Vincent continued up the stairs, trying to hide the sudden loneliness he felt. Silva was at the far end of the cloister when Vincent exited the stairs. He hurried to follow, but Silva disappeared into the abbey before he could catch him.
Vincent followed him into the abbey, but he lost sight of him once again in the crowd of people in the reception hall; all bustling around in their preparations to return to their abbeys. He eventually made his way to the entry hall, where he found Master Silva waiting for him.
“Have you said your goodbyes?” Silva asked, his voice cold as steel.
“Yes,” Vincent replied. He barely got the word out before he was cut off by Silva.
“Good, let’s go then.” Without another word he turned and walked out the giant carved doors of the abbey into the early morning light, a regal sway in his step. Vincent followed.
They walked out the main abbey gates and turned left down the road, heading westward, toward the mountains. The forest grew thick on both sides of the road, adding to the shadow of the early morning. There were no travelers out yet and the road felt empty, even the birds weren’t singing.
They traveled in silence. Silva’s face showed no emotion, his steely eyes darting from shadow to shadow. They continued down the empty road. The sun was now climbing higher in the sky, and the summer heat was starting to set in. They passed the ford in the river where the children had gone swimming the day before. A strange feeling came over Vincent as he crossed the river, realizing that he had not been that far from the abbey since he had gone to live there. His skin tingled as they came out of river on the far bank.
“Life as a Ranger is very different from what you’re used to, Vincent,” Silva said abruptly, breaking the silence. “Knights generally stay around the abbey to which they are assigned and help in that community. Rangers, on the other hand, have no boundaries. You travel a great deal and see a lot of the old kingdom. As a result, your combat skills will need to be finely honed at all times.” Master Silva seemed more sympathetic than he had at the abbey. “You will be expected to follow a very strict training schedule every day. The first three months will be particularly difficult for you as you are greatly inexperienced in real combat; experience that normally takes years to accumulate. Usually a knight needs at least five years of experience in high combat zones to even be considered for acceptance to the Rangers. You have no experience, so pay attention to those who do; you’ll learn a great deal.” Vincent nodded numbly as he listened.
“In fact,” Silva said, a smile creeping across his face, “I think we’ll start your training now. Try to keep up.” Silva darted away down the road. Vincent couldn’t help but smile as he sped after him.
They ran for about ten minutes before Silva stopped. He turned to Vincent, who was trying to catch his breath. A broad smile now covered Silva’s face.
“Congratulations, Vincent,” he said, a jubilant tone to his voice, “You’re a Ranger now. There are a few things that you need to understand.”
“Like what?” Vincent asked, curious.
“It was not by chance that you won that tournament, Vincent. You have been chosen, marked, and therefore you were meant to win.”
“What do you mean, I was meant to win?” Vincent asked uncomfortably.
“Think about it Vincent. You wield fire; how many others in the abbey did you know that could do the same?” Silva asked.
“Just me and Master Auna,” Vincent replied hesitantly.
“Exactly!” Silva exclaimed. “Fire is so rare that before you came along there were only two of us in the entire world; now there are three. It’s a great honour to wield fire Vincent, but it’s also very dangerous. The Empire...” Silva trailed off and started looking around wildly, chasing shadows in the woods on both sides of the road.
“What is it?” Vincent started to ask, but Silva silenced him with a raised hand. A horn sounded in the distance, almost inaudibly.
“It’s not safe here,” Silva whispered urgently. “We need to move. Now.” Silva started walking again, at a brisk pace. His eyes moved faster than before. “Get your token ready, Vincent,” he commanded, once again the icy man from the abbey.
Warmth flooded Vincent as he embraced his token. Silva was muttering now under his breath. Complaints about being too casual and letting his guard down. They continued in silence.
Without warning, Silva stopped, raising his right hand.
“What?” Vincent started to ask but was silenced once again. Silva’s head continued to move as he watched the forest.
“Down,” Silva shouted.
Vincent dropped to the ground just as a large wolf-like creature lunged into the road, sailing through the air where Vincent had been standing only seconds before.
A fiery blue bolt exploded from Silva’s hand, hitting the beast in the face and quickly engulfing its body completely in flames before blasting it backwards.
Vincent got up and slowly edged his way to where it landed. The body lay in a smoldering heap on the ground, motionless. It was a thin, scrawny thing that looked like a wolf that had lost most of its hair and had been reduced to almost skin and bone.
“What was that?” Vincent asked breathlessly.
“A Lupis,” Silva replied hurriedly, still searching the shadows. “They’re cursed creatures from the Abyss, devilish in their cruelty, relentless in their pursuit and virtually impossible to follow as they leave no tracks; the hounds of Frost the Hunter”
“Who?”
Silva opened his mouth to answer but the sound was stifled by a chilling blast from a horn. “I’ll explain later,” Silva said. “Right now, you need to run, run as fast as you can.” The horn sounded again. “We’re not far from the camp now. Keep running down this road. When you come to the fork, just keep running straight into the forest. The sentries will find you there and take you to the camp. Tell them ‘the lone wolf hunts’ and you’ll be fine.” The horn sounded once more. “Now go!”
Vincent ran as fast as he could down the road. The horn continued to sound, each blast spurring Vincent to greater speed. As he glanced over his shoulder, Vincent found that he was being followed by two more of the strange wolves Silva called lupis.
He kept running, but the lupis were gaining on him, slowly closing the gap. Despite having his token embraced, he was helpless as he had no fire to wield and no time to make any. He could see the fork in the road ahead, but he wouldn’t make it before the lupis caught him if he didn’t do something to stop them.
Vincent stopped abruptly, turning while drawing his swords. The lupis were unfazed, they charged on relentlessly. Vincent readied himself for the first attack as the lupis closed in on him.
The first lunged at him. Vincent dodged it easily, slashing as he went, cutting the creature in two. The second stopped, growling with a deep hollow sound. It started circling; Vincent followed, always keeping his sword between himself and the lupis.
The creature flung itself at Vincent without warning. He tried to get his swords up but was too slow. The lupis sailed right over them, digging its fangs into Vincent’s shoulder. His chainmail took the brunt of the bite, but the strength of its jaws was crushing his shoulder.
Vincent shouted in pain and punched at the creature, dislodging it from his shoulder. The creature tore his tunic from his shoulder as it fell away. A trickle of blood was oozing from between the links of his mail. Vincent brought his swords up again. The lupis lunged once more, but this time Vincent was ready for him. He struck with his sword, driving it into the creature’s face.
The lupis started thrashing wildly, tearing the sword from Vincent’s hand, as it struggled in death. Vincent drew his second blade and approached the creature. He stabbed the creature again, calming its thrashings.
Vincent pulled his blade free from the motionless body. He wiped the blood from his blades on what little hair remained on the withered carcasses before sheathing them and continuing to the fork in the road, leaving his torn tunic behind.
His legs were tired and he was out of breath when he finally reached the fork, but he plunged blindly into the thick brush between the two paths and continued forward as Silva had instructed. Branches caught on him and he tripped on vines, but he ignored them and pressed onward.
Suddenly a cloaked figure wearing a featureless white mask popped out of the brush in front of Vincent, startling him. He barely had time to stop without crashing into the mysterious figure. He came to a halt almost touching the featureless mask.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” the figure asked sharply.
“Master Silva sent me; he said ‘the lone wolf hunts,’” Vincent managed to sputter between gasps for air.
“Are you sure that’s what he said?” The figure asked, removing his mask to reveal a middle-aged man.
“Yes,” Vincent gasped.
“Rangers,” the figure called. To Vincent’s surprise, four other cloaked and masked shapes emerged from the forest. “You heard the boy, let’s move.” The figure gave three loud sharp whistles before following the other Rangers back the way Vincent had come.
Vincent watched them as they disappeared among the trees. He turned to find himself once again face to face with one of the masked people.
“Follow me.” Without another word the masked individual turned and walked away. Vincent followed hesitantly. They had not gone far when they came to a great wall that seemed to grow out of the forest. It was ancient and crumbling in places. Vines covered most of it.
The figure walked up to the wall, opened a small gate that was obscured by the vines, and disappeared through the opening. Vincent followed. Fatigue was consuming him and he was becoming painfully aware of how far he had just run.
The passage was short, only one or two paces, and opened to a vast, cleared field. There was not a tree anywhere in sight. One half of the walled area was filled with small stone cabins in neat rows, with one long stone building in the middle, a small wisp of smoke issuing from the chimney. Sitting alone behind the cabins was what looked like a miniature version of the sanctuary from the abbey, but it wasn’t nearly as ornate.
The other half of the area was empty. Wooden beams suspended in the air at different heights on top of large pillars created a clear division between the two areas.
The masked figure watched Vincent as he looked around in awe. The figure removed his mask and pulled back his hood revealing a fair-skinned man with unkempt brown hair and the start of a patchy beard. The man was smiling.
“You must be Vincent,” said the man. “My name is David. Welcome to the Ranger’s Camp.”
“How do you know my name?” Vincent asked.
“We Rangers know everything,” David replied with a wink. “Let’s get some food into you,” David said, waving for Vincent to follow. He led Vincent to the long building in the middle of the cabins. “This is where we eat.” David pointed at the building as he entered, Vincent following. “We call it the hall, as it’s the only hall we have.”
The building was one big room. Rows of benches and tables filled most of the space. A few small groups of people were scattered throughout the room, huddled together at different tables. In the center of the room, there was a large pit with a small fire burning on a bed of red coals at the bottom. Four people huddled around the little fire.
“Back already, David?” One of the people asked without turning to look. “I thought you still had another hour on sentry duty.”
“Well I found this crawling around outside and figured I’d bring him in,” David replied with a laugh, slapping Vincent on the back. The entire group turned to see the new arrival.
“Vincent Alexander,” the man who had spoken before said. He stood to greet Vincent. He was an older man, maybe in his fifties, and was tall, with thick, straight, brown hair lined with grey. “I always knew it would be just a matter of time before you joined our ranks. The name’s Trenton Lowe,” he smiled, “but this rabble calls me Trent.” He paused a moment, sizing Vincent up. “You look just like your father.”
“How did you know my father?” Vincent asked, stunned.
Trent smiled. It was a kind, warm smile, but it was sad. “Your father was a Ranger,” Trent said, a hint of bitter laughter in his voice. “Didn’t anybody tell you?” Vincent shook his head. “He commanded the Rangers until you were born. When you came along he decided that he wanted a quieter life, you know. He wanted to raise you properly. So he left the Rangers and became a farmer. Right shame what happened to him.” Trent’s tone had grown somber. “You must be hungry, have a seat.”
Vincent accepted the hand Trent extended then sat, gratefully accepting a stick with a few chunks of meat on it that had been roasting over the fire.
“Let me introduce you to the band of misfits,” Trent said, indicating the group. “The short guy to your left is Weston; he and David make up the Blue Team.” Weston nodded but took no other interest in what was going on; he was stockier than the others and had blond hair. He and David looked much younger than Trent. “The brute to my right is Benjamin, and he has the great fortune to be teamed with Lauren. They’re the Red team.”
Benjamin had a muscular build with a shaved head and was one of the few black men Vincent had ever seen. Even sitting he towered over the others in the group. He looked like he could have been the same age as Trent. Benjamin seemed to be almost dozing as he ate, yet he had an air about him that made Vincent feel that he was more alert than anyone else in the room. Lauren, on the other hand, was a lot shorter than Vincent with shoulder length brown hair that was dirty and tangled. Grime smudged her face and her shirt looked as though it had been dragged through the mud on more than one occasion; but it was her eyes that caught Vincent’s attention. They were a brilliant green, yet they seemed to hide a deep sadness. She glared at Vincent and he realized he had been staring. He turned to Trent, trying to shake off Lauren’s gaze.
“So, what team do you belong to?” Vincent asked.
“I’m not part of a team,” Trent replied. “I’m company captain for these ruffians. My job is to bring them back alive.” The group laughed, all but Lauren, who was still glaring at Vincent.
“So how old are you?” Weston asked, finally taking an interest in the new arrival.
“Twenty – one,” Vincent said, still chewing a chunk of meat from his stick, “almost twenty-two.”
“You hear that, Lauren?” Weston laughed, “He’s only a few years younger than you.”
“How old is she?” Vincent asked quietly to Trent, hoping Lauren wouldn’t hear.
“Twenty-five,” Trent replied, louder than he needed to, obviously trying to make sure that Lauren knew they were talking about her. “But she’s been a Ranger since she was sixteen.” Vincent’s jaw dropped. He had never heard of anyone become a Ranger so young.
“She’s Silva’s little project,” Trent explained. “She grew up in the Abbey of Gesta, and wanted to be a Valkyrie, but she didn’t meet the requirements. The Valkyrie all have the Token of Lightning. She doesn’t, so they wouldn’t take her. She still wanted to be a warrior though, so Silva took her in. She may look small, but Silva trained her personally; she’s tougher than she looks.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d all just mind your own business,” Lauren said, turning her glare from Vincent to Trent. The smile quickly dropped from his face.
“So,” David said, trying to break the tension, “how’d you make it into the Rangers so fast? It took ten years before they accepted me, and even then, it was only because I got in Master Silva’s good graces.”
“He beat an elemental,” A voice from the door answered. Everyone, except Lauren, stiffened as they turned to see Master Silva standing behind them. The group scrambled to their feet to salute him; except Lauren, who casually continued eating.
“Sorry, Master Silva,” Trent stammered. There was almost a tone of mockery in his voice. “We didn’t hear you come in.”
“Quite alright Trent; sit down and continue eating,” Silva said c
asually. “Since when do you jump to your feet when I walk into the room? Don’t go putting strange ideas in the kid’s head.” Silva sat down next to Lauren, who smiled warmly; the first smile Vincent had seen from her. She wasn’t as intimidating when she smiled. In fact, she was almost pretty.
“I see you’ve met the camp guard, Vincent,” Silva said picking up his own piece of meat and biting into it. “They’re some of the best Rangers around; and Trent here serves as my second in command.”
“You really beat an elemental?” Weston asked, cutting Silva off, his eyes wide as he stared in disbelief.
“Uh… Yeah,” Vincent replied uncomfortably.
“Don’t be bashful Vincent,” Silva laughed. “He forced him into submission, fully taking control of him.”
“What type was it?” Lauren asked condescendingly. “I bet it was a lower class one.”
“It was Mayberry,” Silva replied firmly. Lauren nearly choked on the meat she was chewing.
“The Captain? Then that means he’s a…” Lauren spluttered.
“A fire user. Yes,” Silva finished. There was an awed silence as the stares intensified on Vincent.
“Fire,” Lauren whispered before turning on Silva. “But Jason, the law; what will happen if…”
“That’s not something you need to worry about,” Silva said firmly, cutting her off. “I will see to it that he is properly trained in the use of his token and the laws governing his situation.”
“Yes sir,” Lauren said, dropping her gaze in defeat.
“That reminds me,” Silva said, his smile and cheery attitude returning as quickly as it had left. “Vincent is still green and needs some fine tuning. He is exceptionally skilled, but he needs practical application of those skills. He needs to learn how we do things.” Silva looked at the group, trying to make up his mind. “Trenton.”
“Yes, sir?”
“You will help him with his combat skills. He’s never seen real battle, so he needs to be broken in. I think your shadow knights ought to do the trick.” Silva thought for a second, “Three hours a day.”
The Ranger (Book 1) Page 7