by AC Cobble
Rew scratched at his beard. Maybe he should have gone to the baths. He glanced at Rodger and tried to inquire casually, “Oh, really? If I can ask, where are you headed in such a hurry?”
“Falvar,” replied the man, raising a hand toward the serving woman and calling for an ale. “Where else would I be headed on this highway?”
Rew grunted and did not respond.
“Speaking of which, what are you doing here, Ranger?” wondered the scout. “A bit outside of your territory, isn’t it?”
“Just passing through,” replied Rew, picking his ale back up.
“Well, keep a sharp lookout,” said the scout, accepting a tankard of ale from the serving woman. He lowered his voice and leaned close. “We’ve had reports of banditry in the forest, and that’s just the start of it. It’s going to get bad around here, Ranger.”
“Bad? The bandits, or…”
“The suspicion is that the bandits aren’t operating independently,” confided the soldier. “Believe me, they’ve got an agenda beyond just snatching a few coins out of your purse. Word is they’ve even got eyes right here in Umdrac. Watching for travelers, maybe. More like political targets, if you ask me. There’ve been reports of Dark Kind too, like you see out in your wilderness, though I don’t believe that myself. It’s been fifty years since anyone’s seen a narjag along this road. Still, it’s a sign of what’s to come. It’s a sign of trouble, Ranger.”
“The Duke sent you to deal with it, then?”
The man shook his head. “That’s not the fire we’re cooking over, my man.”
Rew fiddled with his ale. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The scout quaffed his ale, wiped the foam from his mouth with the back of a hand, and let out belch. “Just that the road between Spinesend and Falvar is going to get a bit hot, Ranger. No one’s got time to deal with the bandits unless they stumble into them, and there’s even less interest in a wild chase through the forest looking for Dark Kind. Out here alone, you need to watch your back. If I was you, I’d get over to Eastwatch as soon as you can. Dealing with those monsters out in the wilderness is going to be a damn sight safer than what the nobles have brewing in the duchy, that’s the truth.”
“Rodger, what does Duke Eeron have brewing?”
The scout winked at him again and finished his ale. He thunked the tankard down on the table and stood, stretching. “Gonna be a cold one tonight, Ranger, but I’ve got to get back on the road. Put my ale on the king’s tab, will you?”
“I like that work ethic, Rodger,” said Rew. “Sit a bit longer and let’s talk. I’ll buy you another ale. I’ve an opening in the ranger ranks, you know? We’ve been looking for a good man to fill the vacancy.”
“Couple of years back, I would’ve leapt at that offer, Ranger,” said the man, “but I’m afraid I’ve moved on. I’ve been doing well with the duke, and it seems it’s finally going to pay off. With everything that is happening, he needs a man with my skills. I’ve been promised ample rewards once it’s all settled.”
“Once what is settled?” hissed Rew.
“Sorry, Ranger. I’ve got to ride,” responded the man. “Keep your eyes and ears open while you’re on the road. Another day we’ll talk again? You can find me in Spinesend in the southern barracks if you want, once it’s done. Could be I’ll be looking for a change then. Maybe something a bit slower-paced would suit my retirement just right!”
The man laughed, offered a wink, and turned to go. He stopped. Halfway between the soldier and the door was Raif, staring open-mouthed at the scout’s ochre tabard.
“A-Are you…” stammered Rodger. “King’s Sake, you’re Raif Fedgley!”
The scout’s hand dropped to a pouch and he fumbled with the drawstring before yanking out a small slip of paper. He held it up, looking from the paper to Raif.
Rew leaned around the scout’s back and saw the paper was a well-sketched picture of Raif and Cinda, though in the drawing they appeared a few years younger than they were now.
“I can’t believe it!” exclaimed the scout. “Here, in Umdrac!”
“Ah…” mumbled Raif, trailing off, unsure what to say in the situation.
From the door of the inn, a man called over the sound of the lutist, “Rodger, are you in here drinking? We’re to be outside of Falvar by tomorrow midday, man! Hold on… Is that Raif Fedgley?”
“I think it’s time to go,” murmured Rew, rising to his feet.
Raif blinked at him, confused. Rew hefted the heavy ceramic tankard his ale had come in and then smashed it across the back of Rodger’s head.
“Get the women, get our gear, and get out of Umdrac!” barked Rew, stepping over Rodger’s unconscious body.
“What about you?” asked Raif, turning and eyeing the handful of men wearing Duke Eeron’s livery who were shoving their way through the crowded room. “Where will we meet you?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find you,” growled Rew. The soldiers were shouting at the other patrons of the inn to take Rew and Raif. None of them seemed eager to get involved, but more soldiers were pouring into the doorway. Rew shoved Raif in the back. “Go!”
Four men were working their way closer. The drunken, confused patrons were the only thing saving Rew from a rush of armor and steel. Like the scout, Rodger, they were wearing leather gambesons and carrying heavy broadswords. The four soldiers drew their blades, and the crowd panicked.
Rew, knowing he could flee in the confusion but realizing he needed to give Raif and the others time to escape, jumped onto a table and held up his longsword. He stared over the heads of the milling patrons at the four soldiers and made sure they saw his blade.
The soldiers slowed, waiting for the room to clear. Once the people had scattered, they began to advance again. They spoke no words because none were needed. Even if he hadn’t been traveling with Raif, the soldiers had just witnessed Rew strike one of their own on the back of the head. For men of violence, there was only one response to such a thing.
Rew waited until they were close, and then he took two running steps down the table and leapt into the air, lashing out with his boot to kick a startled man in the face. The soldier’s head snapped back and his broadsword fell from limp fingers.
Crashing to the floor, Rew slipped on the food-strewn, ale-damp surface and tumbled into another table. He rolled over it, flopping down on the opposite side, banging his hip against a bench, and then springing back to his feet.
The three soldiers who were still conscious stared at him in shock. Evidently, they hadn’t expected someone to charge right at them, so he did it again.
He jumped back onto the table and launched himself into the middle of the men, bashing one with the hilt of his longsword, kicking the legs out from another and slamming his head against a table, and then grappling with the third, wrapping an arm around the soldier’s neck and locking it under the man’s jaw. The soldier flailed, dropping his broadsword, grasping at Rew’s forearm with desperate fingers.
They wrestled, the soldier kicking against tables, trying to shake Rew’s grip. The ranger held on tight, one arm snaked around the soldier’s throat, the other holding his longsword, ready to deflect any attack the man tried to swing back.
Cursing, banging into the furniture, Rew almost didn’t hear the stomp of boots at the doorway, but he did hear a man cry, “We’re under attack!” Then, he heard the distinct ring of steel being drawn. Rew swung the man he was throttling around to see that six more soldiers had come in the door.
“King’s Sake,” he growled. He shoved the soldier away, and the man fell to his knees, coughing and clutching his throat.
Rew turned and ran, the six new soldiers hot after him. He couldn’t face six of them without killing a few, and as far as he knew, these men were innocent of anything worse than following orders from their duke. In other times, Raif and Cinda would be protected by the soldiers of their liege, and if they recognized him in a crowded tavern, those men wouldn’t hesitate to raise a tank
ard with the King’s Ranger. No, if he could avoid it, Rew wouldn’t kill the men.
He slowed. Had Raif and the others had time to get out of the inn and away from the village yet? Were they smart enough to find another exit from the inn, or would they be coming down the back stairs and out through the kitchen, the same way Rew was now leading the soldiers?
Swerving, cursing under his breath, Rew started heading around the corner of the room, hurdling the lutist’s stage, stepping around benches and chairs that had been flung haphazardly when patrons fled the room, and jumping on and over tables.
“Get him!” snarled one of the soldiers, though his companions were already doing their best.
One of them, evidently slightly wiser than the others, split from the party and ran toward the front door where Rew was headed. The other five circled behind the ranger, trying to outrun him.
Rew charged toward the door and the man attempting to block it. The ranger swiped his longsword at the soldier’s broadsword, smacking it aside. Not slowing, he drove the point of his elbow into the soldier’s forehead. The hard bone of his arm cracked into the soldier’s skull, and the man flew back, bounced off the wall, and slumped to the floor.
Bursting from the inn into the wide, dark street that ran through Umdrac, Rew skidded to a stop. Standing beside their mud-speckled, snuffling horses, were another dozen of Duke Eeron’s men. It looked as if they’d just dismounted and were coming inside to see what the commotion was about.
Raising his voice, Rew pointed down the street and cried, “He went that way!”
The soldiers stared at him, disbelieving.
Behind him, one of the five soldiers who had been chasing him in the inn came barreling out and swung a wild strike at the back of Rew’s head. The ranger ducked it easily and smashed his fist into his attacker’s chin, nearly lifting the man from his feet as he was flung back.
“Keep him alive!” shouted a voice from the doorway. “You, all of you, take him!”
Rew sheathed his longsword and ran.
Behind him, he heard some of the men mounting their horses. Others were pounding after him on foot. He knew he’d be more nimble footed and quicker than the armored men, but even the slowest warhorse would outrun him with little difficulty on an open stretch.
He jagged right, darting between a grocer and a bakery, coming out behind the shops and turning to run along the outside of the village. There was a gentle, grass-covered slope that led north along the river on his right, the village was on his left. The soldiers were crashing between the buildings and stumbling out into the open, already falling behind. He heard the thunder of the horses as they ran down the center of the village, and in half a dozen buildings, he saw the mounted men would come around the corner of Umdrac between him, the highway, and the expansive forest beyond.
Snarling, Rew realized he had no chance of making it to the forest with mounted men coming after him. He turned into the village, squeezing between two fieldstone houses to appear back on the street.
The soldiers on horseback were wheeling outside the village already, trying to head him off, not realizing he’d cut back behind them. The soldiers on foot, struggling in their leather gambesons, sounded a good fifty paces away.
Outside the village, past the soldiers on horseback, Rew saw four shapes running to the forest. It was dark, so they weren’t immediately visible, but there was no cover until they reached the trees. If anyone happened to look that way…
He groaned. Then, Rew shouted at the top of his lungs. “You’ll never catch me, you fools!”
Startled, a soldier on horseback turned, saw Rew, and began calling to his companions.
Rew ran deeper into the village, eyeing the shops as he ran, looking for—He saw a brewery with its windows flung open, likely to cool down the room after cooking wort all day. Rew put on speed, pelting down the road. He ducked behind another home. Using the cover of it and the building next to it, he scrambled up the side of the fieldstone wall. He reached up, caught a handful of thatch, and hauled himself onto the roof. Placing his feet carefully, he moved across the weather-beaten grass, glad it wasn’t fresh thatch that would catch his boots as they sank into it.
On fingers and toes, distributing his weight as evenly as he could, Rew scrambled like a cat over the peak of the roof to the other side. Looking around and seeing no soldiers in view, he leapt across to the adjacent rooftop and crawled over that one as well. He made it across two more roofs, both times having to duck and flatten himself against the thatch while soldiers raced below. Then, he dropped in between buildings next to the brewery. He clambered up the wall and squeezed through the open window.
Inside, he saw vats where wort was being cooked, sacks of barley and hops, and racks of barrels where fresh brewed product was stored. There was a cart near the doorway stacked with a huge barrel that could have been for the inn and several jugs that may have been for citizens of the village. Rew picked up one of the jugs, walked to the racks of barrels, and climbed to the top of them. He clambered to the far corner and plopped down on top of a barrel. It was an hour after sunset and near pitch black inside of the brewery.
With the jug in his lap, Rew crossed his arms, gripping his opposite elbows in his hands. He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, and pulled the darkness around himself in a fog of concealment. Breathing in and out, he gathered the shadows like a thick blanket and covered his body, starting at his legs and drawing the darkness higher. He could feel the shadow clinging to him, heavy, like a quilt of spiderwebs, and he felt the energy leak from his body as if his vigor was pouring out of a sieve. When finally he felt he could barely move, that the blanket of darkness was so heavy it threatened to suffocate him, he stopped and opened his eyes.
The room looked normal to him, just a hint of shadow in his peripheral vision, but for anyone coming inside, unless they came close with a lantern or a torch, the back corner he sat in would appear utterly black.
Rew unstopped the jug and took a sip. The ale, cool in the evening air from the open window, slid down his throat like nectar.
Outside, he heard the shouts of dozens of soldiers, their horses stamping and snorting. They were banging on doors, demanding entry. One by one, they started to search the buildings of Umdrac. Eventually, they entered the brewery and spent some time poking around, looking beneath the racks of barrels and behind the vats of wort. Twice more throughout the evening, soldiers came in and searched for him, but whenever their gaze roved toward the top of the barrels, they saw nothing but darkness.
Rew sat in his spell-crafted cocoon and sipped his ale, waiting until the soldiers stopped their search. Shortly after the village grew quiet, he fell asleep, his head resting in the crook of two stone walls in the corner, his bottom on top of a giant ale barrel.
6
Rew raised a fist to cover a yawn and sat up, wincing at a terrible crick in his back. A weight shifted in his lap, rolled, and then dropped. The half-empty ale jug bounced off a barrel, clunked against a rack, and then shattered on the floor of the brewery.
“King’s Sake,” muttered Rew, glancing around the dimly lit room.
The first strands of dawn were leaking through the open windows. He could hear birds chirping outside, the lowing of cattle waiting to be milked, the bray of a donkey, and little else.
The recollection of the previous evening seeped through him like hot water through coffee grounds. He decided it was past time to go. He climbed off the barrel and dropped into the center of the room. He took a moment to stretch, working the blood back into his muscles, knowing he might have to move quickly. Wiggling back out the open window, he peered around but saw nothing amiss.
Stalking like he was on a hunt in the forest, Rew crept to the street that ran down the center of Umdrac and glanced each way. He could hear the whinny of horses, but they sounded like they were in the stable behind one of the inns. There were signs that a few residents of Umdrac had risen, but only a pair of men were at the far end of the street
. None of Duke Eeron’s soldiers were in sight. All the same, Rew went to the backs of the buildings.
Eyes darting around, he crouched and hurried into the grass, keeping low, placing his feet with care to leave minimal trace. Like the wind, he weaved through the dew-damp emerald blades. When he got to the edge of the village, he spotted two, ochre-clad soldiers standing on the side of the road. They were speaking in low voices to each other and stomping their boots, trying to keep their toes warm.
Rew considered sneaking up behind them and bashing them over their heads, but decided it would be best if he left no evidence at all that he’d still been in the village. He watched and waited until it was clear the pair were spending little time looking around. They’d been on duty for hours, he guessed, and with the pre-dawn glow, they knew their watch would be over soon.
Rew scampered another hundred paces down the road to cross. With a backward glance at the soldiers to ensure they weren’t chancing a stray look his way, he sprinted across the dirt tract.
Moving carefully and keeping low, he slithered away through the grass from the road to the tree line of the forest. When he got there, he stood, covering himself behind a thick trunk, and breathing a sigh of relief. He paused for some time, making sure there was no pursuit, and then he moved deeper into the autumn forest, stepping carefully on the leaf-strewn ground, hoping the bare branches gave him enough cover.
Finding the trail left by Anne and the younglings took only a few moments. They’d snapped dead branches as they brushed by trees, left scuffs in the dirt from careless boots, disturbed fallen leaves, and kicked over rocks, marking a path as easy for Rew to follow as the highway between Falvar and Spinesend.
As he walked, he tried to obscure the signs, pushing rocks back to where they had rested, snapping branches in other directions, shifting leaves over boot prints, but there was only so much he could do. If Duke Eeron’s scout, Rodger, was worth a position as a ranger in Eastwatch, he’d have little difficulty finding the trail. Grimacing, Rew left off his efforts to hide the signs and hurried ahead. Stealth wasn’t an option, so he may as well hurry.
