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

by AC Cobble

  Jon swallowed.

  “He’s jesting with you,” assured Anne, rolling her eyes at the senior ranger. “Those low hills just look like barrows. Walking through the barrowlands is quite pleasant, actually. Lush grass as far as one can see and easy, open travel. In the spring, wildflowers bloom everywhere. It’s like a giant painted an emerald green canvas with the most vibrant colors you can fathom.”

  “Some of the hills are real barrows,” insisted Rew.

  Chuckling, Anne admitted, “Yes, some are barrows. And yes, there are wraiths which haunt them, but those can be found anywhere in the ancient, hidden places of the world. The barrows along the road we’ll follow were cleaned out ages ago. Unless we venture deep into the grasslands, there is nothing at all to worry about.”

  Rew winked at her.

  “Wraiths?” whispered Jon, shifting to look over the rim of the hollow they’d camped in, down at the vast expanse of darkness that lay beneath them at the foot of the mountain. “There truly are wraiths out there?”

  “Anne is right. There are no wraiths along the path we’ll be walking,” assured Raif. “There’s a, well, not a proper road, but there is a track between the mining encampment and Falvar. It’s well-traveled, and there’s no danger on the route. It’s safer even than the road between Falvar and Spinesend. In my lifetime, there’s never been a wraith spotted close to the road or the town, and there are no bandits out in the barrowlands. Who would bother to steal from a bunch of miners?”

  “But… real wraiths?” worried the young ranger, looking at Rew out of the corner of his eye. “You’re not jesting with me? You’re serious?”

  “Our family has spent generations cleaning the wraiths from the barrows,” declared Raif. “Within a day’s ride of Falvar and along the road, there is no danger.”

  Rew, rubbing the back of his hand on his lips, tried not to laugh at Jon’s worried expression.

  The younger ranger, eying him suspiciously, evidently decided he was more comfortable with a different topic. He asked, “What are they mining for?”

  “Iron ore,” answered Raif. “It’s why the road is so safe. No one’s going to try to steal a shipment of ore. The barrowlands are well patrolled by my father’s men, but the truth is that there is little need for it. In Falvar, not even the children are scared of wraiths or bandits from the barrowlands. It’s as easy travel as one can find in Duke Eeron’s duchy.”

  Jon scowled at Rew.

  Rew winked back at the younger ranger. “It’s been a long journey, you can’t blame me for having a little fun.”

  Settling himself down on the opposite side of the hollow so his back was no longer to the barrowlands, Jon did not seem to agree.

  “I went to the old fortress once as a child,” said Raif. “Before we fostered in Yarrow, my father would take me on tours of our lands. It’s been years, though, and we did not pass beyond the tower up into these mountains. How long, do you think, until we reach the tower?”

  “A day and a half then four more down to Falvar from there,” said Rew. Grinning at Jon, he admitted, “And it should be easier travel from here on out.”

  A day and a half later, they were following a rocky, twisting cart path. It wove between the open mouths of half a dozen mine shafts, sunk into the sides of the mountain at odd intervals and random seeming locations. The mouths of those tunnels yawned, dark and vacant. They were a bit creepy and would have been the perfect lairs for rock trolls, but Rew knew the miners regularly traversed the area and entered the tunnels. As the nobles claimed, the area was quite safe. They did not see anyone as they walked, but the trail showed recent use. Rew had no problems picking out places in the rock dust where cart wheels had bounced up with supplies and then back down filled with hunks of rock and ore.

  He didn’t know how long it had been since this side of the Spine had seen rain, but sometime since then, people had been on the trail. Surprisingly, it was only the signs of man that he was able to find. There were no tracks of the Dark Kind, no signs of their waste or campsites. He’d seen evidence in the pass, but from there, the signs vanished. They could have taken a different path down the mountain, but it would have delayed them by days and would have added difficulty to their journey. Narjags were lazy, and Rew couldn’t picture them circling around the mining encampment to be stealthy. Of course, none of their other actions made sense, either.

  “It’s a tough life out here on the edge of the world,” said Raif, peering into one of the open mine shafts. “Nothing to do, just a handful of miners to keep you company. I don’t think I could stand it.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Rew. “Doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

  Anne laughed.

  “What?” asked Rew.

  “You’d cut off your own arm before you went down into one of those mines,” said Anne. “I don’t care how much you want to be away from people. That’s not the kind of lonely life most would enjoy.”

  Rew chuckled and nodded in acknowledgement. “That’s true.”

  Raif kept on, discussing the lonely lives of the miners, not seeing through the jest that the rangers and Anne had chosen a similar life. Of course, few of the miners would have chosen the profession for the isolation. They would have done it because they had no other option. There were few jobs that entailed more risk than mining. Fumes, disturbed deep beneath the ground, could kill a man without warning. Cave-ins were common, and there were always accidents when men were swinging heavy equipment at even heavier rocks in the dark. No, it was not a profession that many would grow up wanting to pursue.

  As Raif continued, Rew mused that arguably, one would be better off as an untrained grunt on the front lines of the king’s army, storming some arrow-bristling, boiling oil-spilling, rebellious castle. At least the king’s army only marched when there was war. A miner had to go down into those dark, dank caves every day.

  He was still thinking about it, peering into the mouth of another tunnel they were passing, when strange sounds began to rise on the winds that blew up the face of the Spine. Rew frowned, trying to identify what he was hearing. They walked on another hundred paces when he called a halt.

  “What is that?” wondered Jon. “Dogs? Do miners use dogs?”

  “Ayres,” hissed Rew. “I don’t know which way they traveled from the mouth of the pass, but I’m guessing this is the group we’ve seen so many signs of.” He looked around the party. “That means there will be a lot of them.”

  Raif drew his hand-and-a-half sword, looking around nervously, his elbows in tight, perhaps recalling what had happened last time he tussled with the Dark Kind.

  “Weapons ready,” said Rew. “We’ve got a bit to go before we see them, I think.”

  “How do you know?” questioned Raif.

  “I’d bet good silver that they’re assaulting the tower,” explained Rew. “It’s where the miners would have fled if they were attacked, and it’s stout enough they could hold out against the Dark Kind for a bit. They’re not tacticians, but maybe the Dark Kind avoided this road to sneak up on the fort. Maybe that’s been their goal all along.”

  They walked another half hour before Rew slowed them and started taking time to peek around every turn on the narrow mining path. Moving quietly, they finally found an outcropping where they could peer down at the fortress below.

  It was one of the old border forts, left over from the great war that spanned the barrowlands three hundred years earlier. Built to last, it’d been repurposed as a home for the miners and a storage space for their equipment. Its legacy as a fortress was the only thing saving the people inside now.

  Surrounding them, Rew guessed there were at least sixty narjags and a dozen ayres, though the mounts were moving rapidly, yipping and barking, trying to leap up to the battlement of the tower, making it difficult to count them. Some of the narjags were flinging rocks up toward the tower’s battlement or brandishing their crude weapons, but most were using carts they must have found abandoned outside. They were gath
ering piles of rock which they dumped on the side of the tower and forming the beginnings of a ramp to the top. At the edge of the action stood a giant narjag, adorned in necklaces and brightly colored scarves. It clutched a staff in its hands and gestured with it, directing its charges in the harsh, guttural language of the Dark Kind.

  “A shaman?” wondered Jon.

  Rew twisted his lips but did not respond. The narjag was dressed in the manner of shamans, but if the creature had spells to cast, it was not making use of them. Instead, it appeared many of the narjags were attempting to harry the defenders while their counterparts built the ramp. Rew saw that once the ramp was built, the narjags and the ayres could pour over the wall of the battlement with no difficulty. With so many of the Dark Kind, the fight would be over quickly.

  There were a dozen miners crouched behind the walls. Two or three held swords or spears, and the rest held tools that they’d repurposed as weapons—a scythe that may have used to clear grass around the fort and an awfully lot of heavy-looking hammers. In the doorway to the keep stood a man dressed in black, high-necked robes. They were embroidered extensively in silver, and he wore a black, velvet cloak around his shoulders. In contrast to the disheveled miners, the man’s dark hair was swept straight back with spots of vivid white gracing his temples. He had a slender mustache and goatee as well, and even in the midst of battle and from a distance, it was obvious he had recently groomed himself. He couldn’t have been a sharper contrast to the dirty, gruff-looking men around him.

  “King’s Sake,” snarled Rew.

  “What?” asked Jon, following the senior ranger’s gaze, seeing the well-dressed man staring back at them. “Is that… Who is that?”

  “That’s our spellcaster,” said Rew, glaring at the man. “Why isn’t he doing anything? He killed dozens of those narjags on the other side of the Spine. Behind those walls, he could pick these off with no problem.”

  “He’s staring at you, Rew,” mentioned Anne.

  Growling, Rew looked back to the narjags below them.

  “Why is he staring at you?” wondered the empath.

  “He’s waiting for me to get him out of this mess,” barked the ranger. He motioned for them all to duck back behind the outcropping of stone they were hiding behind. “We won’t be doing that for him or anyone else if those narjags spot us.”

  They crouched down on the road, just around the bend. Rew smacked his fist against the rock outcropping that hid them, issuing a foul string of curses.

  “That man is waiting on us?” whispered Raif. “What of the miners? Do you think they knew we were coming?”

  “I don’t think they are waiting on us. I think they had no choice but to hunker down behind those walls,” said Rew. “You can see that they’re scared witless and aren’t even trying to put up a defense. If they flee, they’ll be run down. The walls of that fort are the only thing keeping them alive. Those miners might be capable brawlers, but against a large group of Dark Kind, they don’t stand a chance. And for some reason, Alsayer isn’t casting.”

  “Alsayer?” asked Cinda, her voice tight.

  “Alsayer,” confirmed Rew. He clenched his jaw. “He’s the one we’ve been following, and though I’d rather jab porcupine quills into my arm, I need to talk to him. He’ll have the answers we’re looking for.”

  “I’m not sure now is a good time…” said Raif.

  Rew shook his head. “Not now. After we free the tower from the Dark Kind.”

  “F-Free the…” stammered Jon. “Ah, do you have a plan?”

  “I’m thinking of one,” snapped Rew. He closed his eyes. “Give me a moment.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sixty narjags and a dozen ayres. Twelve miners armed with hammers and picks and a spellcaster who wasn’t casting. A healer, three untrained youths, an apprentice, and a ranger.

  Rew realized immediately that it wouldn’t take long for the Dark Kind to build their ramp high enough to swarm over the battlements, and if Alsayer declined to join the fight, the miners would be quickly overwhelmed. Rew’s party wouldn’t fare much better against so many. They had nearly crumbled against a force the quarter the size of this one.

  Rew glanced at Anne and saw her worried face. Raif clutched his hand-and-a-half sword, but the blade was trembling in his grip. Cinda was pawing through her pack, though the ranger knew there was nothing in there which could help their situation. Worry lay on Jon’s face like a mask, and the young ranger had not yet drawn his longsword. Zaine seemed inexplicably calm, holding her bow lightly, an arrow set on the string.

  “Behind those walls, they can hold out, can’t they?” asked the thief. “Should we make haste for Falvar, alert Baron Fedgley, and get these people some relief? I think if we go several hundred paces back up the slope, there’s a—”

  Cinda shook her head and interjected, “We’re four days from Falvar. That’s over a week before assistance could arrive”

  “Those miners must have weeks of supplies inside,” argued Zaine. “Within the walls of that tower they could hold indefinitely. It’s not like the narjags will bring in siege equipment.“

  “The narjags are building a ramp,” said Rew. “By dusk, they’ll be over the walls. The miners are tough characters, and they won’t go down easy, but they’re outnumbered seven to one. They aren’t trained for a fight like this.”

  “The spellcaster?” wondered Cinda.

  Rew scowled. “There’s a reason he’s not using his spells. I can’t fathom what that reason is, and even if he told us, I wouldn’t trust his explanation, but we all saw what he’s capable of on the journey here. If he wanted to, he could make short work of the Dark Kind. My guess, there’s some reason he won’t use his spells, or he’s waiting and will only act to save his own skin.”

  “You know him?” asked Anne.

  Grimacing, Rew nodded. “From a long time ago.”

  That evidently satisfied the empath, and she didn’t ask for further explanation.

  “Cinda, can you provide a distraction, and then we can charge into their backs?” asked Raif. “Just like the last time, but this time we’ll all have surprise on our side.”

  No one spoke. The last time, Cinda’s distraction hadn’t worked, and even with surprise on their side, the boy might take down several narjags, but he wasn’t going to take down sixty of them. The Dark Kind would overwhelm him in moments, and there was no way the rangers could protect everyone against such a large pack. The younglings were more of a liability than a help against a such a large force of narjags.

  Rew sighed and looked to Jon and Anne. “Keep the younglings here until it’s clear. When you have a route, make for the tower. If the miners hesitate, the spellcaster’s name is Alsayer. Tell him you’re with me. He’ll let you in.”

  “What will you do?” questioned Jon, looking confused.

  At the same time, Anne said, “You don’t have to do this.”

  Rew shook his head. “You have another plan?”

  She held his gaze but didn’t respond. There was nothing to say, nothing else they could do.

  “I don’t understand,” said Cinda. “What do you plan to do?”

  “Stay here. Run for the tower when it’s clear,” repeated Rew. He shrugged his shoulders, stretched his legs, and then nodded to Jon and Anne.

  “Wait. W-What—“ stammered Jon. His eyes widened as Rew drew his longsword and rose into a low crouch, shuffling to the edge of the outcropping they were hiding behind. “You can’t! It’s too—“

  Rew ignored the other ranger and scampered down the trail, finding a scattering of large rocks on the slope below, slipping behind them, and making his way stealthily down the mountain. He moved silently, hiding from the narjags and their mounts, but with the higher elevation, he knew he would be visible from the fort. He didn’t look to the people there, but he could feel Alsayer’s eyes on him. He knew the spellcaster would understand his plan.

  Rew seethed as he got closer, cursing Alsayer for holding
back his magic. Why was the man not unleashing his skill upon the Dark Kind? From behind the wall, he could pick them off cleanly with no risk to himself or anyone else. It’d been years, but Rew was certain the man’s reserves were deep enough he could take care of a handful of Dark Kind. Besides, assuming he was the spellcaster that had portaled into the wilderness, they’d seen evidence of what he was capable of on the other side of the Spine.

  The ranger reached the bottom of the slope and crouched behind the last rock of any size. Rew drew deep breaths, steadying himself and ignoring the voice in his head that told him this plan was stupid, that he wouldn’t survive. He shook himself, adjusted his grip on his longsword, and peeked around the corner of the boulder. He might not survive, but he could survive long enough to give his companions time. Behind the walls, their strength added to the miners, they had a good chance. Well, a better chance, at least.

  Rew waited patiently as several of the narjags flung fist-sized stones at the miners, mostly missing, occasionally forcing the men to duck behind a crenellation. Other narjags gathered rocks and piled them at the base of the tower, building their ramp higher and higher. The ayres yipped at the miners, springing fruitlessly against the walls, falling down, and then sprinting in agitated circles. Rew waited until a trio of those ayres came racing nearby. Then, he sprang from hiding.

  He swept his longsword in a wide arc, clipping two of the creatures across the backs of their legs, sending them tumbling into a tangled, yipping heap. The third ayre was racing behind the other two and leapt at him.

  His longsword out of position, Rew threw up his forearm, his leather bracer catching the ayre on the bottom of the chin, clacking its jaw shut and stunning it. It crashed against him, and he stumbled back, but he remained standing. He swung around his longsword, stabbed it into the surprised ayre’s chest, yanked the blade out, and ran.