The King's Ranger: The King's Ranger Book 1

by AC Cobble

  Rew could feel Tate beside him. The older man was tense, uncomfortable with the idea of taking a finger from any of these three. It was the law, and the punishment was clear, but the blonde had it right as well. Rew was the King’s Ranger. He’d been granted authority to make his own decisions about when the letter of the law ought to be applied, and that authority existed regardless of the circumstances. Rew knew the king wouldn’t give a fig about how he applied the law in the case of an attempted theft by a few youths.

  “I’ll ask the innkeeper if she’ll grant leniency,” allowed Rew after a long pause. The three in the cell suddenly relaxed, obviously relieved that there may be a solution to their predicament. “Tell me who you are, and what you’re doing here, and perhaps that will help her come to a decision.”

  “We… we cannot,” said the dark-haired girl. “We are at risk, and you will be as well if you do not release us. There are bad men looking for us, and there could be trouble for anyone who has seen us and knows the truth.”

  “Are you threatening me, lass?” wondered Rew.

  “No, not at all,” said the girl. “There are people after us, and they will stop at nothing, including violence. It’s not a threat, Ranger. We only want to leave, but these others…”

  Rew scratched at his neck, muttering about the itchy prickles there and wondering if it was getting too late to see the barber. He let his hand drop. “I will ask for leniency, and I will let you know what the innkeeper says in the morning.”

  He and Tate left the three in the cell. The two men walked back out into the common room of the ranger station. Tate showed Rew three packs which had been seized from the younglings. They contained changes of clothes, a few items for travel, and not much else. They had only common provisions that could be purchased anywhere. There was nothing that would identify the youths. After checking the third pack, Rew grunted. Their supply of rations was shockingly low.

  “Well, we know why they were trying to steal,” remarked Rew, shaking a nearly empty bag of dried beans before stuffing it back into the pack.

  “You know Anne will grant leniency if you tell her you’re going to chop off one of their fingers,” responded the white-haired ranger. “What are you playing at, Rew?”

  Rew grinned. “Anne would grant leniency and loan them the contents of her coin purse if she thought it’d help someone in need. I have no intention of hacking off one of their fingers, Tate. I just wanted to pressure them a little to see what they’d say.”

  Tate snorted. “Which was nothing.”

  “Three youths not from Eastwatch and if I had to guess, not here on purpose either,” Rew mused. “They certainly did not come from Falvar, which means they must have arrived on the road from Yarrow. The theft doesn’t surprise me, and I can hardly blame them,” he said, tossing the pack down on the table. “They’re out of coin and food. They probably planned to spend what they stole on fresh supplies and then leave just as they told us. A crime of necessity, you could say. But why? Why are they here, coinless and with nothing to eat, at the edge of the realm? You saw them. They’re not urchins. No one comes to Eastwatch without a reason. I worry they are…”

  “They could be,” replied Tate with a shrug. “But why no entourage? Go on, now. Get your bath and your ale. I’ve got my mending to finish, and I can watch things here until you return. If anyone comes for them, they’ll have to go through me. Maybe another night in the cell will soften them up, and they’ll be ready to talk in the morning. Or if we let them out and give them a few supplies, we’ll gain their trust, and they’ll tell us what they’ve gotten into. One thing I did believe, Rew, they spoke the truth when they said they were scared.”

  “Scared, aye, but of what?” asked Rew, scratching at the stubble on his neck again.

  Chapter Three

  Anne, the proprietor of the Oak & Ash Inn, filled a tankard full of ale for him the moment she saw him enter the common room. She sat it on the table and said, “I’ve got a shank of goat on the spit and vegetable soup in the pot.”

  “Vegetable soup,” Rew replied, cringing at the memory of the scene the night before.

  His two rabbits had been knocked from their rack by the falling body of a dead narjag. The foul creature had landed half in the fire, and the stench of burnt narjag was exactly as horrible as he would have guessed. The narjag’s black blood had splattered across the singed flesh of the rabbits, and Rew hadn’t been able to eat since then. Even after scrubbing himself with the pungent soap at the ranger station and letting the village barber lather his neck and scalp, Rew still had the awful scent of roasted Dark Kind stuck in his nostrils.

  The innkeeper, seeing his expression, smacked him on the shoulder. “It’s fresh goat. It’s not as bad as that.”

  He grinned apologetically, “Sorry, Anne, I was thinking of last night. There was a bit of rough business out in the wilderness. There was a terrible… Ah, I can’t stomach any meat just yet.”

  “I suppose you heard about our own rough business here?” she asked him.

  “The thieves?”

  She nodded.

  “I saw them at the ranger station before I came here,” he said, “and they didn’t answer a single one of my questions. Tate’s watching them, and I’ll take over when I’m done here. There’s something not right with those three, but I hate to hold them for an attempted petty theft. They’ve asked for your leniency. What do you think?”

  “What’s the punishment if I don’t grant leniency?” wondered Anne.

  Rew held up a single finger and wiggled it.

  She shook her head, scowling. “Let them go.”

  “I figured you’d say as much.” He picked up his ale and sipped it.

  “You’ve already released them?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” he admitted. “They’re lying, trying to hide why they’re here, what they’re doing, and who they are. I can’t fathom a reason for it. They’re not professional thieves. They’re not assassins. What could they be involved in they wouldn’t tell a ranger in the territory? No one passes through Eastwatch. You only come here for a reason, and I can’t figure what theirs is.”

  “You sure they’re not career thieves?” asked Anne, pulling out a chair and settling down across from him. “Wouldn’t be the first time an innocent-looking face hid a darkness in the soul. Mayhaps they thought there would be easy pickings here in the territory. No baron’s men, no city watch, that sort of thing. I’ll admit I’ve never been careful with my coin. Everyone knows it’s there, but in ten years, no local has stolen from me. King’s Sake, half of my customers dig in those jars themselves to make change when I’m busy.”

  Rew sipped his ale and thought. “These younglings don’t look the part of career criminals, and the thieves’ guilds know to avoid the territories. It’s true we don’t have proper guards like the cities, but professionals are savvy enough to not risk a hanging. The king’s law is stricter than elsewhere, and the risk and reward doesn’t make any sense for someone trying to make a career of it. In a community this small, sooner or later, people will figure out who’s stealing. Passing through? I supposed it could be, but it’d be the first time someone thought there was enough coin in Eastwatch to make it worth their while to come here. I don’t think that’s it, Anne.”

  She nodded. “For career thieves, that coin jar wasn’t much of a score, and they did it right where the folks could see them. If they’re that sloppy, they wouldn’t last long.”

  “Not thieves, but what?” Rew asked, fiddling with his ale. “They don’t have the look of laborers. Could be merchants, but that doesn’t feel right. They’re not old enough, for one, and even a down on their luck merchant wouldn’t stoop to thieving such a small amount. If they were tradespeople and had fallen on hard times, there’d be no reason to lie. No, I don’t think they meant to end up in Eastwatch, at least not for the long-term, and there’s nowhere to go from here ‘cept into the wilderness. They don’t look like the type for that, either.”


  “They’re running from something, then,” suggested Anne, tugging down the sleeves of her blouse and then crossing her arms over her chest. “They have to be.”

  “Yes, they must be,” he agreed, “but running from what?”

  She didn’t answer, but he knew she must be thinking the same thing he was.

  “Nobles,” said Rew, grimacing and making to spit but stopping himself with a glance at Anne.

  She glared at him and raised a hand as if to cuff him for spitting on her floor. She repeated, “Nobles. They have to be.”

  They sat there for a moment, him sipping his ale, her glancing around the common room of her inn. There were a dozen customers in the room, all locals. It was almost always that way. Few travelers had any reason to come to Eastwatch, but when they did the Oak & Ash Inn was the only place they could stay. Anne did a little business with truffle hunters looking for the delectable funguses in the forest, the occasional hunting party from the cities looking for something more thrilling than deer, and the handful of peddlers who made an adequate living freighting goods out to the frontier, but most of her customers were locals who preferred her cooking to their own or who had a hankering for some company along with their ale or cider.

  Years ago, the Oak & Ash Inn would have had trappers coming in and out, looking for exotic furs in the wilderness, but the migration of the Dark Kind two years prior had ended most of that. Now, it was only with a ranger as escort that people ventured into the deep forest. And two years prior was also the last time they’d had a visit from the king’s administration out of the capital. In theory, a governor ought to have been appointed to manage the territory, but the eastern front was small and quiet enough it seemed the king had forgotten, or no one wanted the job.

  With the village under the king’s direct authority, there was no writ for a mayor or even a burgher council. Without a governor, it left the village of Eastwatch rather leaderless. The denizens of the place had learned to fend for themselves, though, and when they needed help, they turned toward Rew and his rangers. He was the only official actually appointed by the king, and the rangers were the only people he’d hired. Rew, having come out to the frontier to avoid exactly that type of expectation and responsibility, had reluctantly assumed the mantle as a sort of unofficial governor.

  Blessed Mother. Nobles. He sipped his ale.

  “Another?” asked Anne.

  He nodded, and she stood.

  Several other customers, taking advantage of her break from sitting with him, ordered drinks and food as well, and it was a quarter hour before she returned with a fresh tankard and his vegetable soup. She sat down opposite of him again.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Did Tate talk to you?” she asked.

  “About the thieves?”

  “About him.”

  Rew shook his head, picking up his spoon and digging into his soup.

  Anne leaned forward. “I’ve been offering him what empathy I can once a week, taking his pain and lessening the pressure, but I’m afraid his illness has progressed past the point I can help him.”

  “He seemed fine,” muttered Rew, looking away from the innkeeper.

  “He’s not,” she said. She reached across the table and put a hand on his. “Even you must have noticed it’s been months since he’s been out in the wilderness. It’s because he’s worried that if he goes, he won’t make it back. The man isn’t well, Rew. You should know that.”

  “He hasn’t said anything to me,” protested the ranger.

  “That’s why I’m telling you,” replied Anne. “He won’t say it, and you won’t see what’s as obvious as a spring storm. For two men so perceptive out in the forest…”

  “I’ve been watching him,” argued Rew, still unable to meet the innkeeper’s eyes. “Do you think an empath in Yarrow may have more luck?”

  Anne scowled at him, taking her hand back. “No, I don’t think they would. Neither Yarrow nor Falvar have a more talented healer than I. Perhaps there is one in Spinesend, but Tate’s not going to make the journey to Spinesend.”

  Rew picked up his tankard, frowning at her.

  “I know my art, Rew,” she told him. “I know what I’m capable of, and I know what’s beyond the skill of any empath. You’ve seen me treating him. You’ve known he’s sick, but it’s progressed beyond what anyone can do. That’s what I’m telling you, Rew. Tate doesn’t have much time left.”

  “What do you suggest, then?” he asked her.

  “Be ready to settle his affairs,” she said. “You’ve got a week, I’d say, but Tate’s a strong man, always has been, so maybe it will be two weeks. He’s your friend, Rew. You should talk to him. Is there anything you’ve been meaning to share with him, any questions you’ve been meaning to ask him? If so, now is the time.”

  “Tate and I have said what needs to be said,” claimed the ranger.

  “Have you now?” questioned Anne, sitting up and jabbing a finger toward him. “A moment ago you told me you hadn’t spoken to him about this at all!”

  Rew looked down at his bowl of cooling soup. Meat or no, he found he’d lost his appetite. “He knows… We’ve said what we need to say to each other.”

  Anne snorted.

  “I’ll talk to him. I’ll talk to him,” mumbled Rew. “All he’s going to say is that I should keep the ranger station in order and that Blythe’ll sort out the new kid. We’ve… we’ve said our piece, Anne.”

  “You’ve known him ten years, Rew,” barked Anne. “Surely you men have more to discuss than tidying up the ranger station. Tate’s been a mentor to you. You don’t think he’d like to hear you say it, how much he’s meant to you?”

  “He knows,” grumbled Rew.

  Anne threw up her hands. When Rew did not continue, she asked, “Another ale?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  Rew was on his fourth ale and the first third of a bowl of cold vegetable soup when a lumberman from the village burst into the room.

  “Senior Ranger! You need to come quick. There’s been an attack!”

  Rew blinked at the man and then scrambled up from the table, reaching for his longsword, but he’d left it back at the station. Blessed Mother. Judging from the lumberman’s panicked expression, there was no time, so Rew rushed out after the man, racing into the dirt street that ran down the center of Eastwatch.

  The lumberman shuffled along at the quickest pace he could manage. Rew, trailing behind him, kept up easily. Night had fallen, but there was plenty of light from the shops and homes of the villagers. Those who could afford candles had lit them, and those who could not still had fires on their hearths and were finishing their suppers before tucking into their beds. It was quiet, and no one was acting with the panic Rew felt roiling off the lumberman.

  Rew’s heart sank as he realized where the other man was taking him. They were headed to the western edge of the village, where the only building close to the wilderness was the ranger station.

  Rew asked tersely, “Narjags?”

  “No, I… Ah, I don’t know,” replied the lumberman. “We heard the noise from the mill and came to investigate, but no one saw who did it.”

  “Wait outside. Go for help if I call out,” instructed Rew. He jogged easily around the lumberman, hurrying toward the station.

  The door was left open, and from the entryway, he could see the boots of Tate. Rew dashed in and stopped. The white-haired ranger was lying on his back, open eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. There was a gaping puncture wound in his chest. In one hand, he held his oft-repaired cloak. In the other, he held a sewing needle.

  His throat was tight, and he felt bile rising in his gullet. It felt like he was falling, but his boots were rooted on the floor. He couldn’t move. Tate was dead. How? Why?

  Darting to the back of the building, Rew went looking for the only other people in the building. The rangers had two cells, and both were empty. One was clean and unused. The other was destroyed. Twisted iron was blown open,
the ends of the bars still glowing from the heat of the force that had struck them. The bars were bent and shoved inside, making it obvious that the attack had come from outside of the cell. Blood speckled the ruined iron bars of the cell and streaked along the floor as if one of the prisoners had been dragged violently across the broken metal and then hauled away. At least one of the youths hadn’t gone quietly, guessed Rew. Frowning, he assessed the pooled blood, and decided that whoever had been injured hadn’t lost enough blood to kill them. They’d live, for a time.

  Rew stopped by his room to collect his wooden-hilted longsword, his hunting knife, his boot knives, and his cloak. When he came back into the common room, he found the lumberman and Anne standing there. The innkeeper was at the feet of Tate, looking down at his motionless body.

  “What happened?” she rasped.

  Rew shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

  Rew hung his hunting knife onto his belt and slung the strap that held his longsword over his shoulder. The leather sheath bounced against his back as he cinched it tight. He made sure the weapons were secure then told Anne, “I expect I’ll be back by dawn, but if not, send an urgent post to Yarrow. Tell them what happened and request a company of the baron’s men. Thieving nobles, jail breaks… There’s more going on here than we understand.”

  “I’ll come with you,” she said. “You might need me.”

  Rew shook his head. “If I’m to catch them, I need to move quickly.”

  “You cannot do this alone,” insisted Anne.

  “I’m the King’s Ranger,” replied Rew. “It’s my responsibility.”

  Chapter Four

  Rew ran out the back of the ranger station and looked at the moonlit ground. Whoever had attacked, whoever killed Tate and broke out the younglings, must have gone that way. Eastwatch was quiet at night, but people had not yet found their beds. A raiding party wouldn’t be so foolish as to stroll down the one road that passed through the village, and he’d seen nothing amiss on the way there from the Oak & Ash. The only way the raiders could have gone was around the back.