by AC Cobble
“I don’t think so,” said Rew.
The soldier puffed his chest out like a bird standing over his nest, his hand still on his broadsword, his shoulders working like he was winding himself up. Rew waited, wanting to see what the man would do. He was not worried. A mercenary called to the edge of the realm was unlikely to have been given authority to arrest anyone and certainly had no authority over an agent of the king, even if they were in Baron Fedgley’s domain rather than the territory. The soldier paused, on the verge of action, surprised Rew did not seem intimidated. Behind him, his companions shifted nervously, evidently unsure how to respond to a challenge.
“You were hired to be out in the barrows,” guessed Rew. “Why are so many of you in town? Is Fedgley expecting an attack?”
The soldier spluttered, his face going red. He opened his mouth, but a hand fell on his shoulder. The soldier turned in surprise.
“You don’t want to cross this one,” remarked Alsayer.
Rew snorted at the sight of the spellcaster.
“He’s being disrespectful to the baron’s men,” growled the soldier. “Disrespect toward us leads to disrespect of the baron himself. I’ve seen it happen before, Spellcaster, and the baron’d be wise to make sure it doesn’t happen here. I wasn’t planning to hurt this man. I just wanted to let him cool off in a cell, teach him a lesson.”
Grinning, Alsayer remarked, “I don’t believe he’d willingly walk into a jail cell with you, my friend.”
“It’s not his choice,” barked the solider.
Alsayer winked at the bigger man and suggested, “I think it is, Soldier. This man is the King’s Ranger. He’s not subject to the baron’s law, and even if he was, you’d need two or three times as many men to take him in. Go on, now, and meet the rest of your fellows at the barracks. You should be getting ready to depart. I’m heading that way as well to speak with Commander Broyce, and I expect you to be there before I am.”
The soldier seemed to deflate under Alsayer’s gaze. He shot a final glare at Rew then turned and gestured for his men. Grudgingly, they marched up the street.
“I thought you were leaving, cousin,” said Alsayer.
“I am,” assured Rew. “I just posted a letter to the ranger commandant in Mordenhold and I’m going to meet the rest of my party now. We’ve some supplies to buy, then we’ll be leaving later today.”
The spellcaster glanced up at the menacing clouds above them. “Not a pretty day for travel, is it?”
“I’ve hiked through worse,” said Rew, trying to edge away from the spellcaster. “Don’t let me keep you from meeting with the commander.”
“The baron and his commander are getting their men organized, sending them out to the barrows as I requested,” said Alsayer, waving a hand dismissively. “The baron understands the circumstances, and I’m just going to ensure the commander does as well. A few veiled threats go a long way with such men. Really, Rew, you’re leaving today in this weather? I guess that means no goodbye for the children you brought here. I saw them this morning, and they said they hadn’t seen you.”
“I did what I promised. I got them here safely,” responded Rew. “They’re not children, Alsayer, and nothing more is needed from me.”
“Ah, I thought maybe you’d grown fond of them,” remarked the spellcaster in his silky, patronizing voice. “You certainly risked your life for them back at the miner’s tower.”
“I did what was needed,” snapped Rew. “Do you have something to say or not? I told you, I’m headed to meet my companions.”
“So angry, Rew,” murmured Alsayer. “What is bothering you, cousin?”
“You are,” growled the ranger. “A beacon drawing the Dark Kind to you, isn’t that what you told me? What’d you do, Alsayer, jump around the forest finding those creatures? How’d you talk them into traveling back over the Spine? What was it you said, a few veiled threats? I suppose with the Dark Kind you’ve got to remove the veil and kill a few of them.”
The spellcaster held up his hands innocently. “I know not of what you speak.”
“Don’t play me for the fool, Alsayer,” warned Rew. “I know it was you portaling all over the wilderness collecting the Dark Kind, even if I don’t know why.”
“You were never an easy one to fool,” admitted the other man.
“What are you doing with the Dark Kind, preparing to betray the baron?” questioned Rew. “Does Valchon know, or are you stabbing him in the back as well?”
“I thought you didn’t want to get involved,” said the spellcaster, leaning close. “Are you sure you want the answers to those questions?”
“I’m not getting involved,” snarled Rew, stepping back.
“I’m only here to help the baron with his task,” claimed the spellcaster, his eyes wide and hands clasped in a mockery of innocence on his chest.
Frustrated, Rew turned and began stalking down the street, walking away from his cousin and wishing he and the other man had both kept their mouths shut. The more he knew…
“Rew,” called Alsayer.
The ranger paused, cursing himself for listening, but unable to stifle his curiosity.
“I told you before. The strength of a spellcaster is in their blood,” said Alsayer, stepping close to Rew’s back and pitching his voice low so that only the ranger could hear. “High magic requires a carefully bred bloodline. When the unions are properly managed, the child is always more powerful than the parent. Prince Valchon selected Baron Fedgley to command the wraiths he is assembling because Fedgley is the strongest necromancer in the realm outside of the royal line. Did you know the baron’s wife is an invoker? But her father was an accomplished necromancer, as was his father before him. It’s in both her and the baron’s blood. It’s in the children’s blood. The prince knows about them, Rew. He knows about the girl and what her potential is. What she is capable of if she left off her fruitless training in invoking and studied necromancy. If something were to happen to Baron Fedgley, I suspect Prince Valchon will immediately start looking for the daughter.”
Rew sensed the spellcaster move away, felt him stride up the street into the stream of traffic, headed toward the barracks. The child is more powerful than the parent. Prince Valchon knew. Alsayer was preparing to betray them all.
Rew barked a curse then headed for the marketplace, hoping to find Anne and Jon there ready to go, ready to leave Falvar. He had to get out and get away, or it would be too late to avoid being dragged into the building maelstrom of the Investiture.
Rew made it to the market and was looking over the tented-stalls and open tables, searching for Anne’s red hair or the steel bear head on the pommel of Jon’s longsword. He was surprised when they appeared at his side. “What… You haven’t started your shopping, have you?”
Anne offered a guilty smile. “I wanted to check in on the injured before we left, and I brought Jon along with me. We’ll get started and move quickly, Senior Ranger.”
Rew reached up and rubbed his face with his hands.
Jon pointed at the thick gray clouds above which obscured the sun. “To be honest, Rew, it might not be such a bad idea to spend the night indoors again.” He sniffed the air. “It’s hard to tell in the walls of the city, but it smells like rain.”
“The longer we stay here…” muttered Rew.
“Rew, if you mean to drag me out into this weather, I’m going to gather supplies first,” insisted Anne.
“Anne, we cannot delay,” he said.
“It’d be quicker travel if we took the roads,” muttered the empath.
Rew shook his head. “If we’re to avoid the Investiture, we have to avoid Spinesend.”
“Get yourself an ale while we shop,” advised Anne, pointing to a small stand with a cluster of tall tables and stools outside of it. “It may be your last one for a couple of weeks, so savor it. And just think, if we’d been ready, you would have missed getting the ale. See the upside, Rew.”
“We have to leave,” he declared.
“We will, Senior Ranger, soon.” Anne turned, and Jon followed her as they headed toward the market stalls.
Scowling, Rew made his way to the kiosk and ordered a tankard of ale from the man working behind the counter. He watched as Anne and Jon made their way deeper into the market, the empath turning toward the dried herds that lined one row and the ranger headed toward several vendors selling general goods. No doubt, he would turn later to the weapons. The market stocked stuff that hopefully the young man knew better than to purchase, but Rew had decided on the journey to Falvar that he needed to give Jon room to make his own decisions. The ranger was young, true, but with Tate dead, the core group of rangers was only getting younger. It was important that Jon get ready to step into a ranger’s full responsibility as quickly as possible. Bleakly, Rew admitted they were going to need all of the skilled hands they could get.
Rew watched as Anne bent forward to sniff a bundle of dried herbs. From the distance, he couldn’t see what they were, but he could see her asking the seller about them and eventually handing over a small pile of copper coins for the purchase. Something she thought might be useful in healing and couldn’t be harvested on the edge of the wilderness, Rew supposed. None of the spices in Falvar’s market were any more exotic than those in Eastwatch. Anne moved down the aisle, passing out of sight, and Rew turned to see Jon haggling with a cobbler over a pair of soft leather boots.
Rew sipped his ale and looked up at the sky.
Jon hadn’t been wrong. If the senior ranger knew anything of the weather, he knew it would rain that evening. A downpour, most likely. He weighed his desire to get out of Falvar against the accusing looks he was certain to receive from Anne if they were forced to huddle together under a rain-whipped tarp all night with no fire and no fresh provisions. If he forced them to stop their shopping early, and they couldn’t keep a fire going to boil their beans and rice, that left only handfuls of jerky…
Rew ordered another ale, deciding it was worth letting the empath resupply, but then they would leave, just as soon as she and Jon finished.
Periodically, he’d see the two of them walking amongst the aisles, filling their packs, gathering the provisions they would need for nearly three weeks on the road. Neither of them appeared to be in a rush, and Jon frequently shot surreptitious looks at the clouds overhead as if counting the moments until they broke loose with a deluge of raindrops.
Rew noticed the crush of soldiers had thinned, and after half an hour, he heard the distinct sound of men marching. Leaving, he supposed, heading toward the barrows to collect the wraiths, just as Alsayer had said.
Over the din of the market, Rew listened to the soldiers moving from the barracks toward the north gate, their heavy steps and rustling chainmail like the noise of some ancient drake sliding through the town. Rew tried to guess how many there were. Certainly well over one hundred of the men, but it was impossible to know for sure. He decided it was at least two hundred, maybe as many as three hundred, as the final sounds of the stomping boots faded. It had to be a third of the men garrisoned in Falvar.
Jon appeared and dropped off a package of dry goods. Peeking inside, Rew saw salted meats, wheels of cheese, and a few loafs of fresh bread. The younger ranger then went back into the market, picking up a few additional items.
Rew opened his pack to stuff in the victuals and saw a rough sack in his pack. He grimaced. It contained the necklace of narjag ears he’d recovered near Eastwatch, and the head of the narjag shamans staff. He’d meant to ask Arcanist Ralcrist about the items. Sighing, Rew shoved the food into his pack and flipped it closed, pulling a leather strap through a brass buckle to tighten it.
He was on his third ale and was beginning to appreciate the time to drink it when he saw a familiar face slipping through the crowded aisles of the market.
Zaine, still armed with the two daggers and the bow she’d gotten in the ranger station in Eastwatch, was moving gracefully through the crowd, sliding around shoppers and passing like a ghost.
Briefly, Rew thought to chase after her to collect the weapons. They’d been meant as a loan to get the party safely through the wilderness and over the Spine, but in the rush of arriving at Falvar and going to see the baron, he hadn’t had the chance to ask for them back, and she’d vanished into the town without offering to return them.
Rew glanced down into his ale then sat back. Allowing the girl to keep the weapons was a small price to pay for avoiding another entanglement in Falvar. The king’s treasury could suffer the blow, and the Eastwatch armory had plenty of other weapons until he purchased replacements.
It was like a nagging itch between his shoulder blades, the urge to get up and leave. He could feel it, that they had to get on the road, or they wouldn’t. He’d finish the ale, he decided, and then he would round up Anne and Jon. They’d had enough time to shop, and he was sure they could survive without whatever other goods they were missing. It was past time to be gone.
Zaine, a hundred paces away, near the entrance to the market, paused, and Rew saw her chop her hand behind her back. A dozen paces behind her, a man stopped and waited a moment then moved to a stall and began examining a pile of brightly colored head scarves.
Shopping for his wife, wondered Rew. The ranger picked up his ale and took a sip, his gaze still on the man over the rim of his tankard. Scattered around the market, several other men who’d been striding purposefully along had suddenly moved toward nearby tables.
Rew frowned. Half a dozen men had moved at the same time to various stalls. They were all dressed in plain cotton tunics and trousers, light cloaks on their shoulders, their hair and clothing indistinct but in the style of the locals. They’d been moving along with the current of the market traffic, but now they were not, cutting across other shoppers so that they could stand in front of the closest tables. Outside the entrance to the market, a pair of men strolled by, dressed in Baron Fedgley’s livery, walking on patrol.
When they passed, Rew saw Zaine gesture again, and she exited the market, a line of plainly dressed men following, walking a dozen paces apart from each other, but all at the same pace that Zaine set. None of the men carried any goods that they’d purchased on their stroll through the market.
Rew, without putting thought into it, marked the faces of the men he thought were following the girl. They were following her, taking her direction, and avoiding Baron Fedgley’s soldiers. What was the girl getting herself into?
“Is that Zaine?” asked Jon.
At the same time, Anne said, “Well, I think we should stay the night, but if you insist— That is Zaine, isn’t it?”
The girl vanished up the street.
Anne continued, “I was hoping to say farewell. Do you think we can catch up to her?”
“Let’s try,” said Rew, knowing he would regret it.
Chapter Eighteen
He led the way out of the market and to the pale stone street beyond. To his left was the river gate, the main entrance and exit from the walled portion of Falvar. To his right, Baron Fedgley’s keep, and beyond that, the north gate which led to the barrowlands. Groaning, Rew started toward the keep, his pace slow, his eyes scanning the people and the buildings around them. He opened his senses, like he would in the forest, and tried to sort through the overwhelming deluge of stimuli that battered him.
“We’d best hurry if we want to catch her,” said Jon.
Rew did not respond. Fifty paces in front of them was one of the men who’d been following Zaine. The man moved at a casual stroll, glancing around much like Rew was and frequently peering ahead as if he was looking for something. Rew followed his gaze and saw their quarry was eyeing another of the plainly dressed men. They were strung out, keeping their distance from each other like baby ducks following a mother. Rew slowed down and kept walking.
“Are… Are we following someone?” wondered Anne.
“We’re seeing where Zaine is going,” replied Rew.
Behind him, he could feel the emp
ath and the younger ranger give each other a look, but he didn’t explain. Zaine was leading a troop of men toward the baron’s keep. Zaine who’d claimed to be a thief in good standing but did not have the markings of the guild. Zaine who’d told him she hadn’t been to Falvar recently but had slipped away to meet with someone as soon as their backs had turned. There was more to her story. Rew had known it, but he hadn’t wanted to get involved. He still didn’t want to get involved, but he couldn’t help himself. Curiosity had caught him, and it wasn’t letting go.
The man they were following paused, and Rew risked bringing them closer. He looked ahead, trying to pick out more of the plainly dressed men. It was difficult to tell from behind, but he thought he spied four of them now, and then they all started moving again at an identical pace, still headed toward the keep.
Overhead, thunder rumbled, and Anne hissed, “If you mean to drag us out onto the road tonight…”
He held up a hand, and she quieted. Beside her, Jon remained silent as well, clearly sensing something was afoot and just as clearly not having any idea of what it was.
Moments later, drops of rain began to plonk down on their heads and shoulders, and behind him, Jon and Anne grumbled, rearranging their cloaks and cinching their packs tightly shut. The thick wool of their garments would keep the water off them for a while, but the raindrops were falling fat and hard. Rew ignored the patter of the rain on his bare scalp, keeping his eyes on the scurrying men in front of them as they made directly for the keep.
“Jon,” he asked, “when did you first think it was going to rain?”
The young ranger shrugged. “Ah, on the way out of the infirmary, I suppose. The clouds had gotten thick by then, I think.”
Rew nodded, glancing up at the dark gray mass that hung overhead. The light of the sun had been cut off completely, and along the street, the lamps had not yet been lit.
