The Ranger's Path: The King's Ranger Book 2

by AC Cobble

  Cinda scowled at him.

  “I hate to admit it, but the ranger is right,” declared Raif. “Cinda, we have to reach Father. What other direction could we have gone? Once we saw Duke Eeron’s army on the road, it was pretty obvious we weren’t going that way.”

  “Not to mention,” said Zaine, waving her hand around them, “we’re on the river, and if you haven’t noticed, the mountains are already rising around us. If there was a choice before, we don’t have it now.”

  “Get some rest, everyone,” suggested Rew. “By dawn, you’re going to need it.”

  The hull of their ketch thumped against a barely submerged rock, and the younglings’ eyes blinked open. Deep between the chalk-white rock of the cleft in the Spine, it was still dim, though it was two hours past dawn. Rew had allowed the others to sleep because he was going to need them rested if their slender ketch was going to make it through the difficult rapids ahead of them.

  For a brief moment, after the first rays of sunlight crept down the walls of the mountain around them, Rew had regretted the decision to find a watercraft. But, as they’d discussed the night before, there really hadn’t been a choice. Dangerous or not, it was the path that they were on.

  “What time is it?” mumbled Raif, looking around confused.

  “Two hours past dawn,” replied Rew. “Soon, I’m going to need one of you to grab an oar and stand at the prow. Be ready to push us off anything that looks bigger than a dog.”

  “What?” asked Zaine. Then, she jumped as the hull of the boat scraped against another rock.

  “Sorry,” said Rew, leaning hard on the tiller. “Not all of the rocks rise above the surface.”

  Cinda, wide-eyed, glanced over the edge of the boat into the clear water racing below them. “Should we be worried?”

  Rew shrugged. “A little bit.”

  The noblewoman blinked at him.

  Their craft picked up speed as the walls of the Spine narrowed around them and the water was forced through at a higher velocity. Cold, damp air gusted over Rew’s scalp, and he could feel the spray misting against his skin when the water poured over rocks, tumbling and churning its way through the heart of the mountain.

  Deciding it was best to assign tasks rather than waiting for the younglings to volunteer, Rew asked, “Zaine, can you grab one of those oars? Sit at the front of the boat and put out the handle. If we’re headed for a hard collision, try to deflect us.”

  “I-I think I can,” she stammered.

  “Deflection is the key,” advised Rew. “Don’t slam the oar straight into the rock, or it’s going to pop right out of your hands. Just push enough that the keel doesn’t crash straight on. We’re lucky this boat is well-built. It can survive a few scrapes, but we don’t want to risk a direct collision at speed.”

  Swallowing nervously, Zaine freed the oar with Raif’s help and then scampered to the front of the boat where she nestled the oar in the crook of her arm like one of the knights of old atop a charger facing down a jousting lane.

  Rew grinned, shaking his head at the image of the slender thief ready to stand between their fast-moving boat and the immovable rocks. He’d seen a spare oar along the floor of the boat, which helped. If she lost that one or it shattered, they had a backup.

  Anne began passing out breakfast to the younglings and asked Rew if he wanted to be relieved at the tiller. He smiled at her and shook his head. He was tired, having stayed up the entire night guiding them down the channel, but the chill air and the cool spray from the river was keeping him awake. It felt good to be facing the challenges of nature rather than those of men.

  After the nobles ate, Raif took Zaine’s place at the front so the thief could break her fast. Anne moved to the back and offered Rew a bite of green-veined, white cheese. He let her feed him, keeping his hands on the tiller, steering them clear of the rocks that he could see over the prow.

  Raif, taking to his duties at the front with zest, banged his oar against submerged rocks they were in danger of striking, as well as ones Rew had already steered them clear of. The oar was going to be cracked and worthless once the boy was done with it, but it was a stolen boat, so Rew supposed it shouldn’t concern him. Bouncing and jostling, they floated down the river, carried on the swift current as the walls of the Spine rose overhead.

  “How many passes are there through this mountain range?” wondered Zaine, looking up at the sliver of sky above them.

  “There’s a reason it’s called the Spine,” responded Rew, leaning against the wooden tiller, steering them wide of a giant hunk of rock that stuck two paces above the water. “When you consider the entire expanse of the mountain range there are quite a few low points. If you could see the entire stretch at once, it would look like vertebra.”

  “Vertebra?”

  “Have you ever felt the curve of a lover’s back with your fingers?” asked Rew.

  “No,” muttered Zaine.

  Rew blinked then said, “Ah… good. That’s good. Well, you will one day, won’t you? When you do, after you’re old enough, you’ll feel that their backbone is segmented. It’s actually made up of about thirty individual bones, all stuck together with distinct ridges.”

  Zaine frowned at him.

  “Feel your own back now,” suggested Rew.

  “I’ve felt my own back, Ranger,” responded Zaine crisply. “I do bathe, you know.”

  He grinned. “Those bumps you feel look a bit like this mountain range. That’s one of the reasons why they call it the Spine.”

  “And the other?”

  “Because the stone has the look of old bone,” said Rew. “It’s as if some giant fell across the land, the flesh rotted away, and the mountain is what remains.”

  Turning to look at the wall of chalky rock they were passing, Zaine grunted.

  “It’s more of a finger, isn’t it?” asked Anne. “The three major ranges in Vaeldon are like the fingers of a giant. That’s the way I heard it, as if a creature of old slapped down a hand and died there, forming the bones of this kingdom.”

  “Slapped a hand down or clenched it, trying to gather up the soil of this continent,” said Rew.

  Anne looked at him curiously.

  “I’ve never heard that,” said Cinda. “It’s funny, the stories people invent to explain the unknown.”

  Rew kept his eyes ahead and did not respond.

  The walls of the Spine rose, and the speed of the river’s current increased. They saw a few other vessels, mostly slow, narrow barges reinforced with heavy wooden spars and armored with thick rope bumpers. Rew eyed the bumpers, frowning. He’d forgotten that the ships that made the journey south did so with protection.

  Uniformly, those other vessels were new wood, hastily assembled into something resembling a boat, and then shipped downriver where they would be disassembled in the south. That, or they were old crafts making their final journey. None of the boats would be returning north against the rapids after the trip through the Spine, and as they got farther, Rew saw that disconcertingly, there was plenty of evidence many didn’t even make it to the south.

  There were shattered beams sticking up from beside rocks, and the strewn wreckage of vessels washed up on the sides of the channel. Flotsam, most of it weathered and old, scattered in various points where the force of the current couldn’t rip it free. The eyes of their fellow travelers on the river as they passed the slower barges and the concerned looks they got did little to salve Rew’s nerves, but none of the people they saw spoke. On the river, it seemed it was every craft for itself.

  “You’re sure this is safe?” asked Cinda, her voice cracking as her brother thrust forward with his oar, leaning into the blow, jolting his shoulder and knocking their boat off course where it swept a hand’s-span away from a massive, looming rock.

  The water flowed over the white stone like a bubble bursting from beneath the river, a kraken raising its head. Pouring around the rock, the water shot them along a slide at terrific speed. Rew clung to the ti
ller, trying to steer them, but the water took their craft where it wanted.

  “The rocks are smooth from the constant rush of water,” he offered, a grin plastered on his face. “It could be worse.”

  “Are you enjoying this?” asked Anne, her face a little pale, her knuckles stark white where she clutched the gunwale of the skiff.

  “No, of course not!” protested Rew, glancing ahead to where the water jetted between two towering boulders. “I suggest you hold on tight for this next bit.”

  Anne spun, looking ahead and cursing.

  “You always told me not to say the Blessed Mother’s name in vain,” called Rew over the roar of the water.

  “I’m offering her a prayer,” snapped Anne.

  “Didn’t sound like a prayer,” mumbled Rew.

  Anne raised a hand and made a rather rude gesture at him without looking. If she added a comment, Rew couldn’t hear over the growing roar of the river. She slapped her hand back down, holding on tight as they flew into the gap between the rocks. Suddenly, she and the younglings shrieked. They dropped several paces on the torrent of churning water and they flew ahead like they’d been launched from a crossbow.

  When the roar of the river subsided, Rew laughed, thinking that none of the words still pouring from Anne’s mouth sounded anything at all like a proper prayer.

  8

  Anne leaned against the tiller, hardly having to touch it as the craft wallowed downriver. The banks were wide and the current swirled in lazy eddies, sluggishly propelling them forward. Above, their sail flapped listlessly, the wind only slightly stronger than the drag of the river.

  Sweat pouring down his brow and cheeks in the autumn air, Rew bent again and filled the cook pot. Water sloshed in the bottom of the boat halfway up to his calves, and for a brief moment, he tried to guess if it was rising or if he was keeping up with it. He grunted, lifted the cook pot, and poured the water over the gunwale.

  “I think you’re losing the battle, Rew,” remarked Anne coolly.

  Not responding, he bent again, filled the pot, and dumped another load out of their slowly sinking ketch.

  “That trip through the rapids wasn’t so fun now, was it?” asked Anne.

  “We made it,” replied Rew.

  “We made it through the rapids,” retorted Anne. “I’m not certain we’ll make it to Yarrow at this rate.”

  “Another few hours,” said Rew over the splash of another pot-load of water dumping into the river. “Maybe half a day. You think… the sails?”

  “What do you expect me to do with the sails when there’s no wind, Senior Ranger?” asked Anne. “If the wind blows, we’ll catch it, but until then, we’ve only the current to carry us since we shattered all of our oars. We might be halfway to the river bottom by the time we see the walls of the city.”

  Rew kept bailing and did not respond.

  Sitting on the sides of the vessel, Zaine and Cinda looked on grimly at the ranger’s work. Raif crouched in the prow, his head in his hands, his back heaving with laborious breaths. Water was up to the boy’s knees, but he looked as if he didn’t notice. For hours, he’d been bailing as well, but the young fighter’s spirit was fading beneath the relentless leak of water coming into their craft. It was a well-made boat, but they were not skilled sailors. The run down the rapids through the heart of the Spine had finally taken its toll, and they’d sprung several leaks in the bottom of the boat. Rew had tried stuffing the gaps with their clothing, but it’d been no use, so they had started to bail.

  The girls had helped for a time, trying to relieve Rew and Raif, but constantly lifting the heavy pot-fulls of water had quickly worn them out. They’d discussed Anne’s healing to sustain them, but while she could take the pain from sore muscles, she couldn’t replace the energy they had expended, and it was dangerous to push too hard while her healing masked the damage being done to the body.

  Rew felt like he was close to collapse as well, but their boat was leaking and someone had to dump the water out. He kept his back bent, lifting pot-fulls of water and pouring them over the side. For several more hours, he kept at it, struggling to keep up with the leak. When they could, Raif or the girls would get a spurt of motivation and assist, but quickly, they’d wear out again.

  Finally, Rew felt the stir of a breeze, and the northern wind caught their sails, flapping the canvass above his head, and shoving their boat forward, the keel plowing stubbornly through the water like a pregnant sturgeon. With the wind, Rew felt his hopes rising, and it gave him the motivation to prevent the water from doing so. Splash after splash, he kept them afloat, and with the wind at their backs, it wasn’t long before they cleared a final, ten-story tall outcropping of pale white rock to round a bend and see the sprawling mass of Yarrow.

  The city was the size of Falvar, but where that place had been built for defense against the nomadic people in the north and the wraiths that followed after the great wars, Yarrow had been built for commerce. As the easternmost city of any size and with its position on the river south of the Spine, it traded enough to be a major force in the region, though it was no Spinesend.

  The walls served more to hold the mass of the city together than to provide an adequate defense. They rose only a third the height of Falvar’s, and behind those walls, they could see the wooden beam and mortar homes and shops of Yarrow. The roofs of the common places had cedar shingles, while the palaces and guildhalls were topped with slate. The clatter of people, animals, and a decent-sized port reached the party even from a league distant on the water. It seemed peaceful enough from afar. There were no legions of soldiers manning the walls, no smoke or other signs of warfare, and no patrol boats darting out from around the port to assess the new arrivals.

  Rew paused his bailing and scratched his beard. Patrol boats. He should have thought of that. He held a hand above his brow and scanned the vessels around the dock, but saw no cause for alarm, so he bent back to bailing.

  “Where are we going, Rew?” asked Anne, pushing hard on the tiller to try and aim the water-logged craft toward the city.

  “Left side of the port,” gasped Rew, hauling up another pot-full of water. “That’s where the wealthy merchants and nobility dock.”

  “Baron Worgon’s pleasure cruises always departed from there,” confirmed Cinda.

  “Should we, ah, avoid that area, then?” questioned Zaine. “Surely the rich folk will have their boats guarded.”

  “It’s all guarded,” grunted Rew. “If we hold our noses high enough in the air, the guards won’t give us any bother. Over on the commercial side, the port master will be on us like a dog on a bone until we pay wharfage fees and explain who we are and why we’re arriving in a sinking boat.”

  Zaine glanced at Cinda.

  The young noblewoman shrugged. She told the thief, “I wouldn’t have phrased it like that, but as long as we act—“

  “Arrogant,” interjected Rew.

  Cinda sighed and continued, “As long as we act like we belong, the guards will probably give us no bother. They’ll be more concerned that we actually are nobles and that they might offend us than whatever we’re up to. No one else will be stupid enough to dock a sinking vessel at Worgon’s private dock unless they have permission.”

  “That’s right, no one but us,” declared Rew.

  All four of the others scowled at him. He winked back.

  When they did arrive at the dock, right next to Baron Worgon’s own pleasure barge, three soldiers appeared to question them.

  “This is a private dock,” called one of the men.

  “We’re here for Baron Worgon’s fête!” exclaimed Cinda. “His seneschal Kaleb invited us to dock here.”

  “Kaleb…” muttered the soldier, looking at his companions. “I don’t know of any fête…”

  “Of course not,” said Cinda, stumbling as the boat crashed into the side of the dock. She looked back at Anne. “Really?”

  Anne shrugged. “It’s been awhile since I’ve brought a boat
to dock.”

  Snorting, Cinda hefted her pack and then stepped onto the dock, pushing the soldiers back with her presence. “Can you tell me, have the tents been set up on the south lawn yet? I was told by Kaleb the party will spill out there from the ballroom. I mean to sneak in through the conservatory to avoid Worgon. That’s the quickest way from the docks, is it not? The way the baron himself comes and goes without causing a fuss amongst the commoners?”

  The soldiers looked at each other, raising their eyebrows, evidently surprised this pugnacious girl knew the details of the keep so well.

  “Ah… m’lady,” said one of the soldiers. “Your craft appears to be in some amount of disrepair.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Cinda, bowling over the man’s words. “I’ve already had words with my captain about it, and rest assured, he’ll be strapped at the earliest possible convenience. Now, as I’m certain you must have been told, the fête is meant to be a surprise for the baron, so I insist you keep our arrival secret. We’ve come all of the way from Carff, and it’d be a shame if the surprise was ruined.”

  “Well, actually…“ began the third guard.

  Cinda waved a hand in his face. “Ask your questions of Kaleb. It’s that fool man’s job to answer such queries, after all. I simply do not have the time today.”

  Clambering from the vessel behind her, the rest of the party stood on the dock.

  “Boy,” said Cinda, turning to her brother and giving him a wink, “attend to my luggage.”

  Smirking, Raif scooped up Cinda’s canvas rucksack and bowed his head.

  The girl strode toward the soldiers. They scrambled away to prevent her from running into them, and with three open-mouthed soldiers behind her, Cinda led the party down the dock and into the city of Yarrow.

  Yarrow was a city of mud and timber where Falvar was of stone and iron. The streets were paved in an endless procession of bricks, the buildings constructed of massive, milled beams and clapboard siding or stucco. Rew thought stone would have been a more sensible material to build with. It didn’t burn easily, for one, but it was heavier and more difficult to maneuver. It seemed to him that the people of Yarrow took the shortcut of easier construction, knowing it wouldn’t last as long.