Ranger's Oath

by Blake Arthur Peel

  The driver opens his mouth to respond, but I quickly turn my back on him, shaking my head in annoyance at the way he treats me like a child. I ignore his protests as I make my way to the front of the caravan.

  Several curious mages look out from their carriages, trying to catch a glimpse at what has caused the delay. I stride past them, gathering more than a few strange glances, but I find my attention is on the two armored soldiers standing at the front, warily facing down a small army of thugs.

  They surround the front of the caravan, blocking the road and carrying mismatched weapons ranging from clubs to dull-looking swords. Their clothes are worn and dirty, but what they lack in appearance, they more than make up for in sheer number.

  Light almighty, I think, stopping dead in my tracks. There must at least fifty of them! And they look like they mean business.

  One of them steps forward menacingly, and I watch in horror as the two guardsmen draw their swords.

  Chapter Seven

  Owyn

  A dense layer of fog blankets the Emberwood, an icy mist that blots out the sun and makes it incredibly difficult to see. Everything, including sound, seems dampened by the heavy air, and I find myself glancing uneasily at every passing shadow as I attempt to figure out our location. For the first time in weeks, I feel like I have absolutely no idea where we are.

  Elias guides his horse through the ferns carpeting the forest floor, leading us onward despite the low visibility of the foggy morning.

  How in the Eleven Hells does he know where we are going? We've being going on like this for hours! Frustrated at my inability to navigate the woods, I dig my heels into my horse's flank and urge her to follow him.

  Our meeting with Governor Prior had caused us to leave Forest Hill in a hurry, riding back into the woods without even stopping to resupply. It would have been nice to get some fresh bread and cheese at the inn, I find myself thinking glumly. Dried venison gets old after a while.

  My back aches from having spent another night on the ground, and when I had arisen this morning we were surrounded by this accursed fog.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind a voice tells me to have a better attitude about all of this, but I choose to ignore it. Rangers rarely get days off, and when that rest is snatched away, it tends to thoroughly annoy me.

  "It seems to get thicker the farther we go," I call out to Elias, holding my reins in a gloved hand. It is late summer, but without the sun it feels cold beneath the canopy of trees.

  Elias does not reply. He rides straight-backed ahead of me, his eyes on the foliage around us.

  I wait for a few moments, and then I call out again. "I know that this is probably a stupid question, but do you know where we are going?" I immediately regret the question as soon as it leaves my mouth.

  Elias stops his horse and I pull up beside him. He stares at me for a moment, his face a stoic mask. Then, he replies with a simple, "Yes."

  I wait for him to continue, but quickly realize that no explanation is forthcoming. Sometimes I wonder if living in the wild for so long has dulled his ability to speak like a normal human being. I decide to follow my question with yet another question. "How can you tell?"

  Elias frowns, looking at me as if I am a complete idiot, then softens his expression somewhat. He points at some of the flora in front of us. "Ridgeback ferns," he says simply, as if that should explain everything. Upon seeing my questioning look, he continues. "They only grow in the eastern hinterlands of the Emberwood. Look at the fronds, the way the curl inward. They are different from the ones that grow near Forest Hill." Then he points ahead of us. "The ground is sloping upward ever so slightly, which indicates we are entering a region known as the Ridgeway. That is where Haven is located. If we continue in this direction it should be relatively easy for us to locate the village."

  I try not to look stunned. It is one of the longest explanations I have ever managed to get out of my master, and he made it all sound so simple. Perhaps I should pay more attention to the local plant life, I think to myself, attempting to make my face look neutral once more.

  "There is more to being a ranger than learning how to fight and hunt," he says, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. "Shall we continue?"

  I nod and we both nudge our horses forward, continuing our long expedition through the forest.

  As we ride, I start to notice a slight incline to the ground, realizing that we are indeed climbing higher in elevation. The Emberwood is in a giant basin that encompasses the eastern portion of Tarsynium. The far edges of that basin border the Arc of Radiance, which I have only seen a handful of times in my life.

  I can recall seeing a sheer wall of energy rising from the earth and into the heavens, disappearing among the clouds where I knew it would curve inward toward the great tower in Tarsys. It was such a marvel to behold, and yet I still understand very little about it, except that it is all that separates us from the demons beyond the wall.

  The thought brings up unbidden memories of red eyes in the shadows.

  Fear begins to seize my heart in a vicelike grip, its claws squeezing me tightly and threatening to smother me with despair.

  I shake my head and recite the Ranger's Oath in my head. Its mantra is a source of strength to me, reminding me of my father. He was a real ranger, and would not have been afraid of encountering some beast in the woods.

  We travel for another hour, riding our horses in a switchback pattern as the incline becomes steeper. Elias declares that we will eat lunch in the saddle, and I struggle to swallow my complaints as I swallow my jerky.

  The fog does not abate the further we go. In fact, it appears to gather more thickly around us, swirling around our horses' legs like misty spirits rising from the earth.

  My master suddenly stops our ascent and raises his fist into the air, signaling for me to stop as well. A moment later he looks back at me, concern plain upon his face.

  "Smoke," he says, pitching his voice low.

  I lift my nose into the air, and sniff. I can smell it too.

  Elias points up the hill, a little to the right of our current trajectory. "It's coming from up there. We're not far now." He unslings his bow and kicks his horse, moving forward at an even more careful pace.

  My ranger senses are not nearly as keen as Elias', but I am able to discern that what we are smelling is not simple wood smoke. It is the acrid smell of tar and burnt leather, mixed with the scent of charred timber.

  It is the smell of burning buildings.

  We creep forward and I pull out my hatchet, scanning the woods around us and looking for any signs of an ambush. The entire world seems deadly quiet, as if the very forest is holding its breath.

  As we crest the top of the hill the slope tapers off, and we find ourselves in something of a clearing. The trees are thinner here, and every so often I can see an old tree stump, indicating that many of these trees had been cut down for lumber.

  Our horses take us deeper into the clearing and the fog begins to thin, revealing our worst fears lying just ahead.

  A village that has been ransacked.

  Elias gestures to me and we dismount, readying our weapons and crouching down to observe the scene in front of us. My master nocks an arrow and stares for a moment, looking for any signs of life.

  There is no movement among the blackened buildings.

  "It looks abandoned," Elias notes, his voice barely above a whisper.

  I try to sound hopeful. "Maybe the villagers were able to escape?"

  Without taking his eyes off the buildings, Elias mutters, "Maybe," though he does not sound convinced.

  We wait a few more minutes, then wordlessly begin making our way forward, moving stealthily through the tall, unkempt grass and toward the empty village of Haven.

  As we approach the smell of smoke becomes even stronger, stinging my nostrils and filling my lungs with its stench. I grip the handle of my hatchet tight as I try to suppress the overwhelming sense of dread that settles in my stomach. The
re could be Nightingales waiting for us in there. Or maybe something worse. I swallow my fears and force my feet to continue moving.

  The buildings look to be in even worse shape as we draw near. Their walls are gouged and scored by flame, ceilings collapsed in smoldering, ash-covered heaps. They remind me of black skeletons, standing motionless in the mist, mere shadows of their former selves.

  We do not see any movement as we slink between the ruined farmhouses, and do not hear anything other than the sounds of our own footsteps. Most disconcerting of all, however, is that we do not find any bodies.

  It is as if the people simply vanished as their village was burned to the ground.

  We pause in the middle of the gravelly road. Elias looks at me and indicates with hand signals that he wants us to split up. My heart clenches but I agree. He goes one way and I go another, combing quietly through the village and searching for any signs of life.

  I turn a corner and approach what looks to have once been the village inn. Its singed door hangs open by only one hinge, and I peak inside to see if there are any survivors.

  Nothing. There are no people whatsoever, living or dead.

  The inside of the building is dark with soot, and a pile of rubble sits in the middle of the common room, still smoldering with faintly glowing embers. Judging by the massive hole in the roof, I figure that if there were any survivors, this would have been a poor place to hide out. The whole structure seems to be on the verge of collapse.

  I step back outside, taking a deep breath through my nose.

  As I gaze out at the area in front of the inn, I notice something odd. It looks like there is a large dark splotch in the grass, so big that it covers almost the entire lawn. I squat down to get a closer look, then realize that it is a stain of dry, crusty blood.

  "Owyn!"

  I jerk upright at the sound, so sudden in the stillness of the abandoned village. I can practically hear my heart beating loudly in my chest. It takes me a second, but I realize that it is my master's voice.

  He sounds urgent.

  Standing up, I begin walking in the direction of his voice.

  "Owyn!" He calls again, coming from the center of town.

  I begin to jog, my quiver bouncing noisily on my back. I pass building after broken building, all of them looking like desiccated husks, until I finally reach Elias, who is standing with his back to me in the middle of an open field.

  As I approach the fog begins to part, carried away on a slight breeze, and it reveals what seems to have caught his attention.

  An elder tree, ancient and gnarled, rises up from the mist like a dark sentinel standing guard over the destroyed village. It is taller than any tree I have ever seen, its roots spreading out into the field like bony fingers, clawing at the grass. It looks as if there are large objects hanging from the branches themselves, swaying as the breeze carries away the fog.

  Then my mouth goes dry as I realize what those objects are.

  Bodies.

  "The villagers did not escape," Elias says grimly, gesturing at the tree before us. "They've been here all along."

  Chapter Eight

  Zara

  "What is the meaning of this delay?" I hear Elva's voice from somewhere behind me, and I turn to see her approaching the gathered host with two mages flanking her on either side.

  The brigand who had stepped forward, a man with a snarly beard, hefts his sword threateningly and lifts his voice for all to hear.

  "Beggin' your pardon, dear lady," the man booms with an astonishingly deep voice. "But this highway is a toll road. Passing through this area isn't free."

  The guards shift nervously, their armor clinking as they glance at one another.

  "A toll road?" Elva scoffs, lifting her chin in the air and looking down her nose at the big man. "Ridiculous. This is the king's road, and I know of no tax for traveling on his lands."

  The bearded man grins, revealing a mouth full of rotten teeth. "This here is our land, dear lady. And the king is a long ways away."

  My palms start to feel moist. I have heard stories of roving bands of thieves beyond the walls of Tarsys, preying on unsuspecting travelers and robbing them blind. According to the stories, those that were only robbed are considered the lucky ones.

  These bandits do not seem to be the forgiving type.

  The cutthroats surrounding the man chuckle, and I can see that there are an equal number of vile women numbered among the men.

  "Highwaymen, then," Elva states, not losing her confidence one whit in the face of the man's brashness. "Thieves come to rob us of all our possessions. Is that it?"

  The bearded man nods. "'Fraid so," he rumbles, slapping the flat of his blade down on his open palm. "You see, out here we are far away from your little king, and feeding so many mouths ain't easy. Now, if you'd please give us a look at your goods, we can get through this without any blood."

  One of the guards steps forward menacingly, his sword held out in front of him. "What are your orders, Magus? Should we dispatch these knaves?"

  The thugs begin laughing again, openly mocking the guard's bravery.

  Elva raises her hands and steps forward, putting herself between the highwaymen and the guards. "I'm afraid the answer will have to be no," she says, turning to address the bearded man. Despite her small size, she does a considerable job facing down him and his friends. I catch a glimpse of the silvery chain of her talisman hanging from her fist, the magical crystal hidden from the view of the highwaymen.

  The man frowns, looking genuinely disappointed. "I'm always amazed when people choose to die over their possessions." Then he shrugs, raising his sword as if to cleave the top of Elva’s skull.

  My skin tingles as I sense her pull in source energy, though I can barely hear the words of her incantation. Then, suddenly, her hands are alight with magefyre and the bearded man is engulfed in flickering blue flames.

  Immediately he is blasted backward, sword dropping harmlessly from his hand as he begins screaming in pain. His fellows all cower back in fear, watching with horrified expressions as he frantically tries to put out the fire by slapping at his body.

  Elva sprays him again with magefyre, causing his shrieks to grow louder and more intense as the flames grow brighter. He falls to his knees, then collapses in a heap on the ground, his skin sizzling and popping like raw chicken that has been dropped onto the coals of a fire.

  My nostrils fill with the stench of burnt flesh and I gag, quickly covering my mouth with the sleeve of my robe. I realize that I am just as horrified as the thieves who are all looking on in shock.

  I have never watched anybody die before.

  Looming over the man's crackling corpse Elva stands tall, looking on at the host gathered in front of her with dispassionate coldness. "I am Arch-magister Elva Tyrande of the Conclave of Mages. Either depart from these lands and never harass travelers on this road again, or suffer the same fate as your leader. The choice is yours."

  For a moment everything is silent, the only sound being the crackle of the burning man's skin, and then the mob begins to break apart. Some of the thugs back away slowly, looks of hatred painted plainly on their faces. Others throw down their weapons and run, disappearing into the fields as fast as their feet can take them.

  It is not long before the way ahead is clear and Elva turns back around to address the caravan the same way she had the highwaymen. "The threat is gone," she declares coolly, walking away from the body as if walking away from a bug she had just squashed. "Let us continue on our way. We still have a long way before we reach Forest Hill."

  She disappears inside of her carriage and closes the door shut behind her.

  Staring on in stunned disbelief, I catch another whiff of burnt flesh and my stomach lurches. I’m not sure if my revulsion is from the stench or the fact that I just watched a man being burned to death.

  It’s probably a bit of both, I think in disgust as I move to cover my nose again.

  The two guards sheathe thei
r swords and begin the revolting task of pulling the bandit’s charred remains from off the road. The magefyre has all but evaporated, leaving behind a smoking husk of blackened skin and bone.

  I avert my eyes and begin numbly making my way back to my carriage.

  How easily she killed that man, I think to myself, imagining the scene again in my mind. Would she hesitate to do the same to me if I ever cross her?

  In my stunned and delirious state, I can see that several of the other mages look as pale and uneasy as I do, though nobody dares say anything. Aside from the High Magus herself, Elva is one of the most powerful and well-connected mages in Tarsynium. Speaking ill of her would no doubt cause many problems to a member of the Conclave.

  I honestly don’t know what to make of any of this. I shake my head as I blink back sudden tears, overwhelmed at the unexpected turn my life has taken.

  When I reach my carriage, the driver clears his throat. I look up at him defensively, expecting some sort of lecture, but I find only sorrow in his eyes. Though he does not say anything, I can practically feel him saying the words, “I told you so, little mage”.

  Shakily, uncertainly, I climb into my coach and pull the door closed.

  As the horses begin pulling us away, I gaze back out at the green expanse of hills outside my window, a single phrase echoing inside of my head.

  What in the Light have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter Nine

  Owyn

  There are dozens of bodies hanging from the massive tree, strung up by their necks and swaying gently in the breeze. Men, women and even children gaze sightlessly out at the village, their expressions grim in death. Even from this distance I can see that the corpses are starting to bloat and decompose, making the elder tree look like something straight out of a nightmare.

  As I stare at the scene in mute horror, the wind suddenly changes direction, causing me to inhale deeply the scent of rotting flesh.