourself of the shackles that bind so many men. If you pass this test, pain will mean nothing to you. You will be capable of anything, nothing will stop you. But you must find a place in your mind where you can let your body go. Allow it to endure while you retreat and wait for your moment to strike.”

  Asher had never been tied down during these beatings, but was in fact encouraged to fight back. Only when he was able to fight back with control and use the techniques he had already been taught, was the test completed.

  Lying on the cold floor now, Asher retreated into his mind and let his body take the punishment. The ranger thought of the house he planned on building by the shore, with the land he had procured from King Rengar. He could finally find some peace there, perhaps. The fields were rolling hills of lush green on the Shining Coast, a good place for any man to settle and make a new life for himself.

  After what felt like hours, he was finally rolled over, where the broad-shouldered Graycoat stood over him, full of smug satisfaction. The guards who had beaten him checked over his trousers to search for any hidden weapons or tools of escape. Asher wanted to protest, as they pulled off his silver ring with the black gem inside, but his beaten body refused to obey.

  “You’re a tough old bastard I’ll give you that...” The Graycoat reached down and removed Asher’s tattered red blindfold. He examined the strip of cloth before putting it over his eyes. “Well I don’t see shit.”

  Asher collected the blood in his mouth and spat it over the knight’s famous coat. “I would tell you to go fuck yourself,” every word was painful to say, “but since you’re a Graycoat, I guess that’s a given...”

  The broad Graycoat looked down at him with new fury, but Asher could only laugh through his broken ribs, as the beating began anew.

  “String him up!”

  The knocks to the head made everything a little harder to understand, but Asher felt the manacles fasten around his wrists and ankles, before the rattling of chains could be heard around the room. Seconds later, the ranger was suspended in mid-air, with each limb pulled in an opposite direction. His head dropped to his chest limply and he caught sight of his bruised and battered torso. It was nothing that wouldn’t heal - his mind mattered most. The ranger blinked hard trying to keep his senses sharp and his mind on task. He had to be ready for any opportunity.

  The Graycoat threw the red cloth onto a nearby table, where it landed next to his ring. Asher tried not to show any attachment to the items, but couldn’t help but feel naked without them, especially the gem, a trinket he had owned for a
s long as he could remember.

  “The name’s Ned Fennick, you killing-piece-of-shit.” The Graycoat moved closer to Asher. “Let that name sear into your brain. You and I are going to get to know each other very well...”

  Fennick stepped aside as a new man, much older than the rest, entered the cell. He wasn’t a Graycoat if his sweeping robes and tall staff were anything to go by. The older man had a braided white beard with a perfectly bald head and two narrow eyes that focused on Asher.

  “Meister Kalantez, thank you for your time.” Fennick harboured a wicked grin. “The Meister here is a caster, a mage that is, from Vangarth. He arrived not long ago at the Lord Marshal’s request. He’s here to add the finishing touches to your new decor.” Fennick waved the mage on.

  Meister Kalantez stepped closer and released his hold on the tall staff, which continued to stand perfectly without aid. The mage reached into his robes and pulled out a slender wand that zigzagged from end-to-end. Kalantez touched his wand to each of the four manacles and began to chant with a low guttural tone. When the old man had finished, the iron bands surrounding Asher’s limbs were lined with ancient glyphs.

  “Is it done?” Fennick asked. Meister Kalantez simply nodded, never even glancing at Asher. “Excellent! Your locks cannot be picked and the manacles cannot be broken by any blade. You’re not going anywhere...”

  Chapter Forty

  Reclamation