Reshner's Royal Ranger

by Julie C. Gilbert

  Reia ate, checked on the prince again, and spent several minutes enjoying the crisp morning before closing her eyes to practice feeling her surroundings. Kiata had been tutoring her in the skill for quite some time, but Reia still wasn’t very good at it. For some reason, her anotechs responded reluctantly to directional commands.

  A few hours slipped by while Reia practiced banistick moves. All Rangers learned to use banisticks, but Reia had neglected the skill as her healing lessons intensified. On the mountains a shootav or serlak weapon usually proved safer in dealing with korvers, lions, and vipers. Reia preferred shootavs over serlak weapons because of their versatility and stealth. Before yesterday, she had never fought a person outside of training, and she wasn’t eager to do so again.

  When her muscles were pleasantly tired, Reia sat down next to the prince, leaned against a kintral tree, and mentally listed healing plants, their locations, and common combinations. After an hour of the tedious but necessary exercise, she grew bored, so she started singing “Adern’s Strength.”

  “Nehkermahstenmielsto

  Keqwircoseikero.

  Sehnomfreh.

  Sehstimorea.

  Nehnqwirmseikero.

  Sehnawbon.

  Sehnomorikan.

  Nehnqwirmseikero.”

  “That’s beautiful,” Prince Terosh said. “Will you sing it again?”

  Reia opened her eyes, alarmed they had fallen shut.

  Some guardian you are.

  Her cheeks reddened when she met the prince’s cool blue eyes.

  You do have pretty eyes.

  Reia stared at him, wanting to detect sarcasm. Finding only interest, she nodded and repeated the song, trying not to look away. She considered singing it in the common tongue but refrained because she preferred the Kalastan version.

  As the last notes faded, the prince smiled broadly.

  “I can’t imagine anything I’d rather awaken to. What does it mean?”

  “It’s called ‘Adern’s Strength.’ It doesn’t translate word for word, but—”

  The prince’s stomach cut her off by announcing its empty state.

  “That can wait until after you eat,” Reia said, struggling not to laugh. Reaching for his hands, she added, “Crinalge.”

  Anotechs left and returned almost instantly.

  The prince looked puzzled as he examined his hands.

  “I’ll have to remember that one.”

  “Learning Kalastan is easy, but the anotechs only follow directions if they want to,” Reia reminded him. “Normally, I’d use a sonic cleaner, but I doubt your body would appreciate that right now.”

  Prince Terosh’s stomach growled again.

  “Can you explain the song while I eat?”

  “I first need to check your injuries,” Reia replied. She retrieved the coney stew and broth from the shallow fire pit where she’d left them warming and placed them next to him.

  The prince grunted when Reia helped him sit up but submitted with relative grace while she removed his shirt and examined him.

  “That’s the end of that shirt,” the prince said, fingering the deep rips.

  Making a mental note to patch it later, Reia grinned but continued the examination without comment.

  The healing charm she’d put on him the night before had worked. Most of the scratches were fainter, and the massive burn across his back looked less angry. She gently probed his ribs.

  “You’ll be fine in a week or so.”

  “That soon?”

  “As long as you drink lots of this and don’t strain yourself.” Reia picked up the broth she’d made and placed it in his hands.

  He cautiously sniffed at it.

  “What is it?”

  “Water mainly, but there’s also sannin, corlia, and deklov,” said Reia, earning a blank stare. “Sannin for aches, corlia for pain, and deklov for faster healing.”

  “Ah,” the prince mumbled, taking a slow sip and making a face. “That’s ... interesting.”

  Having consumed enough deklov to recall the sharp, bitter taste, Reia chuckled.

  “You owe me a translation,” the prince prompted, easing back into the remains of his shirt.

  “That I do,” Reia responded. “The first two lines are one long thought. ‘Nehkermahstenmielsto keqwircoseikero.’ It means, ‘No fiery danger striking near my heart can kill or conquer when I have love.’”

  “I’m sensing a story behind that.”

  “I’ll get there. The next phrases are short sentences. ‘Sehnomfreh.’ ‘See how it floods me.’ ‘Sehstimorea.’ ‘See how my strength grows.’ Then comes the chorus: ‘Nehnqwirmseikero.’ ‘Nothing can conquer me when I have love.’ This is followed by: ‘Sehnawbon.’ ‘See how it binds every wound.’ And ‘Sehnomorikan.’ ‘See how my strength rises from ashes.’ ‘Nehnqwirmseikero.’”

  “Nothing can conquer me when I have love,” Prince Terosh finished.

  “You’ve got good ears,” Reia noted.

  “My brother, Tate, just calls them big,” the prince said, flicking one ear forward. While prominent, his ears weren’t monstrous. He turned his attention to the broth, frowning with determination. Taking a deep breath, he brought the bowl to his lips and drained it. Then, he attacked the stew with surprising energy.

  Reia refrained from scolding because his appetite pleased her.

  “Can the song be sung ... normally?” inquired Prince Terosh.

  “Yes, but it’s prettier in Kalastan.”

  “Will you sing me the common version?” The prince put down the bowl and folded his hands in supplication. “Please.”

  Since she could hardly refuse him, Reia sang:

  “No fiery danger striking near my heart

  Can kill or conquer when I have love.

  See how it floods me.

  See how my strength grows.

  Nothing can conquer me when I have love.

  See how it binds every wound.

  See how my strength rises from ashes.

  Nothing can conquer me when I have love.”

  Reia held the last note for a three-count, surprised she could sing for this stranger. She had shared songs with half the Riden Mountains on herb-gathering trips, but the only people she’d ever sung for were Kiata, Todd, Master Niklos, and Master Ekris—who had taught her the songs in the first place.

  “Who was Adern? Was he real?” Prince Terosh’s questions broke into Reia’s thoughts.

  “He was a Ranger during the reign of Queen Lissa and King Othel, I think.”

  Terosh whistled.

  “That’s hundreds of years ago.”

  Reia nodded, initially surprised but then annoyed with herself for forgetting her audience.

  “You know your family history well. Will you share it with me someday?”

  “Only if you’ll trade me a Ranger story for each tale.”

  Reia found the mock-serious tone so normal she almost forgot his status.

  “Deal. I’ll begin with Ranger Adern. On his wedding night, Jadorin Assassins burned down his house and killed his wife with a poisoned arrow. Adern spent the night weeping over Syana’s body while the ashes cooled around him, his grief absolutely complete.” Reia stopped because the prince wore a far-off expression.

  His countenance grew progressively sadder, making him look older.

  “I ... think I’ve seen something like that,” he admitted.

  Reia waited, hoping he would elaborate.

  Eventually, the prince shook himself.

  “I’m sorry, I’m terrible company. Please continue.”

  “The song came to Adern in a dream, but he told no one. He and his apprentice, Kymen, spent months hunting down the killers. On the eve of the final battle, Adern shared the song with his apprentice before they fought the assassins. The apprentice lived, but Adern did not. Kymen carried the song back to the Ranger Compound at Osem and passed it on to a new generation.”

  The prince nodded solemnly.

  “A sad tal
e, but it fits with most of my family’s history.” His expression still contained a sense of loss, longing, and something undefinable.

  “I’ll go get some food,” Reia said, sensing his grief. She left the prince alone with his thoughts.

  Chapter 14:

  Zareb and Covin

  JIRA (MARCH) 30, 1538

  Same Day

  Recovery Campsite, Riden Mountains

  As soon as the Ranger left, Terosh finally noticed the beautiful day. The cool mountain air filled him with new strength. Small animals scurried about and chattered. Birds sang sweet songs, but their efforts could not compare to the Ranger. Terosh recalled every nuance of her voice as it moved with the song. Fearing an end to the intimate moment, he had hardly dared breathe, but when the end came, the peace remained.

  Does she know the power she has?

  He didn’t know whether the warmth coursing through him came from the song or that foul-tasting medicine.

  Dentelich would throw a fit over me taking Ranger medicine.

  Terosh smiled. Annoying the uptight doctor was a pleasant pastime.

  Deciding to wash up, he struggled to his feet and picked his way through quemin bushes and kintral trees toward the stream. He kept his right hand close to his kerlak pistol as he worked his way over to the muddy bank.

  Terosh spent much effort simply kneeling next to the stream. Once down, he washed his hands, face, and arms in the gentle current. He drank slowly, dipping one hand into the icy water and bringing it to his mouth. The water with his meal had been nice but not this kind of invigorating cold.

  “Why travel by self?” asked a male voice.

  Terosh drew his kerlak pistol, spun, and rose, tracking toward the voice. Pain shot through his back and right shoulder, but he held in a cry. He heard no threat in the voice, but survival skills dictated more caution and less politeness, so he kept the pistol leveled at the man.

  The man’s four arms declared him an Elish. The upper two hands were folded, and the lower two hands held small serlak pistols. His uniform said he was a Royal Guard candidate, yet his thick golden hair hung past his shoulders. His looked to be mid-twenties, but Terosh knew Elish mature differently than humans.

  “I Zareb.” Excitement and recognition brightened Zareb’s silver eyes. “You prince!” He bowed deeply and returned his guns to holsters. “Many honors, Dulad Prince of House Minstel.”

  The sound of his full title drove the tension from Terosh, so he holstered his pistol.

  “Thank you, Zareb. Forgive me for not returning the bow. My back was wounded yesterday.”

  “Where soldiers?”

  Zareb’s question made Terosh uncomfortable.

  “He was separated from them,” the Ranger answered. She stepped from behind a kintral tree holding a weapon Terosh didn’t recognize in her left hand and a banistick in her right hand. She didn’t raise either weapon but gripped both with ease.

  Zareb’s head whipped toward the Ranger, and his hands grasped his pistols.

  “There’s no threat, Zareb. This is Ranger Reia Antellio. She’s a healer,” Terosh said, feeling weary. A spasm in his lower back made him draw a quick breath. His vision clouded, his knees shook, and he began falling, steadying himself against a tree at the last moment.

  Dashing forward, the Ranger tossed the strange weapon into her right hand to join her banistick and caught him with her left hand.

  “What did I say about overexerting?” The question held both anger and concern. She returned both weapons to her belt. “I’m going to ask that question a lot, aren’t I?”

  “Ranger need respect Prince Terosh,” Zareb scolded.

  “Prince Terosh needs to listen to sense when he hears it.” Reia tipped Terosh over her shoulders.

  Before he knew it, he found himself staring at the ground from an odd angle and feeling ridiculous. His embarrassment brought back his senses, and he cleared his throat.

  “I’m fine. You can put me down.”

  “I’ll put you down at the camp then return for the food.” She panted from the exertion.

  “I can walk.” He didn’t care how childish he sounded.

  I’m a prince! he cried silently.

  The Ranger didn’t answer until they reached the campsite and she had deposited him onto his bedroll. Then, she spoke in a gentle, weary voice.

  “I know you’re a prince. And I know it’s not easy to be still, but it will help you heal.” She rose. “I’ll be back in a moment. Try not to fall asleep until I return.”

  He noticed she looked good with flushed cheeks, and her first statement about him being a prince shocked him.

  I don’t think I said that out loud.

  Terosh mentally repeated the scene four times, so engrossed in thought that he didn’t notice Zareb had followed them to the camp.

  “She pretty,” Zareb commented.

  “Agreed.”

  “You need help? Zareb help. Travel with prince and Ranger.”

  More traveling companions would be safer, but an unexpected stab of jealousy hit Terosh.

  “No thanks. We’ll be fine.”

  “As you wish, Prince Terosh. Riden speed you on journey.” Zareb bowed again, turned, and disappeared between two cal trees.

  The Ranger returned and leaned over the fire pit, adding more brush. The stick in her hand already held a small flame at the end.

  “Who was that man?” Her curiosity came through clearly.

  “Zareb? I guess he’s a Royal Guard candidate.” Something about the man seemed familiar.

  “Why didn’t he stay?”

  Terosh held in a teasing comment about her scaring the man off.

  “I told him we would be fine.”

  The Ranger’s head cocked thoughtfully.

  “I guess it’s for the best.”

  “What’d you get to eat? I’m starving,” Terosh said, changing the conversation and feigning enthusiasm.

  “Cannafitch,” the healer replied, gesturing to the large, dark brown lump next to the fire. She took a knife from her boot and started skinning the animal.

  Terosh had seen vids on cannafitch but never expected to see one up close. The thin-boned mammals with semi-hollow chest cavities usually grew about half a meter in length with a wingspan of a full meter. They couldn’t fly very well, but their wings allowed them to ride wind currents. Their colors ranged from black to brown to gray, depending on their age and environment. They enjoyed eating coneys, squirrels, and even korvers, if they could catch one. Master Og could talk about them for hours, but right now, Terosh was more concerned with how they would taste.

  “Are they abundant here?” he wondered, trying to distract himself from hunger.

  “They’re not native to these mountains, but the windstorms carry them from the Kala and Ash Mountains,” the Ranger explained.

  “That’s a long way.”

  “They’re heartier than they look,” the healer pointed out. “I shot this one with a shootav pellet treated with a strong dose of cormea and radon, and that only stunned it for a few seconds.”

  Terosh wasn’t eager to try cannafitch meat, but since there was nothing else, he figured he should attempt to like it.

  “Have you ever eaten it before?”

  “Yes, and it’s rather good with deklov.”

  Deklov? Deklov.

  It took him a few seconds to recognize the bitter herb that had flavored yesterday’s awful early morning brew. He shot her a suspicious glare and tried to measure her sincerity. Her sympathetic grin wasn’t the answer he wanted. Despite his worries, the fire-roasted cannafitch meat tasted tolerable. The Ranger had added plenty of deklov to his meat, but thankfully, he didn’t notice the bitter taste too much.

  “Stuff’s strong enough to pull teeth,” he mumbled.

  “Well, eat up. There’s plenty here.” The Ranger laid out more cannafitch strips. After lining up three rows of the meat on a large leaf, she rubbed salt into both sides of each piece.

  “What
are you doing?”

  “Salting meat.” The healer’s expression dared him to ask another question she could answer in the same infuriating way.

  Terosh waited for her to elaborate, pressing his lips together to hold in further questions.

  Are all Rangers so irksome?

  “I’m making jerky out of it.” The healer’s grin grew, and she held her hands over the three neat rows of salted meat. At the last second, she paused. “Would you like to try?”

  “Sure.” It took Terosh some time to crawl over to the Ranger and the meat strips.

  “Hold your hands a few centimeters above the strips,” she instructed. “Good. The word you’re going to say is ‘drayce;’ it means ‘dry this thing’ or ‘dry these things,’ depending on your inflection.”

  “It can have a different meaning based on inflection?” Terosh asked. “That could be dangerous.”

  “It could be, but not in this case,” the healer assured him.

  Terosh followed her instructions, said the proper word, and nothing happened. He frowned.

  “Try imagining something flowing from your hands.”

  He did so, and something ripped out of his fingertips. Though sharp and painful, the sensation was so brief, Terosh almost doubted he had felt it. As he watched, the strips of salted meat shriveled like bones left in the Felmon Desert. A triumphant surge filled him. Next, the Ranger instructed him on using cannafitch skin to patch his holey blanket and repair his shirt.

  The more he learned about the anotechs, the more he liked them.

  JIRA (MARCH) 30, 1538

  Same Day

  Prince Taytron’s Office, Royal Palace, City of Rammon

  Prince Taytron Minstel skimmed the many Kireshana reports littering his desk, but he couldn’t concentrate. He knew most of them reported the death of his agents preparing Terosh’s way. This made him feel guilty, but it was better than memories of Deanna. Most days, Tate could think about her and still function, but nights were far worse. He had ruled Reshner since his mother’s murder. Though gravely wounded by that event, Taytron had not understood how one death could emotionally gut a man.