Solvang stood in his night clothes with the flap of Egden’s tent open, allowing a breeze to enter, a slight chill in the air. “I said the Kesh have ordered their troops to march this very night.”
Egden jumped from his cot and grabbed his riding trousers and tunic and began to dress hastily. “And our troops?”
“General Gores has them mobilizing, but he has given no order to march without your consent, Your Highness.” Solvang looked over his shoulder as if to assure himself that what he was saying was still accurate. Nothing could be worse for an advisor to be advising with inaccurate information.
“Well, at least the man has some sense. Have the wizards all left?” Egden said, pulling his tunic over and buttoning it himself. He would waste no time for servants to perform such a mundane task.
“Ah, no, my prince. Their leader is waiting for you, it would appear.” Solvang looked back yet again.
“Fine, tell him I’ll be right there,” Egden said, sitting and grabbing his boots, putting his foot in one and pulling the high-topped leather up over his shin.
“Don’t do anything hasty. They seemed to be upset, at least the lesser wizards did, though their mage, Amsor, seems calm and, perhaps, reasonable enough.”
“You worry too much. Now go,” the prince commanded.
Solvang left the tent, allowing the flap to fall back into place, and Egden listened as the sounds of troops mobilizing filled the air. He finished putting his second boot on and then fastened his belt, with the leather sheath and his sword securely in place. He would ensure he was presentable when he confronted the Kesh.
Stepping out, he noticed his guards were still standing at attention, long pikes towering above their heads, and in the distance, he saw three of the Kesh wizards mounted on horses whirling and galloping away. A bit closer stood Amsor, the Kesh mage and leader, standing calmly, leaning on his staff as he listened to Solvang, who looked ridiculous in his night clothes, standing next to the fully dressed magic-user. Normally, Solvang would never be caught inappropriate like that, but the events of this late evening surprised the king’s advisor.
Walking quickly but not so fast as to appear rushed, Egden approached the trio of mage, general, and advisor. “What’s the meaning of this, Amsor?” Egden asked less than politely.
“Prince Egden,” the Kesh mage said, never losing his formality and watching the young man intently. It amazed Egden that while his fellow wizards and troops were now leaving, the mage stood alone within the heart of the Ekin war camp, seemingly without fear, concern, or worry. “We have lost the element of surprise.”
“Says who?” Egden asked, though commanded would have been an apt word to describe the prince’s tone and demeanor with the mage.
“I say so,” Amsor replied, not backing away from the prince’s verbal challenge. “Your lighting of the fires have alerted the Vulcrest spies, despite our warnings. There is no longer time for stealth, only time for speed.”
Egden looked the man over. He appeared simple enough, though his elaborate metallic staff and the gemstone that adorned the top of it seemed menacing enough, even for those who weren’t exposed to such magical items. “What spies?”
“A Ranger of the Arnen is nearby. They run even now to sound the alarm,” Amsor said coolly.
“Nonsense,” Solvang interrupted, and then caught himself and bowed his head slowly. “Sorry, it’s just that there’s been no sign of any Arnen or Rangers in all of the wild lands for an entire generation.”
“No, there has not . . . until now.” Amsor never took his eyes off of the prince.
“So you blame our fires for this?” Egden asked yet another question.
“Yes,” Amsor replied curtly, and this did not go unnoticed by the general nor the advisor.
General Gores cleared his throat before speaking. “So we can still surprise the baron and trap him in his castle if we move this very evening, correct, Arch-Mage Amsor?”
The general was not without some political wile and was using it to deflect the situation into something more beneficial for him and his troops. “Perhaps,” Amsor replied, “perhaps not.”
“Shall I give the order to march, my prince?” Gores asked, looking at the young man.
Egden looked around and saw that the last of the Kesh and their mercenaries were already on the dirt road, heading east at a brisk pace. It would take his troops quite some time to catch up. For some reason, the Kesh left most of their supplies in the wagons behind. “You can make the order, General. What about your siege equipment and war supplies?” Egden asked.
“See to it that they are brought up in due time. You will be held responsible for their safekeeping.” Without waiting for a response, Amsor turned and walked toward a stable hand who held the reins to a large black stallion. Mounting it quickly and gracefully, the mage turned to look at the stunned entourage of Ekians and then spurred his mount into a fast run after the rapidly disappearing column of Kesh troops.
“Did he say what I think he said?” Solvang looked around, dumbfounded.
“I think he did,” Gores said. “Your orders?”
Egden stood watching the Kesh mage as the man and mount raced off into the distance, rising along the road toward the far rise that marked the eastern edge of their encampment. He didn’t speak until he had lost sight of them. “Mount up and leave the Kesh belongings with their porters and teamsters. Take only Ekin supplies with us.”
Egden left, returning to his tent to oversee the dismantling of it. When he had gotten out of earshot, Solvang spoke. “That isn’t the wisest course of action.”
Gores responded, “I couldn’t agree more, but what good are you as an advisor if you don’t actually advise?”
Solvang looked at the general and then smiled. “Dead advisors don’t advise well. I’ll work on my advising and you better see to it that the Kesh supplies somehow magically make their way to the warfront. Otherwise, I don’t think I’ll be advising further and your days of commanding may very well come to an end as well.”
Gores nodded and then started to bark orders for all supplies to be readied for transport. For once, the king’s advisor spoke wisely.
“I don’t think I can run any further,” Beth said, pulling up and leaning over, breathing heavily enough that she couldn’t speak more.
Wulfric stopped and trotted back to her, allowing her to catch her breath. He looked over to the south at the road that was just visible in the faint starlight. Soon, Tira and Sara would rise, and it would be easy enough to see their way forward. “Can you not use the breathing techniques that Greyson taught you?”
Beth took several deep gulps of air and tried to slow her breathing enough to talk again. After a moment, she spoke, her voice sounding fainter, though calmer. “We really didn’t discuss the subject, especially . . . concerning breathing . . . after running so quickly for such a . . . long distance.”
Wulfric knelt on one knee to bring his head closer to hers, as he towered over her by a good height. Reaching for her shoulders with both hands, he gripped them tightly and forced her to look at him. “Listen to me, Beth. You are an Initiate of the Arnen. You must do this, or the people living between here and Vulkor will die tonight. Do you understand me?”
He literally shook her with every one of his last words for emphasis. Beth wanted to cry but stifled the urge. “Can’t you run ahead and warn them? I will come as quickly as I can, I promise.”
Wulfric held her firmly, though he shut his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself more than anything. “My oath is unbreakable. I am honor bound to protect you here and now, and that means even at the expense of hundreds of innocent lives along the war path of the Ekins and Kesh. I cannot warn them without you, and I cannot break my vow. Do you understand now?”
Beth nodded, still breathing heavily, and she closed her eyes, gripping her staff tightly, thinking of her teachings from decades ago. Unlike the Kesh, she felt the energy flow into her from her staf
f, and her breathing slowed, getting deeper as she willed herself to calm. Wulfric had released her, resuming his stance after standing and taking two steps back. He was impatient but knew she had to do this in order to save the nearby people.
Beth didn’t rush, taking her time until she felt sure that the energy that she had summoned had indeed reached her through her staff, and she willed it into her tired limbs and oxygen-starved lungs. With a determination that surprised both her and Wulfric, she opened her eyes and spoke only two words. “Let’s go.”
Wulfric bounded after her, and now she ran like the wind. The tall Ranger couldn’t help but smile as he struggled to keep her pace. He hadn’t told her, but during one of her earlier rests, he had taken the time to run nearer to the road and check on the progress of the Kesh. They were trotting in unison despite their heavy armor and arms, and that caused the man more than a little concern.
He wasn’t lying when he said that he’d let the entire western half of Vulcrest perish before the Kesh army if that was necessary to protect her life. Beth, and indeed her companions, Tristan and Elister, didn’t understand the nature of their order. They had to survive. Agon mandated it, and it was up to the Zashitors of old to protect them as they had done for countless millennia. Fate had bigger plans for them, and it wasn’t up to a lone protector to question it. Wulfric was only glad that he didn’t have to test his honor and his oath.
“Well, come on, Wulfric, don’t lag now,” Beth said, looking over her shoulder while running at close to a full sprint, at least for her diminutive frame. She laughed lightly, hardly breathing even deeply at all, increasing her pace a tad more. Yes, Agon taught her Arnen well, and it took centuries, but at times, the learning curve was accelerated, and Wulfric marveled at the change in his ward. The Arnen Initiate was now outrunning him, pulling away slightly with little to no discernable effort.
Wulfric ran as fast as he could with the ground racing by beneath them. The Ranger was one of the strongest, fastest, and indeed, bravest in all of Agon’s history, yet this young woman was testing his limits. The twinkling light of torches near the road faded in time as the pair outran the Kesh column. When they had reached the first small settlement, Beth slowed to allow him to catch up with her.
“So what do we do first?” She sounded pleased with herself.
Wulfric breathed heavily this time, placing his hands on his hips and resisting the urge to lean over or fall to the ground. The thought of vomiting occurred to him as well, and he had to dig deep within his training to suppress that urge. “Warn the townsfolk and tell them to get well away from the road.”
Beth didn’t hesitate, running to the first building where a simple cabin stood, a tiny bit of smoke coming from a crooked stone chimney. “Awake, awake,” she cried, pounding on the door and then running toward another building. There were only five buildings huddled together, one of them a makeshift inn and small tavern.
“Who goes there?” came a stern man’s voice as the cabin door opened slightly, and the sound of a hound could be heard barking within.
Wulfric answered from the road, several dozen feet away. “There is an armed force coming from Ekins. You must rouse yourselves and flee from the road.”
“Stop spewing such tales, stranger. There ain’t be no Ekians near here. They ain’t that stupid enough,” the man said, and a woman’s voice could be heard inside, asking what was going on at such a late hour.
“No, they’re not,” Wulfric said, raising his voice so that others who were also opening their doors or windows could hear him, though he was lowering his tone, making it sound more menacing. “They are, however, bent on revenge and emboldened by the Kesh and, believe me when I tell you, that half the army approaching is comprised of Kesh and Balarians.”
That seemed to do the trick. There was more than enough murmuring and then a great amount of activity. One of the other townsmen yelled from a nearby cabin. “How much time do we have?”
“I’d say no more than half an hour, though to be safe, you must leave here sooner than that. They could always send a scouting unit to ride ahead and kill any resistance or citizens in their path,” Wulfric answered.
Another man yelled from the first cabin. “Forget anything but food and a simple change of clothing. We leave together for the Hillshire meadow in five minutes.”
Beth and Wulfric didn’t know what or where the Hillshire meadow was, but the intent was more than adequate. “We move on,” Wulfric yelled, and motioned for Beth to follow.
“Don’t forget to warn the Joneses,” a lady said from a window, holding a small child who appeared to still be asleep despite the commotion.
“Where are they?” Beth asked from the roadway.
“They are a couple of leagues down the road but hidden behind a row of trees and brushes to the north of the road. They are set back a ways, but they rise early and will be easy prey if you don’t warn them,” the first man said from his doorway.
“We’ll take care of it,” Wulfric said, nodding and then running after Beth, who had a head start.
The twin sisters rose that night, illuminating the area well enough. The pair found the Jones family, and it was a good thing that they were warned. It was not easy to see, as the trees seemed to be naturally planted along a small creek bed.
Everywhere they went, the initial reaction and subsequent reaction was the same—disbelief followed by mobilization. In time, the twin sisters set and plunged the countryside back into starlight, the darkest before the dragon fire would arise in the east. The citizens of Vulcrest were warned, and for decades afterward, the tale of the Ranger’s Run was told countless times, as it was burned into local lore by the folks of the far western lands.
“There it is.” Beth motioned with her hand and arm, pointing toward the lit torches of the walled city. It was immense beyond belief for Beth, though in reality, it was quite small compared to the central realms, especially those of Tyniria and Ulatha. For the reclusive Druid’s Initiate, it seemed an immense structure, with countless towers, a massive gate structure, and a central city that was alive with activity even late into the wee hours of dawn.
“Time to warn them that death approaches,” Wulfric said.
Chapter 8
Dark Dryad
“Why do you do that?” Tristan asked, annoyed that yet another lengthy pause in their search was happening yet again.
“You mean, why am I listening?” Dunric asked, looking back at his ward.
“Not the listening, the listening for so long,” Tristan complained from behind his tree a few feet from Dunric. “I swear to Agon that I want to shake you sometimes just to see if you’re still awake. You turn to stone for such long periods of time.”
Dunric smiled. “Yes, better if Elister would have come with me.”
Tristan seemed hurt by the remark. “That’s not fair.”
“Perhaps,” Dunric said, “but it’s true enough.”
“Well, Elly doesn’t do well when you mention a green dragon . . . Actually, he doesn’t do well if you mention any dragon, for that matter.” Tristan looked around, the mere mention of a dragon caused him to shudder in expectation, as if the creature would be looking right at them from nearby.
“You wouldn’t do too well either if you had been through what Elly had,” Dunric said, his smile fading as the Ranger became all too serious.
“We heard the tales,” Tristan explained. “When we were boys, some of us picked on Elly, and Master Greyson explained what had happened and told us that the mere mentioning of dragons was forbidden upon pain of expulsion.”
“You believed him?” Dunric asked, both brows rising.
“Shouldn’t we have?” Tristan asked, not believing that the Ranger would imply deceit by his old teacher.
Dunric nodded at his ward, giving him a look that indicated he understood more than what was being said. “Don’t let the old man fool you. This happened right before your time of adulting, did it not?”
“Yes, so wh
at?”
Dunric chuckled. “Greyson would use all advantages in order to maintain a semblance of control over you, including a bluff like that.”
“You dare to imply our teacher would lie about expelling us?” Tristan said, his voice indicating both disbelief and offense by his Ranger protector.
“I don’t imply, I know,” Dunric said, still smiling. “In some cultures, they call this time, when you are in your teens by special names, and it is a time to avoid at all costs, if one can do so.”
“I hate it when you speak in riddles,” Tristan said, giving Dunric a frown for good measure.
“Most kind of you, considering it’s been decades since we last spoke,” Dunric replied.
Tristan took the time to absorb their banter and its meaning, remaining silent and allowing Dunric to stand still, listening to the forest’s sounds without further distraction from him. The druids, and Rangers for that matter, marked the passage of time differently than most of Agon’s inhabitants. They slept for long periods, and their metabolism had slowed their aging process so that they could serve over longer periods of a human’s normal age, time that Agon herself reckoned in millions, if not billions, of years. It was mind-boggling even to the Arnen, who thought they understood it best.
Only one other species understood the flow of time better than the Arnen. That was the draconus species, dragons in the common tongue.
After what seemed like several long minutes, Dunric met Tristan’s gaze, holding it for a ten count before speaking. “There is something less than a league distant in that direction.” He held a finger out, pointing toward the heart of the forest. “It is not human nor wild animal.”
“Then what is it?” Tristan asked.
“I was hoping you’d tell me,” Dunric responded.
“Me?” Tristan’s facial expression turned to surprise.
“Yes,” Dunric said, his voice low. “You are Arnen now. You should know how to do this.”
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