by Sam Ford
Far too often, Rangers let power and hedonism sway their convictions, serving whoever paid the most and protecting no one. One by one, Galway watched his friends and family fall away, forsaking their vows. Mighty schools of training crumbled into corruption. Now he stood nearly alone, with so very few others. Skytree, far to the south with few roads and even fewer people, seemed safe enough for now. But Galway had been called away, sent to range instead of teach, abandoning his home and his students. He was doing dirty work for the Ranger Chiefs. Saying something was amiss would be an understatement. Galway kept his cool, kept his eyes and ears open and remembered his training.
An hour later, not the half an hour as promised, his fellow Rangers arrived. Well-fed with heavy bellies, they slumped on their horses like dead men. Foregoing his own breakfast, Galway had pulled two slaked duck eggs from his saddle bag and eaten one raw. The other was one for his horse.
"You're a hard man to track, Galway." Alexi leaned on his saddle horn.
Whereas you, Galway thought, I could hear riding up on me for the last mile. "There are some tracks over there." Galway thumbed over his shoulder.
"Where?" Alexi looked confused.
"Over here. Depressions in the tall grass. Looks as if two people were sleeping here last night. Small, probably women, or maybe children. I'd say it's our runaways."
"Alright, what's your point?"
"They couldn't have gotten far on foot. They're tired and I'm sure they're hungry. They're heading in the direction of Abzu. We'll have them in another two or three hours."
"And then what?" Alexi smiled. There was no kindness behind it.
"Pardon me?"
"Farrange isn't far," Brutus growled. Galway wondered if he were ever happy about anything.
"Exactly," Alexi nodded. "We can be back at Farrange in a day's ride. Don't you want to see your home?"
"Farrange isn't my home." Galway grit his teeth. He may have been trained there, but that was many years ago and he hadn't been back since.
"We could just head back to Uruk once we hit the road. All this travel is bad for my hair. I could use a bath." Yvette ignored him. Alexi smiled in agreement. Only Brutus stared him down.
"Look, we don't have a lot of clues, but those two are our best bet."
"Galway, who really cares about a couple lost slaves, anyway?" Alexi scoffed.
That was quite enough of that. Without a word, Galway walked beside Alexi's horse and pushed. The smile didn't stay on his face much longer. Alexi screamed, the horse screamed, Yvette screamed. The horse was trying to right itself. It hadn't broken anything, nor had Alexi, but you wouldn't know that from the sounds he was making. Brutus drew first, his silver broadsword coming out with a glistening of light. Yvette started to draw her saber, as well, but Galway pulled her off, throwing her to the ground by her hair. Brutus spurred his horse, but Galway already had him in crossbow sights. Useful for little more than shooting small game and men, but at this range Galway would put a bolt right through the larger Ranger's eye. Brutus knew this and thought better of it.
No one moved for a moment. No one dared to breathe. The entire encounter had taken a scant few heartbeats.
"We're going after those girls. I'm holding you to your jobs. Understand?" Galway was starting to think he'd just need to kill the lot of them. Then Brutus sheathed his sword. Alexi got his horse back on its feet, still sitting astride the saddle. Galway finally let Yvette up, a trembling mess. Inside, he felt sympathy for the woman. She was someone's mistress, a courtesan fallen from grace, given a Rangership position to get her out of the way, told to be a liaison. Galway had seen it too many times before. She'd probably never spent any real time outside the capital.
"Home can wait. We'll find your girls." Brutus rode closer, the stink from his breath landing hot on Galway's face. "We kill them. Then we kill you."
Galway watched them ride away, actually doing their jobs for once. "Sounds fine to me."
Chapter XIII
Galway wiped the blood from his eyes. This was not how things were supposed to go. They were expecting two malnourished, frightened slaves. Instead, the four rangers faced off against a pair of tigers. He had arrived late, just a few minutes behind the others. He’d thought perhaps granting the younger Rangers a victory would quell their homesickness and prickly dispositions. Instead, it only led to greater disaster.
Once the sound of battle started, he spurred his horse into a full gallop. Even so, Yvette was already dead by the time he arrived, lying in a pool of her own blood. Alexi, gashed and bloodied, looked pale as he tried to ride town the tallest Indian girl. Brutus, meanwhile, had dismounted his horse and was engaged in a sword fight with a young girl a third his size.
Their battle plan was sound. The Rangers had burst upon them along the banks of the Redwater, being more surprised than surprising in turn. The Indians were lying in wait for them, and it showed. The taller girl was spinning a sling around, throwing rocks with deadly force. That was clearly what had killed Yvette, her horse staggering around with a broken leg. A rock had almost taken Galway's head off, as well, if he had not gotten his arm up in time. His pure reflex had saved his life, but now his left arm felt numb and useless. The smaller woman, meanwhile, engaged Brutus in a prolonged, drawn out duel. It was an effort to keep him away from her friend. Brutus, furious, clearly could not see that.
Alexi had done a better job than his comrades, managing to seat his helmet on his head. It protected him from the sling, but sword girl had obviously been at him, as blood ran from his side in a torrent. He would not survive the encounter. His charge brought him up short but he snatched the girl's sling from her hand, only to fall off his horse on top of her. The girl screamed and the second one tried to come to her rescue, but Brutus blocked her way.
Galway intervened, stepping off his horse. The girl was struggling under the weight of a dying Alexi, who apparently still thought he could win this. Galway pulled him off, towering over the girl.
"Where's the sword?" he demanded in the Indian tongue.
The girl's eyes widened upon hearing her own language spoken to her. She held up her hands to ward off the saber tip Galway held at her throat, but even so, he noticed the recognition in her face and her eyes darting to her friend. Galway took a second look. Brutus should have made quick work of the girl. And granted, she fared much worse than he, bleeding from several gashes, but even on the retreat with her back to the river, she stood her ground. Galway had never heard of an Indian swordswoman before. Even those who chose to join the Rangers fought with bows and spears. It was common knowledge that forged steel felt cold and alien in their hands. Swords were unheard of. Then he took a second look at the sword.
It was red. Red as the blood spilling down her arms. That was the sword, the one the king was after. It was only providence which had brought Galway this far. He needed that sword.
"I'm not--" Going to hurt you, Galway started to say, only to be blinded by a dazzling light.
He staggered backwards.
The Indian girl held a large stone in her fist, red with his blood. She'd cracked him across the side of the head. He clutched the right side of his face, checking that both eyes were still present. Everything danced and spun around him. He stared down at the Indian woman with range and fury. She was quite young, not much younger than his own child, and strikingly beautiful. Little more than a girl, she stared back with fear and hate and anger and hope in beautiful blue eyes so rare for her kind.
A most honorable of enemies, Galway thought, before sinking his saber tip in just below her breast. She let out a moan and a cry.
"Jazreal!" The sound of wind bubbling through her wound was sickening.
"Brutus!" Galway screamed as well, still clutching the side of his head, slick with blood.
Brutus turned. So did the Indian girl, Jazreal. Somehow they had both disarmed one another, swords no longer in hand. The red sword lay on the beach in front of Galway, maybe a dozen yards away. Brutus' eyes widened
at his commander's state. If a trained Ranger reacted like that, maybe Galway was worse off than he thought.
Jazreal, for her part, screamed when she saw the girl. She twisted, rolling between Brutus' legs. He turned and gripped her by her long hair, but that ended up being his undoing. They girl plucked the dagger from the small of his back and thrust it right between his ribs. Brutus went stiff and staggered, falling headlong into the muddy waters of the Redwater. Jazreal screamed and was dragged down with him, kicking the entire way. The river bubbled once then went still.
Galway glanced around. It had been a long time since he had been in a killing fight, but he was not currently in a position to appreciate it. Not with his quest so close at hand. Staggering over Alexi's body, he made his way to the sword. It lay on the beach, glistening like blood in the sunlight.
His horse warned him, letting out a whinny just before the attack. Galway fell backwards, raising his saber in defense as something slammed into the ground before him. Sand flew everywhere, blinding him. And the heat, oh the heat was unbearable.
"Leave here!" The man ordered.
No, not a man. A boy, Galway saw as the sand settled. A boy no older than eleven, scrawny even for his age, with a mop of chestnut hair, but who had the confidence of a seasoned warrior. And in his hand, he held a blood red sword. Galway quickly glanced behind the boy’s legs. Indeed, the first sword was still there. He stared back at the boy's hands.
There are two, he realized. The sword in the boy's hand grew hotter, turning bright white and bursting into flame. The sand turned to shards of glass, stinging Galway's unprotected hands.
As he scrambled to his feet, the fire turned into a whirlwind, singeing the trees, the grass and the clothes of the dead. Yvette's silver palfrey screamed as flames licked her sides, but Ranger horses were better trained than Rangers themselves--all of them stayed put. It probably only took seconds, but climbing back atop his bay felt like an eternity. Seizing the reins, Galway looked back at the burning stranger.
He means to kill us all, he thought. All for the sake of some old man's rusted blade.
Galway kicked his horse into a gallop, Brutus' riderless courser following close behind. He hit the river and didn't slow down, fording it in desperation. The main road lay just on the other side.
I won't make it back to King's Crown. Not like this, Galway realized. He could barely sit a horse, let alone ride rough trail. Farrange. It must be Farrange.
Sparing one last look behind him, Galway watched the flames slowly extinguish, leaving the stranger standing on the sandy beach amidst boiling glass. He really was just a boy.
Then Galway turned west, hunkered down and put his spurs to his horse.
Chapter XIV
Helpless
Cale watched the Ranger leave, hoping he did not see his shaking knees. The silver horse was still screaming in pain, the sound making Cale want to throw up.
He had done that. It had been a mistake, but it was still his fault. Sword said he couldn't expect to have perfect control right away, even as he guided and drew the power from Cale, but it was still nerve-wracking. He was just glad the scare tactic had worked, as the sound of the Ranger's galloping faded down the road.
Cale, now!
Cale ran for the river, leaping headlong into a dive. He had seen the girl go in, but he didn't know how long she could hold her breath. The water was brown and dark, filled with silt and blood. Sword could see better than he could and guided him in the right direction, but they still had to find the girl. Digging around in the mud on the bottom, Cale almost ran out of breath before literally swimming into her. She was just floating there, eyes closed, drifting in the current. Cale wrapped one arm around her chest and swam with everything he had.
He burst through the surface with a gasp of air. The girl made no such gesture.
"Uh, Sword?"
Get her to the shore. Quickly!
Cale paddled for the riverbank, towing the Indian girl with him. She was taller than him and, he discovered, heavier than she looked as he tried to drag her onto the bank. "She's not breathing!"
Lay her down. Place your hands against her chest and push.
"What?"
Cale, we have no time. Do as I tell you.
Cale did as instructed, placing his hands atop her chest and pressing. Don't get worked up. Cale chided himself, pressing down. Just imagine it is Tully. Don't think about her freckles. Don't think about how soft she is. And whatever you do, don't squeeze! He concentrated on saving her life to distract himself. Water came spurting out of the girl's mouth.
Still no breath.
"Sword?" Cale was getting worried.
You must give her the kiss of life.
"Oh, come on!"
Cale! She is going to die. You have seconds to act. Now, pinch her nose, press your lips against hers and blow!
Cale kissed the strange girl, breathing for her. He inhaled deeply and exhaled into the girl's mouth. Then he did it again. Each time it became less like a kiss and more a desperate prayer for her to live, all his teenage hormones scattering away in the face of death. Cale was starting to become truly afraid as he pressed on her chest once more, when suddenly the girl convulsed into a coughing fit. She was breathing on her own, but Cale had no idea that much water could be stored in one person. She just kept coughing as more water gurgled from her mouth.
"Is she okay?"
Yes. Give her some space.
At Cale's words, the girl glared at him, twisting around to fight. There was no strength in her actions, but Cale backed away anyway. He got up to check on the second girl, though he knew she would not have nearly as happy an ending. Cale pulled the dead Ranger all the way off her and surveyed the situation. She was very pale and her buckskin tunic was stained deep crimson with blood. She still breathed weakly, but each shallow breath brought more frothy bubbles to the blood from her chest.
He knelt, smiling at the girl. "Hello."
"Hello," She answered back, her speech slurred, smiling faintly in return.
Cale took her hand. He didn't need Sword to tell him what to do here. The girl was remarkably beautiful, and though the first one wasn't as pretty, he could see the family resemblance. Sisters, maybe? Though much older than himself, Cale could still tell she was far too young to die like this. It reminded him of Tully.
Everything reminded him of Tully.
There was a dripping sound behind him, and Cale looked up to find the other girl, sword in hand. Cale stood and gave a light bow, offering up his spot. When she saw he was leaving without a fight, the girl dropped her sword, falling to her knees at her sister's side. Cale left them alone, giving them these last few moments together. He’d had enough unpleasantness, and the day was not yet over. There was one more task to take care of.
The silver palfrey was still hobbling around, pelt singed black and red and her foreleg broken. Cale cooed to calm her down, speaking softly and offering a nibble from some cheese. She gladly took it. In his other hand he held a dagger.
"I'm sorry," Cale offered with tears in his eyes as the big animal fell down. She didn't scream; she couldn't anymore. But she stared at him with big, round eyes. He knelt by her side and petted her face while she bled out. "I should have controlled it better."
You are still young.
"That's not an excuse to let others get hurt because of my mistakes."
No. And as long as you remember just that, I believe you will make a fine Knight.
Cale sat for a long while in a thoughtless trance. Sword knew when to remain silent and when to speak. He was wise like that. The Indian girls were speaking quietly, holding hands.
Cale jumped when the younger sister screamed. It was a long, loud wail, a screech of agony Cale felt all too well. Then it devolved into a low moan and chanting. The pain was still there, the hoarse voice and tears flowing freely, but it had turned into song. Cale had never heard anything like it before.
The death song of her people. To see her sister�
��s spirit safely to the other side of the river.
Cale listened quietly, but even though he couldn't understand the words, they still hurt his heart. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve as the girl continued to sing. When she stopped singing, the ceremony would be over and her sister would be gone. Her voice must have been hoarse from almost drowning, because instead of finishing strong, she simply faded off with a tattered tone.
"Why is it always rivers?" Cale asked after a while.
Pardon?
"Well, Tully and Byron both died by rivers. Oltho died by a river. And now this one." Cale nodded at the girls. "She died by the river, but her spirit also needs to cross a river."
To many people, rivers are an analogy. They are peaceful, a source of life. But they are also a barrier the living cannot cross.
"I know. I've read that. We had a priest come to the village once. He charged one silver, and all he did was offer prayers and one sermon. I wanted to go to town and read his holy book, but he didn't even have one. Then we heard he had a go at the baker's wife. The baker came home and ran him out of town." Cale stared off, lost in the memory. "He was an odd man."
That is one way to put it.
"She has a Sword."
Indeed she does.
Cale didn't know how to bring this up. "Does that mean she's a Knight? Can I go home now?"
Cale... even if we found a hundred Swords, things cannot go back to normal. Life is always changing. Sometimes it changes in your favor. Other times less so. You know this. Besides, you're an Imperial Knight now. You have a responsibility.
"I know that," he replied sheepishly.
I know you miss home. But even as clever and wonderful as you are, you do not have the knowledge we seek. There are dark forces moving. There have been for a long time. They killed my last Bearer and buried me. A single Sword is not going to change that. We need answers. Both of us.
