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

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Gideon waved his arms to slow down the last lizard, with a dead Darkakin still sat in hits saddle and a scimitar stuck in his sternum. The mage calmed the lizard with a slow hand and patted the beast across its flat maw.

  “Easy...” When the lizard appeared calm again, Gideon moved round and pushed the rider to the ground, retrieving the sword as he fell. “Yours I believe.”

  Galanör rode up to his side and happily took back his scimitar. The starlight spell continued to glow overhead, illuminating the miniature earthquake that had devastated the ground. Bodies littered the desert between the giant lizards and fallen boulders.

  “That was impressive,” Galanör remarked, looking at the staff in Gideon’s hand.

  “As were you.” Gideon looked at the lizard the elf sat astride.

  “They were scouts. I didn’t think they’d mobilize so fast. There will be more out there, and they no doubt heard our little raucous.” Galanör glanced at the new landscape created by the wizard. “The lizards will get us to The Red Mountains before dawn, but we ride all night.”

  “Agreed.” Gideon picked up the reins and dug his heels into the beast’s sides. It didn’t move. “I have no idea what I’m doing...”

  Galanör almost laughed.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The Battle of West Fellion

  Horvarth strode up and down West Fellion’s outer wall with authority. The Lord Marshal was in the middle of what Asher assumed was a rousing speech for the knights. The ranger hadn’t taken anything in past the first sentence. He didn’t need words of encouragement or reminding of his honour to help him kill a man. Instead, Asher looked to Elaith, feeling concerned for her life. The young woman wasn’t ready for this kind of fight, but then again, neither were half of the Graycoats on the wall.

  Asher looked around and saw too many young faces. Some hadn’t even been made Graycoats yet and were just unfortunate enough to be here. Elaith had shown great promise in their sparring sessions on the road, but this battle would more than test her. Asher was beyond questioning why he was so concerned with these people’s lives, and simply resigned himself to this new way of life.

  “They were never meant to fight like this,” the ranger offered. “Their armour is lightweight, it won’t hold up to an arrow. If your aim is true they will fall.” All nodded their understanding except for Elaith, who continued to stare at the fields of black-clad assassins. “In the light, they’re just as human as you are. Remember your advantages.” Asher looked at her sword, reminding the young knight of its superior length. It was hard to tell whether it was tears or rain that ran down her cheeks. “Just stay close to us.” Asher reached for the pouches on the side of his belt and searched with his fingers for the Talo spices he kept in neat little bags. “Damn...”

  “What is it?” Elaith asked, fearing the worst.

  “I left the Talo spices with Hector.” Asher considered going back down to the stables and retrieving them from his saddlebags.

  “I remember using them when I lived in Ameeraska,” the young knight replied. “We used them to start camp fires on the rooftops at night, to keep warm.”

  The ranger turned to go get them when Nathaniel nudged his arm. “Why aren’t they attacking us?”

  “Fear...” Asher replied. “They want it to sink in before they attack.”

  “At least they can’t breach the walls,” the Graycoat continued. “They have no war machines, no ballista, not even a few mountain giants.”

  Asher noticed the elves talking frantically in hushed tones and looking out over the Arakesh.

  “What is it?”

  “The hooded figure in the middle,” Faylen said. “Do you recognise him?”

  Asher examined the distant figure as best he could with his human eyes. Through the rain he was just able to discern the gold lining that formed patterns across his dark armour.

  “The one who attacked us at the Unmar… Thallan Tassariön.”

  “He is one of the Hand, but that is not Thallan.” Faylen spoke in grave tones. “See his bow? That is Adellum Bövö...”

  “He’s too far away to worry about his bow,” Nathaniel ignorantly replied.

  “That bow was gifted to him by Valanis,” Reyna explained. “It is no ordinary bow. In the histories of the Dark War, it is written that Adellum fired but one arrow from his bow and the gates of Elethiah were breached.”

  “He is Valanis’s battering ram.” Faylen slowly removed an arrow from her quiver.

  Asher looked back to the shadowy figure and then down to the main gate, where forty or more Graycoats had taken up position behind the second, inner door, between the stables.

  “Get them back!” Asher roared, cutting off Horvarth’s speech. “Get them back from the gate, NOW!” The ranger was already running down the outer wall, until he was standing over the main gate.

  Horvarth just looked at him bewildered. “They are fortifying the gate! You will fight with us but will not-” The Lord Marshal never finished his sentence.

  A lone arrow streaked across the empty field between Adellum and West Fellion. Defying the pull of the earth, the arrow continued straight, until it struck the main outer gate. The double doors exploded inwards, before the arrow went on to strike the inner door, which also exploded inwards. The fort was physically rocked and giant splinters of wood were launched into the air in every direction.

  Asher was hit by the concussive wave and knocked into the square courtyard, between the inner and outer gates. Before landing, the ranger was slammed into the wall, which saved his life having taken some of the distance out of the drop. He lifted his head in a daze to see the forty odd Graycoats, who had been standing behind the inner door, lying dead on the ground, between the stables. Adellum’s arrow had blown both doors to pieces and was now stuck in the stone of the main keep, a hundred feet away.

  The ranger blinked hard in an attempt to regain his senses. There was a loud pitch humming in his ears, causing the nearby cries of alarm to sound distant. A sharp pain stabbed at his ribs with every breath - the knock against the wall had broken at least two ribs on the left side of his chest. Blood annoyingly trickled down his forehead and into his left eye, until he wiped it away with his fingerless gloves. The black crystal crossed his vision, reminding Asher of the magic he had available. With a tentative hand over his broken ribs, the ranger willed the crystal to heal him. The bone crunched and snapped as it was remade, causing some discomfort and a groan from Asher.

  “Asher!” Nathaniel cried from atop the wall. The Graycoat was above the remnants of the main gate now, eyes wide with concern. “They’re coming! Get out of there!”

  Adellum strode across the field, while the army of Arakesh charged for the exact place Asher was now standing. All of them were blindfolded behind their red cloth, with twin short-swords in hand. There were no torches in the small courtyard, no light to remove their advantage.

  “Hold that gate assassin!” Ned Fennick screamed beside Nathaniel. The broad knight was dragging the limp body of the Lord Marshal, but Asher couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive. “Hold that gate!”

  “He can’t hold them all!” Nathaniel fulminated. “We need more men down there!”

  Fennick ignored him. “Archers!” Every Graycoat still standing on the wall notched an arrow in his bow. Fennick continued to drag Horvarth away from the wall.

  “I’m coming down!” Nathaniel shouted.

  “No!” Asher shouted back. It was hard to look up at the knight through the pouring rain. “Stay with the elves and Elaith!” The ranger pulled out his broadsword and plunged it into the dirt, where it wobbled, upright. The red cloth was soaking in his freezing hands. “I’ll be fine.” He whispered to himself.

  Asher tied the cloth around his head, covering his eyes. The Nightseye elixir, which would be forever in Asher’s veins, came to life in the darkness. The ranger could now hear everything. He could hear the individual rain drops across his shoulders and the smaller droplets they forme
d that coursed down his cloak. The rough, dragging of arrows from their quivers atop the wall roared in his ears, before a thousand twangs rippled like a tidal wave. Asher could smell mud and grass being kicked up into the air by the rain and the charging Arakesh. A young boy, no older than fifteen had pissed himself in the stables, where he cowered beneath the hay. The ranger’s heart boomed in his chest and he worked to steady it, falling into the rhythm. He removed the green cloak from his back and flexed his muscles in anticipation.

  Over a thousand arrows whistled through the air, arcing through the night’s sky and descending on the charging assassins. Asher felt as if he could discern every individual arrow, allowing him to judge the gap between the projectiles.

  If he could sense all that, then so could they.

  The arrows rained down amid the hundreds of Arakesh. Asher observed it all through his excited senses in dismay. The older, more experienced assassins flew, span and twisted their bodies out of the way of the arrows, while those unsure of their extra senses fell under the barrage. Thankfully there were many who couldn’t avoid them, due to their close proximity. The Arakesh just weren’t trained to fight in such numbers.

  There was no time to think of anything else. The Arakesh poured into the courtyard as a river of death, their numbers funnelled by the narrow entrance. Asher decided to use the only other weapon he had that gave him the advantage against such numbers. With their blades only feet away, the ranger extended his hand and willed the assassins to be pushed back. A wave of magic energy surged from his palm and battered the horde, breaking bones and tearing muscles. Those on the fringes of the mob managed to stay on their feet and continue their charge towards Asher.

  Just as he had taught Elaith about the advantage of having the longer sword, Asher now took his own advice and swiped his broadsword horizontally. The long blade sliced open the bellies of two Arakesh and parried the blade of a third. The ranger went on the attack and smashed the spiked pommel into the assassin’s face repeatedly. They didn’t get back up. His keen senses detected the multitude of blades coming for him, as well as the angles at which they were pointed. Asher’s actions became hard to follow when he contorted his body in every direction to avoid the strikes, while simultaneously parrying others and cutting through those too slow to parry him.

  Arakesh fell all around him, their bodies piling up. A metallic scent filled his nostrils, as the pools of blood collected at his feet. The ranger was more than aware that some of that blood was his own. He had already been cut on almost every limb. Asher dodged, ducked and evaded blades from all around him, calculating his counter attacks. A dozen of the assassins had run past him in the melee and headed into West Fellion in search of easier prey.

  Still the ranger remained.

  Nathaniel fired arrow after arrow into the charging mass of assassins below. With only one way inside the keep they were funnelled into a neat line that was easy to target. Reyna put him to shame with her speed and accuracy, for every arrow he let fly, the elves loosed two.

  “Oh no...” Faylen’s words could just be heard through the rain.

  The Graycoat followed her gaze to Adellum Bövö, who was standing in the middle of the running assassins. The dark elf raised both of his hands towards West Fellion and created two black holes in the middle of the charging army. Faylen placed her bow over her back and unsheathed her elven scimitar. Nathaniel didn’t understand until he saw the Arakesh run through the black holes and disappear. Before he saw them, the knight heard his fellow Graycoats screaming and roaring, as they drew their swords further down the wall on each side.

  “He’s opening portals!” Reyna moved away from the edge and jumped the gap between the inner and outer walls with a single bound - a jump that Nathaniel could not make.

  The princess fired a series of arrows down the line, where the Arakesh had emerged atop the wall. Dozens ran out of the dark portals and fell between the gap in the walls, each a victim of the elf’s deadly prescision.

  “Stay with Reyna!” Faylen dashed between the scurrying knights, sword in hand. The elf was soon past the Graycoats and face-to-face with the Arakesh.

  Nathaniel ordered Elaith to follow him further up the wall, to reach the bridge. Reyna continued to pick off the assassins, while Faylen weaved between them, dancing with her sword. As the knights crossed the small bridge, Nathaniel dared to look to his right, where Asher was somehow stemming the flow of assassins. The old ranger moved in a way the Graycoat had never seen before. The red cloth that covered his eyes did little to conceal the fury that clouded his face. Limbs and heads flew all around him and yet the ranger defied the odds and continued to fight. Nathaniel wanted to be down there with him, but Reyna was just as big a target for the Arakesh, since she was felling them with every arrow.

  By the time they reached the princess, new portals had been opened inside the keep and assassins with bows began to pick off Graycoats fighting atop the walls.

  “Cover me!” Reyna pointed at the Arakesh climbing the inner wall and charging up the steps towards them. The elf pulled another arrow from her quiver and shot an assassin in the eye before his blade could touch Faylen on the other side.

  “Form two tiers,” Nathaniel said to Elaith. “Any that get past me don’t get past you, understand?” Elaith hefted her sword and stood defiantly in front of Reyna.

  The clash of steel and cries of death echoed across the entire fort. Adellum’s arrows were easy to spot, since any soul unlucky enough to be struck by them was flung into the distance, as if hit by a giant’s club. Nathaniel let fly another arrow before dropping the bow to the floor and retrieving his sword. The Arakesh he had aimed for dodged the arrow by an inch, using reflexes that would make an elf envious.

  Nathaniel roared, preparing himself mentally for battle. These were no ordinary warriors he was about to face. There was something terrifying about an enemy that clearly couldn’t see him, and yet had uncanny sight, as it were. His fear triggered a memory of his father and one of the last conversations they had before his final departure from Longdale. With such little time together, Nathaniel’s father had always tried to impart any wisdom he might have.

  “Fear can be a powerful tool, son,” Tobin Galfrey had said. “Respect it, listen to it. Fear will keep your wits about you while others run head long into peril. But I tell you this,” his father had leaned down and gripped his son by the arm, “when you’re surrounded by enemies and the only option left to you is fight or die, fear becomes irrelevant - it has no use. You give it all you have and you live, or give it all you have and you die. If that day should ever come, just make certain that you have more to give than they do.”

  “How do I do that, pa?”

  “It always helps to have something to fight for, son.” Tobin had ruffled his son’s hair affectionately.

  Nathaniel looked back, with a second to spare, and locked eyes with Reyna. He finally had something to fight for besides his own life.

  The first Arakesh made the mistake of trying to confuse Nathaniel with an exotic flip through the air. It was a classic misdirection technique, designed to make the opponent wonder whether they were about to be kicked, punched or stabbed. The Graycoat knew the assassin would immediately go for the stabbing option and stepped into the jump, without fear of being kicked. The Arakesh had clearly never seen his victim move so boldly and was unable bring his blades about quickly enough. Nathaniel performed a single clean swipe of his sword and cut the assassin across the abdomen and chest. The man was dead before he hit the floor.

  The second attacker was propelled from the wall by an arrow from Reyna’s bow. The princess was obviously finding it hard to choose between the Arakesh attacking the knight and her mentor. Faylen however, was cutting her way towards the portal, flipping and jumping over the assassins with graceful ease. Those that didn’t suffer her blade were kicked from the wall or beaten back by a strong elven fist.

  Nathaniel waded into his own group of attackers, stepping over the two dead
bodies as he did. The next pair came for him at the same time, with four blades diving towards him from different directions. The knight didn’t calculate his actions, he simply reacted to survive. A swift kick knocked the closest fire-pit towards the Arakesh, spilling the hot coals across the wet stone. The fire blazed for a moment at their feet and penetrated the darkness of their blindfolds. Like before, the transition for their senses was disorientating and caused the assassins to swing their swords blindly. Nathaniel speared the assassin to his left, driving his sword through the man’s sternum until his hilt could go no further, and continued to drive the man from the wall, allowing the Arakesh to slide from his blade. Twirling his sword about him, Nathaniel span on the spot and swiped his blade across the woman’s neck, decapitating her with one blow.

  The Graycoat didn’t see men and women before him, only Arakesh, only killers who would take Reyna from him and murder Elaith without thought.

  There was no reprieve. Another assassin was already waiting to take their place and had his blade held high, ready to come down hard on Nathaniel’s head. The knight misjudged his footing however, and slipped on the wet stone, falling to one knee. At the last second he was able to hold his sword over his head and block the downward strike. In such close proximity, the assassin now had the advantage, for while Nathaniel parried the heavy attack from above, the Arakesh had the perfect opening to impale the Graycoat with his second blade. The thrust never came. Instead, the assassin toppled backwards with a West Fellion sword sliding out of his chest. Elaith pulled her sword free, letting the assassin fall,before dropping back to cover the gap between Nathaniel and Reyna. The two knights shared a nod, Nathaniel’s one of thanks.

  The Graycoat shook the rain from his eyes and turned back to the steps, more were coming. Nathaniel paused, seeing Ro Dosarn on the outer wall in the distance. The assassin who had impaled him was now cutting through other Graycoats with ease. The knight started for the bridge until he caught himself. He couldn’t leave Reyna so vulnerable and Elaith alone to defend her. Nathaniel allowed his rage to grow, but directed it towards the oncoming Arakesh. Ro Dosarn would just have to wait.