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

by AC Cobble

  Cinda pursed her lips. “It’s something that’s taught to every noble since we are small children. It’s ingrained in who we are. Who many of us are, that is.” Raif grunted, but his sister ignored him. “I’ll try to think of a way to explain it…” muttered Cinda, trailing off and brushing her hair behind her ears.

  Rew looked between the two girls. What Cinda said was true. High magic tended to be prevalent in those of noble blood, but there was nothing about a man’s or a woman’s title that made that the case. It was due to careful breeding by those in power, ensuring their blood was mixed only with that of the other noble families. The nobles attempted to purify their lines and increase the odds that the next generation would possess even more magical power. In the heart of the kingdom, it was common for matches to be made solely to enhance a particular trait in a family’s magic. Enchanters bred with other enchanters. Learning and practicing the craft was expensive as well, which meant even those of common blood who had a natural talent for high magic rarely developed it.

  Whether it was the pursuit of greater power through marriage which gave nobility their purpose and name, or whether it was as crass as selectively breeding livestock, very much depended on who was doing the explaining.

  Rew cleared his throat. “As Cinda explained, high magic does not require a connection. When that spellcaster who kidnapped you threw his fiery missiles at me, he had no connection to the fire or to me, but when Anne used her low magic empathy to heal Raif, it was because she established a connection to him and was able to transfer her power through that channel. It’s more complicated than this, but it helps me to think of low magic as a riverbed. It funnels power in a certain direction. High magic is an open plain, and there’s no direction at all except that which the spellcaster gives it.”

  “Nobles shape the power to their desires?” asked Zaine, glancing out of the corner of her eyes at Raif and Cinda. “They’ve no need of connection to other people?”

  “Something like that,” agreed Rew, grinning at the thrust of Zaine’s question, “but it is complicated. Sometimes, high magic does use a connection. Conjurers, for example, use both elements of high and low magic to open their portals to other planes and connect with the creatures there.” Seeing Zaine’s look, he grinned. “I’m sorry, I think any quick explanation will leave more questions than answers.”

  “If it helps, think of low magic as the art of the commoners,” said Cinda. “Empathy and healing. Encouraging plants to grow. Communicating with animals. Glamours. Those types of things. High magic, on the other hand, is the grand art of nobility. It’s what you hear about in the stories. Calling lightning, summoning elementals, opening portals, and moving throughout the realm at will.”

  “High magic sounds like it’s mostly useful in battle,” mentioned Zaine.

  Cinda shifted uncomfortably.

  Rew said, “There’s a reason the nobles are so keen on it. A duke wants to crush his enemies, not grow turnips in his garden. It’s a good point, though, in that the connections formed with low magic tend to build, while high magic is frequently used to destroy. That’s not it’s only purpose, but there are spellcasters who use it for little else.”

  Cinda opened her mouth to respond, but Zaine interrupted. “The spellcaster who kidnapped us was a nobleman, then? He must have been, if he was able to use high magic. There cannot be many with noble blood in the eastern duchy, can there?”

  Rew grinned as Cinda flushed. The noblewoman stammered, “A-A lesser branch of nobility, certainly. If, ah, there are times when one may be of noble blood but without a title. In those cases—”

  “A bastard, eh?” questioned Zaine. “Bastards have the magical abilities but not the castles?”

  Cinda coughed and rubbed her lips with the back of her hand. She mumbled, “Something like that.”

  “This is all very informative,” groused Raif, “but we are in a bit of a hurry. If this journey will really take three weeks…”

  Rew nodded. “You’re right. Let’s get moving. On the way out, we’ll stop by the ranger station to finish your kit. Then, we’re off.”

  “A few more socks, a bit of flint and steel?” asked Cinda. “What else do we need?”

  “Weapons, for one,” said Rew, losing his grin. “I will do my best to protect you, but the route we take is not a safe one. Just a few days ago, I tracked down a narjag party out in the wilderness. Unfortunately, when moving through the deep forest, there’s far worse we’ll need to worry about.”

  The youths swallowed nervously, but none of them objected. Whatever the risks, it was obvious to everyone it would be better to face them with a weapon in hand.

  Grinning, Raif lifted a heavy hand-and-a-half sword. It rose nearly to his shoulder from tip to pommel, and the wide steel blade weighed at least a stone. None of the rangers used such a blade on expedition, but over the years they’d accumulated a variety of armaments for training and emergency circumstances.

  Hefting the giant weapon, Raif asked, “What about this?”

  “A difficult blade to swing within the forest, and it’s quite heavy,” said Rew. “That’s the first concern I’d have. It’s a lot of steel to lug along on a journey like this. Remember, if all goes well, we’re going to be doing more hiking than fighting, and there’s nowhere on the way you can change blades. A weapon like that is designed for heavily armored opponents.”

  “It’d do some damage against unarmored ones as well, eh?” questioned Raif. “I imagine sweeping this through a pack of narjags would throw ‘em back on their heels, wouldn’t it?”

  Rew sighed but admitted, “It’d do plenty of damage, of course, but it’s heavy. It wouldn’t be my first choice on a long journey.”

  Raif hefted the sword in front of him, pointing it down the aisle of the ranger’s armory. He shifted his grip and raised it above his head. He nodded. “I spent most of my training with weapons of this size. This one feels well balanced and of adequate quality. I’ll take it.”

  Rew rubbed his face and did not respond.

  “What of this armor?” asked the boy, glancing at a chainmail hauberk hanging near the door.

  “No,” said Rew, shaking his head. “The armor is definitely too heavy for this trek. If you insist on protection, we have some boiled leather cuirass. Add gauntlets and greaves, and you’ve got enough to stop a blow from a lesser Dark Kind like a narjag. Chainmail isn’t necessary against what we may face in the wilderness. It’s either too much or too little, and it will only slow you down.”

  Pursing his lips, Raif moved on from the chainmail and the shining steel helmets to the sets of tough, leather gear that were stacked beside the steel. There was a great deal more of the leather armor, as it was the only thing the rangers ever took on expedition. Scratching his arm beneath his own leather bracer, Rew tried to make it obvious that the forearm protection was the only armor he wore. In the wilderness, the ability to travel quickly could save your life more often than a metal shirt. Raif didn’t seem to make the connection.

  Shaking his head and turning from the boy, Rew saw that Zaine had collected two curved, bone-handled daggers that were thinner versions of his own hunting knife. The slender blades were nearly as long as her forearm, and as she felt the weight of them, he saw that it wasn’t her first time handling such weapons.

  “Using both at once is a skill,” he advised her.

  She nodded, lips pursed together, posing with the daggers as if she faced some imaginary opponent.

  “If you haven’t trained with two weapons at once,” suggested Rew, “then perhaps a short sword might suit better?”

  “I think these will serve me,” she said, picking up the belt and sheaths that the daggers had been stored in. “Do you have a bow?”

  He nodded toward the back of the room. “I recommend one of the smaller, recurved ones. It’s an easy enough draw, with plenty of power.”

  “Of course, if that’s what you suggest,” she lilted.

  Rew grunted then saw Cin
da was strapping a thin, hand-length dagger around her waist. It had a wire-wrapped hilt and a small guard. The dagger was more than a simple belt knife, but it would be terribly ineffective against the Dark Kind or any of the other dangers in the wilderness.

  “I, ah…” mumbled Rew.

  Cinda wiggled her fingers at him. “If it comes to it, I have other ways of defending myself.”

  Raif had shrugged into a leather cuirass and was adjusting thick pauldrons on his shoulders. His arms and legs were covered with bracers and greaves. “I find gauntlets restrict my movement,” he explained, holding up his bare fist.

  Rew closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly.

  Zaine squeezed by, a bow in hand, a quiver on her back, and the two daggers hanging from her hips.

  Rew followed her out of the room and then out of the station, taking in the fresh air, shaking his head at the choices of the younglings. Making sure they had some weapons was better than nothing, but…

  Stiff leather rustling, Raif walked down the stairs to stand beside Rew. The boy tapped the hand-and-a-half sword. “I hardly notice the weight. I don’t think it’s going to be a problem.”

  “Wait until we’ve been hiking all day for ten straight days,” muttered Rew under his breath. He looked around the party. “Everyone ready?”

  They nodded, and Rew gestured for Jon to lead the way into the forest.

  Coming to stand beside him, Anne spoke quietly so that only he could hear. “You’re doing the right thing, Rew.”

  “We’ll see,” he replied, unconvinced.

  “It might be fun,” she said. Then, she fell into line behind Raif as Jon led them single file into the wilderness.

  Shaking his head, certain that it was not going to be fun, Rew brought up the rear.

  Chapter Eight

  The party stomped through the wilderness, careless feet disturbing the fallen leaves and twigs on the forest floor, shoulders snapping small branches and knocking leaves from others. There was a trail through the first half-league of forest which the rangers slipped along effortlessly, but one wouldn’t have known there was a trail the way the rest of the party smashed through the undergrowth.

  When they reached a deeper section of the forest, and the undergrowth thinned and the canopy rose, Rew breathed a sigh of relief. It jarred his nerves, hearing the crash of the younglings forcing their way through the low-lying foliage. At least now, the trees were spread wide, their branches soaring far above, blocking the full light of the sun and choking off the growth of anything trying to come up below. Even the younglings had difficulty finding bushes to casually stumble through in the open forest.

  That section of forest was easy travel. It was wide open and flat so close to Eastwatch, but already the party was breathing heavy, and Rew could see that his projection of a three-week journey might have been optimistic. Farther along in the deep forest, there were hills and ridges to climb, thick woods to fight through, creeks and rivers to cross, and dangers they’d have to spend days walking around.

  Anne, used to being within the borders of the wilderness to collect herbs and mushrooms for her healing and her soups, walked confidently beside him. She grinned at his disdainful glances at the backs of the others. Her red hair was bound back behind her head, exposing her smooth, pale neck. She wore a blouse, several ties undone, but had a trim vest on so the billowing fabric didn’t snag on the branches of the forest. Her pack was hitched high on her back, and her skirts were shorter than usual, coming down to mid-calf. They were practical for hiking through the woods, as were the soft leather boots he spied on her feet.

  “Meets your standards?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

  He flushed, looking away.

  “Are you really worried about what we’ll find out here?” she asked him. “The forest has been peaceful in recent years, has it not? I thought there was nothing in the wilderness that scared a ranger.”

  He rubbed his chin, feeling the neatly trimmed beard there, and answered, “The wild parts of the world can always be dangerous to those who are not experienced traveling through them. There are animals here that can kill a man with the swipe of a paw or the snap of a jaw, and there are places we’ll walk where a fall could be fatal, but those risks are manageable. Even Jon knows enough to avoid the worst of those dangers. I believe I can steer us comfortably through the forest. It’s the unknown that I worry about.”

  “The narjags you tracked?” she asked.

  He nodded. “The narjags and whomever they met that came through the portal. There’s something afoot, but King’s Sake, I couldn’t tell you what it is.”

  “The unknown is always frightening,” agreed the empath.

  He smirked. “It’s more than that, Anne. I’m not some apprentice on my first expedition. I’ve been walking these woods for the last ten years, and I would have thought I’d seen everything these trees have to hide. Yes, there’s some uncertainty that makes me nervous when I find I do not know it all, but that is not what is bothering me. What bothers me is why I don’t know. This is not some remote valley that none of us have explored before. It’s not a dark cave we’re uncertain what creature it hides. If a portal was opened, it’s because someone opened it. Someone is out there…”

  “And…”

  “And what?” he asked her.

  Anne gestured to the younglings in front of them. “Nobles appearing unexpectedly in Eastwatch, warning of a conspiracy against the duke. Portals opening in the wilderness, and someone contacting the Dark Kind. You know as well as I what this is related to, Rew. You don’t need to ponder why these odd things are occurring. You already know.”

  He looked ahead, not responding.

  “I’m glad you decided to come,” said Anne.

  “I worry about leaving Blythe alone in Eastwatch,” said Rew. “I hope that was not a mistake.”

  “She’s not alone. Ang and Vurcell are there, too,” said Anne. “They’re all experienced rangers, and the three of them can handle whatever comes up. You trust them, don’t you?”

  “I do,” agreed Rew. “Ang and Vurcell are good men, and Blythe could have earned the position of senior ranger if it wasn’t for me. I trust her judgement, all of their judgement, and I trust their skill, but what if she’s faced with something beyond her? If it’s the Investiture, then no one knows what that madness will bring.”

  “We’re not the only ones who know it’s the Investiture,” replied Anne. “Blythe is well aware of what may be brewing, but as far as that goes, Eastwatch is as removed from the center of the whirlpool as can be. It’s why you came here, isn’t it?”

  He grunted.

  “If you cannot run from it in Eastwatch, then you cannot run from it, Rew,” murmured Anne. She walked closer to him. “Are you worried for Eastwatch or for yourself?”

  Rew did not respond.

  “I spoke to Vurcell,” said Anne. “He believes you are feeling the pull. Is that true?”

  Rew eyed the empath out of the corner of his eye and did not answer. She snorted, and they walked on silently, watching Jon lead the three younglings through the forest.

  After another hour, Cinda dropped back to walk beside them. “There is something you are not telling me,” she said, glancing between the two of them.

  Neither answered.

  “Worgon’s plot is against Duke Eeron and my father,” she said. “Dangerous times for the duke and the other nobles in the duchy, but this territory is the king’s land, and you are the king’s man. Everyone knows this. You’re not worried about Worgon’s plot affecting Eastwatch, I don’t think. Not even Worgon is arrogant enough to plot against the king. What is it, Ranger? What do I not know?”

  Rew studied the foliage around them, ignoring the girl.

  “Surely you’ve heard of the Investiture?” asked Anne.

  Cinda frowned at her. “The crowning of a new king? The elevation of one of the princes?”

  Anne nodded.

  “Of course I have,”
said Cinda. “I don’t—”

  “Do you know how the princes are chosen?” interrupted Rew.

  “Merit, I suppose,” said Cinda, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not like amongst the lesser nobles where birth order is the most important factor, is it? From the histories, it has not always been the oldest prince who was granted the crown. It is the decision of the king, I believe, which prince will ascend to the throne.”

  “That is true for the most part,” confirmed Rew.

  “Well, what is the problem, then?” snapped Cinda. “Tell me what you know. You think this plot of Worgon’s is related to the crowning of one of the princes?”

  “The Investiture is not a matter of the king simply deciding which of his sons is worthy of the throne,” replied Rew.

  Cinda walked beside him, frowning. Rew glanced at Anne, raising an eyebrow. The empath shrugged.

  “Your father hasn’t explained the Investiture to you?” wondered Rew.

  “Explained what!” demanded Cinda. “What is there to explain?”

  “The princes are expected to compete for the right to the throne,” said Rew. “The king does not select them. They prove themselves. You’ve had history tutors, have you not? What do the scholars say about how they prove themselves? What happens to the princes who do not ascend to the throne? Have you never wondered why each king starts with two brothers, but you never hear of the brothers again the moment one of them is crowned?”

  She blinked at him. “I-I don’t know. I guess I have never thought about it. You’re saying there’s no cushy position or quiet retirement for the princes?”

  Rew smirked.

  “No, lass, not a quiet retirement,” said Anne.

  “They… They plot against each other?” asked Cinda. “It’s a competition, and…”

  “All nobles always plot against each other,” remarked Rew. “They plot when the prize is a farmer’s croft. They plot when nothing more is at stake than pride. When the man who comes out on top sits upon the throne and rules the realm, when the losers are… quietly retired, then even brothers will turn against each other. It’s expected, the king demands it. They prepare all of their lives for the Investiture, gathering allies, undermining their brothers’ plotting, readying themselves to stab each other in the back. The other nobles are drawn into it like leaves on a whirlpool. They’re forced to select a prince to support, and not infrequently, they change sides as the winds of fortune blow. Armies, knives in the dark, magical attacks… Yes, it is a competition. There is only one prize, and only one person left at the end to accept it.”