Ranger's Oath

by Blake Arthur Peel

  When we are finished, we eat our supper in silence. I tear off a bite of crusty bread and wash it down with the tea brewed on our fire.

  Elias remains alert while we rest, his longbow and belt knife never far out of reach.

  Finally, I find the courage to break the silence.

  "Elias, why were the rangers founded?"

  He frowns into his cup of tea. "You remember the Ranger's Oath," he replies softly. "'Our solemn duty is to protect the borders of the realms of men, from those enemies who would seek our destruction.'" He quotes the lines perfectly.

  "Yes, but what enemies are we defending against?"

  Elias looks up and gives me a flat look. "This is about the incident in the clearing today, isn't it?"

  I nod.

  Sighing, he sets down his cup and leans forward, stoking the coals with a stick. "We are the 'watchers in the woods', Owyn. We watch for beasts, bandits, and anything that threatens the peace of Tarsynium. Our job is to eliminate the enemies of the crown."

  I take another sip of my tea. "Are demons included in that list?"

  Elias grunts. "Yes, I suppose they are."

  I try to choose my next words carefully, "What I saw out there... it was unlike any animal I have ever seen before. It was real, master. I swear it was. The shadows gathered thickly around it, and those eyes... they glowed red with a light of their own."

  Elias does not reply immediately, and I start to feel uncomfortable in the silence that ensues.

  "It is true," he says finally with his typical gruffness. "Our order was originally created to watch for demons. After the Doom, our sole purpose was to ensure that the Arc of Radiance was keeping the last of our people safe. But that was a long time ago. Most in the kingdom don't even believe that they exist anymore. Hells, aside from the red eyes, we've forgotten what the demons even look like."

  "We have the stories," I counter, but I know that it is a lame response.

  "Yes, but that's exactly my point," Elias insists. "We only have stories to go by. Owyn, the Arc is a dome of pure magic that surrounds the kingdom. It has stood for a thousand years and not once has anything gotten through. In my years as a ranger, I must have walked the edge of that dome five hundred times. You know what I saw on the other side? Nothing. Just desert and wasteland as far as the eye could see. Never once did I see a living creature beyond the Arc, demon or otherwise."

  I look down and begin staring into the flames. I know that my expression must appear crestfallen.

  "I understand that what you saw may seem real to you, lad," he says, voice softening somewhat. "Light knows I've seen my share of mysteries since I became a ranger. But the demons left our world alone long ago when they realized they couldn't destroy Tarsynium. I suggest you try and forget about it and focus on what's real, like finding the beast that killed those deer."

  I nod again, but my eyes are still on the fire. I watch as the flames lick the charred wood, popping and cracking and throwing up sparks.

  Eventually we decide to retire to bed. I volunteer for the first watch, knowing that sleep is going to be hard to come by this night. Elias acquiesces and climbs into his bedroll fully clothed, his long knife laying in the dirt beside his head.

  Turning my back on the fire, my eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. I stare out at the forest, letting my mind wander as time slips by. I mindlessly start fingering the blade of my hatchet as I go over the words of Ranger's Oath in my head.

  I swear by my life and my hope for salvation that I will abide by the Oath of the Rangers until my dying breath.

  Our solemn duty is to protect the borders of the realms of men, from those enemies who would seek our destruction. The wilderness shall be our homestead, the sun and stars our only hearth. We will sacrifice everything, even our very lives, for the defense of the kingdom, unto the death of those who would do us harm.

  We are the watchers in the woods, the arrows in the darkness.

  None shall pass by while we stand guard.

  Every young man and woman who joins the rangers must take the oath before they are given their bow and cloak. For me that was one year ago, following the death of my mother.

  I used to dream of walking in my father's footsteps. I never knew him, but my mother had told me that he had been one of the greatest rangers of his generation. The hatchet that I now carry with me had been his weapon of choice, and it was the only heirloom that I took with me when I left my village of Edenshire. It is a simple weapon of polished oak and quality steel. Leather binds the handle, giving it a sure grip, and the image of windblown leaves is embossed on its head, carved into the metal itself. Holding it always makes me think of him, even though my mind has long forgotten his face.

  Idly, I begin to wonder what he would have done if he had seen a demon.

  A branch snaps distantly in the woods and I look up in alarm, putting a hand on the handle of my hatchet. After a few moments, though, I relax and pull my cloak more tightly around me.

  All this thinking about demons is making me jumpy.

  Time passes slowly while I stand watch. I add wood to the fire when it is needed and try to stay alert in case we are attacked. The minutes bleed into hours and the hours pass by at a crawl, but eventually it comes time for me to swap with Elias.

  His eyes snap open as I approach him and he sits up immediately, as if he had never been asleep at all.

  "Nothing to report," I say quietly, my voice raspy from hours of disuse.

  "Good," he says, standing up and slipping his knife into its sheath on his belt. "Get some rest. We begin riding at dawn."

  I nod and let out a jaw-popping yawn as I make my way to my bedroll, not even bothering to shed my cloak before climbing beneath the covers.

  Despite my tiredness I have a difficult time falling asleep. Every time I close my eyelids, I find two hateful red eyes waiting for me in the darkness. It takes time but eventually I drift off, slipping into a restless sleep.

  Monsters with blade-like claws plague my dreams, chasing me through the forest and running me down. They tear me apart like the deer in the meadow, ripping my limbs away and devouring my flesh. Whenever I die the nightmare starts over again, filling me with a subconscious terror that causes me to thrash and mumble.

  I jolt awake when Elias shakes me, and I look up to see him outlined in the purple hue of morning light. “It’s time to wake up,” he says, standing up and wrapping himself in his cloak. “Help me break down camp. Today we eat breakfast in the saddle.”

  I groan, but force myself out of my warm bedroll. The dreams have made me even more tired than I was last night.

  With numb fingers I put away my things and saddle the horses, Elias pouring water over the coals with his waterskin. They hiss and sizzle, sending up clouds of grey ash in the chill morning air. Before long we are riding away from our campsite with very little indicating that we had been there at all.

  My eyes burn as I eat breakfast astride my mare, watching as the low light of dawn gradually brightens to the golden brilliance of day. As the sun comes up it gets considerably warmer, and I have to resist the urge to shed the heavy cloak from my shoulders.

  The nearer we come to Forest Hill, the thinner the forest becomes. It is not long before the untamed wilderness becomes more populated, with farmhouses dotting the land and sending up columns of white smoke from their chimneys.

  Our narrow game trail becomes a gravelly highway, and soon we begin to see others traveling on the road. All of them, from the weathered ranchers to the wide-eyed children, gaze up at us in awe, bowing their heads and greeting us with respect. For centuries the rangers have protected their lands, and it has bred an admiration in them that is rivaled only by the mages of Tarsys.

  We stop near a cluster of houses and sell the dead stag to a local butcher. He takes it gratefully into his shop with the help of his sons. Elias hands me my share of the earnings and again we are off, riding toward the large hillock that gives Forest Hill its name.

  Thoug
h not considered a city by anybody's definition, Forest Hill is a fairly large town, the largest settlement in the Emberwood by far. Families, farmers and tradesmen of every sort live peacefully on the hill, bringing some semblance of civilization to this frontier province, and we ride past them all like lions among sheep, our weapons rattling with every clopping step.

  About halfway up the hill is the town's inn, a quaint, nameless building that has been our home for the past few months. As we ride up to the stable, we are stopped by a gangly man with a badly receding hairline. I recognize him as the governor's steward.

  "Hail, rangers," the man calls out, raising a hand.

  Elias and I pull our horses to a stop.

  "Greetings," Elias says, his gruff voice sounding as less cordial than he probably intended. "We have just returned from a hunt and are seeking rest from our travels."

  "I'm afraid that your rest, though no doubt deserved, will have to wait," the steward says, stepping forward and handing Elias a folded letter. "Your presence has been requested by Governor Prior at once. He will await you at his manor as soon as you are able."

  He hurries off without waiting for a reply.

  Frowning, Elias breaks the seal and reads the letter, scanning its contents. After a few seconds he looks up at me sharply, his frown deepening.

  "There has been an attack," he says, pocketing the piece of paper. "An entire village has been destroyed."

  Chapter Four

  Zara

  I close the door to my dormitory and lean against its solid wooden frame, finally taking a moment to catch my breath. My sprint across the city had been frantic, much faster than I ever have ever run before.

  Now, in my room, it all comes crashing down on me.

  Elva Tyrande, notorious in the Conclave for her iron will and skill with magic, has just asked me to be her ward. She wants me to accompany her on a secret mission.

  In the name of the Light, how is that even possible?

  For the last five years my studies have been everything to me. I have labored and pushed with everything I have to become the best initiate possible. Recently, it seems like my hard work is finally starting to pay off. I have climbed to the top of my class and am constantly lauded by my professors, setting myself apart from my peers by my high marks and raw talent. My future at the Conclave looks extremely bright, but I never thought it would get the attention of the Circle of Magisters.

  Is leaving the city worth putting my studies on hold?

  I blow out a breath and go to my bed, but hesitate to sit down, a new thought coming to me.

  Perhaps I am looking at this all wrong, I think to myself. Any other student would be ecstatic to have the opportunity to work with a Magister, especially Arch-magister Tyrande. This could help catapult my career at the Conclave to heights I never dreamed possible.

  But why do I still feel so uneasy about the whole thing?

  Shaking my head, I reach for my trunk and begin packing, shoving clothes and necessities into it without a second thought. The Arch-magister had not given me much time to prepare myself for the journey, and at this rate I would not be able to say goodbye to any of my friends at the Academy.

  Not that I have many friends, I think regrettably.

  The thing about striving for perfection is that it tends to make others jealous of your success. Over the years I have not done particularly well at balancing my studies with my social life. While the other initiates played games and interacted with each other in their free time, I was reading books and practicing spellcasting. The extra hours made me exceptionally good at magecraft, but it had done little to aid my ability to socialize with others. The only person who would likely be sad to see me go is Evoker Laramie, and he is a professor.

  There's no point on dwelling on the past, I tell myself firmly, bundling up a pair of stockings. The only thing that matters is the future, and becoming the youngest mage in the Conclave's history.

  I throw in a few extra robes before making my way to the nightstand, where I quickly inventory the various lotions and powders resting haphazardly on its surface. When I glance at my reflection in the mirror, I pause, taking stock of my how I look.

  My brown eyes look tired, gazing back at me in darkened sockets due to lack of sleep. I rarely wear any makeup, and today is no exception. My pale skin is as plain as milk, and my lips are drawn in a thin line beneath my nose. To top it all off, my straight brown hair is pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, with loose strands poking out every which way and framing my face like an unfinished painting.

  No wonder my appearance had given the Arch-magister's secretary pause – I look absolutely dreadful.

  Looking away from my reflection, I begin picking up those items that I deem necessary: a tin of tooth powder, a hairbrush and a bar of lye soap. I also grab a small pouch of makeup, only hesitating for a second. These I place into a small satchel, which I then deposit into the trunk with the rest of my things. Looking at the size of the thing, I realize that I am going to need to commission one or two of the servants to help me carry it back to the Pillar of Radiance.

  I'm going to have to hurry if I am going to make it.

  Shedding my training tunic and trousers, I hastily splash some water on my face and do my best to wash away the sweat from my body. The water is cold but refreshing, invigorating me after a long day of training. Shivering, I pat myself dry with a towel and find a clean pair of initiate robes hanging in my armoire. The clothing is a dull grey color, like slate or granite, with golden thread woven in at the cuffs and hem. All initiates at the Academy wear similar robes, though that doesn't make me disdain them any less. I dream of one day wearing the azure robes of a full mage, with fabric the color of magefyre. It is a symbol of a mage's station, a testament to the power and skill that they possess.

  Not a day goes by that I do not think of wearing those robes.

  When the clothes settle on my skin I begin to breathe a little easier. The weight of my responsibilities grounds me, and forces me to remember my training. I close my eyes and begin to run through a mental list of things I may need on the trip. Robes, night clothes, soap and grooming items...

  I can’t help but feel like I am missing something.

  Then, I notice my bookshelf which is stacked with copious amounts of books.

  Stepping over to the far wall, I begin scanning the spines of my collection, looking for anything that may be of use to me while traveling with the Arch-magister. There are texts on spellcraft and artifice, treatises on talisman crafting and essays on source energy. Of course, it looks so interesting, but I know that I cannot take all of them with me.

  I carefully pull out a tome titled Radiant Magic in Combat, as well as one simply called Radiant Shields. There is no telling what sort of things I may encounter on the journey, and better understanding both offensive and defensive spells could crucial.

  After a few seconds of searching, I turn my head, noticing a book lying open on my desk.

  Setting the other two down, I walk over to the book and curiously lean forward to inspect its pages. The yellowed parchment is covered with archaic script and faded illustrations of fierce-looking monsters. It is an antiquated volume, one that I had checked out from the library at the Academy.

  Well, I think, smiling ruefully and mentally correcting myself, I didn’t exactly check it out.

  The section of the library I had found this particular book is off-limits for initiates. I had rather clumsily batted my eyelashes at an older boy to convince him to steal it for me, and was more than a little surprised when he had actually done it.

  The tome is an ancient account of demonology, one of the oldest in the kingdom. I have always been interested in the study of demons, though I am not sure why the subject strikes my fancy. Perhaps it is the study of something so mysterious that piques my interest, or perhaps it is the fact that none of my professors can answer my seemingly endless questions about them. Demonology is widely regarded by the Conclave as a pseudoscience
, a relic of a time long gone. Mages have always been discouraged from dedicating themselves to the study of demons, though in truth I never understood why.

  Demons have always fascinated me. Beyond the magical walls of the Arc of Radiance lives the race of beings who ravaged our ancient homeland, and who, by all accounts, came from another plane of existence entirely. They are an enigma, completely alien to anything I have ever known, which is probably why I have taken to researching them in my spare time, to unravel the secrets that time has long since eroded away.

  Picking up the book, I mark my place with a cloth bookmark before carefully closing its leather cover. Wherever we are going, I am likely going to need something to read while I am traveling.

  Nobody from the library is going to miss it while I am gone, right?

  I gently slide it in between some clothes before closing the trunk and looking out the window. The clock tower of the Academy says that I have less than two hours before sundown.

  Steeling myself, I step out of my bedroom to try and find some servants to help me with my things.

  Chapter Five

  Owyn

  I kick my heels into my horse's flanks, pushing her to a near gallop as Elias and I race up the hill.

  In my months as a ranger, I've never heard of an attack happening in the Emberwood, I think as I try to keep pace with Elias. And I've never heard of an entire village being destroyed. Such things simply do not happen.

  This has to be some kind of mistake.

  Ahead, I can see Governor Prior’s manor house resting at the top of Forest Hill. It is a gaudy villa that looks out over the town and the surrounding forest. I've been there a handful of times, usually when Elias delivers his reports to the Governor and his advisors. From the crest of the hill one can see most of the Emberwood, as well as the snow-covered Ironbacks. On a clear day the great spire of Tarsys can even been seen, spewing light into the sky.