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

by AC Cobble

  “You were locked in the cell because you attempted to steal from Anne!” snapped Rew. “What, are you also accusing me of forcing you from Yarrow and taking up a life of crime? That was your choice, lad, and I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t even know you existed until I found you in that cell, and I’m the one who rescued you after you were taken from there—by Worgon’s thugs, lest we forget. Over and over, I’m the one pulling you from the burning buildings you keep walking into.”

  “Aye, you didn’t put us in the cell, and you rescued us when we were taken from there, but you didn’t let us out of the cell, did you?” argued Raif. “Maybe those thugs didn’t work for Baron Worgon at all. Even you said that a few days back, didn’t you? Maybe they—Cinda told me they never said who they were working for. Could have been you, for all I know!”

  Rew snorted. “Maybe they didn’t work for Worgon. You’re right, we all just assumed that, and I know you were unconscious lad, but think about it. Why in the Blessed Mother’s kind earth would I hire a gang of thugs to kidnap you from my own jail?”

  “To gain our trust,” declared Raif, glancing away, as if even in the midst of his outrage, he knew that sounded ridiculous.

  Cinda put a hand on his shoulder, but he refused to look at his sister.

  “Raif, you’re letting your anger cloud your thoughts,” warned Anne.

  “None of what has happened has been my choice,” said Rew, forcing himself to be calm. “I only want the best for you, lad. What reason would I have for any sort of conspiracy?”

  “You tell me what reason, Ranger,” snarled Raif, brushing Cinda’s hand away and glaring at Rew. “You’re the one who keeps speaking about how the princes are interested in us, how everyone will come for us. Why is that? What value do we hold for—Ah. Ah yes. It’s obvious, isn’t it? You want us for yourself. What, Ranger, will you sell us to the highest bidder? Use us for… for the same thing they would?”

  Rew could only shake his head. “I don’t have any agenda except for helping you and your sister. I’ve risked my life for you, which you’d see plainly if you thought about it. Surely, with all we’ve been through, you know I’m here to help—so let me do it!”

  Raif shook his head. “I think I’m just about done with your help, Ranger.”

  “You’re being foolish,” said Anne, “and you’re going to get yourself and your sister killed.”

  “Am I?” said Raif, his nostrils flaring, his face flushed. “Am I being foolish? What good has following any of your advice done me? If we did everything you said, we’d be leaving Father to die. Wasn’t that your advice?”

  “Raif,” said Cinda, putting her hand back on her brother’s shoulder, “they’re not our enemy.”

  “I’m not so sure,” stated the boy, picking up his cider and quaffing it in three large gulps.

  “They are right, Raif. If it wasn’t for their help, you’d be in the hands of our true enemies,” reminded Cinda. “I watched the ranger carry you three leagues down that road to Eastwatch, and I watched the empath heal you. I watched it more than once, Raif! If it wasn’t for them, we could have died from that attack the spellcaster launched in father’s throne room. We witnessed Rew fight the man who killed Mother, remember? And if it wasn’t for them, the Dark Kind might have overrun Falvar. I spoke to the soldiers after you left. Rew is the one who led the defense of our city. He fought for us and our people. He killed… You saw the imps in the throne room. You felt the spell Alsayer unleashed against us and saw what he did to Mother and Father. Rew didn’t plan this, Raif. He didn’t want us to leave Falvar. It was you who left in the middle of the night, alone. Rew followed because I asked him to. He fought his own superior, and he’s still healing from the wounds he took! Rew is not plotting against us, Raif. If he meant us harm, he could accomplish it by simply letting us go our own way.”

  “Thank you,” murmured Rew, nodding appreciatively to the girl.

  “You may mean well for us, Ranger, but you are keeping secrets,” said Cinda, turning back to glare at the ranger and stabbing a finger toward him. “You haven’t told us the whole truth, have you?”

  Rew winced. She was right, and there wasn’t much he could say to argue against it.

  “Are you both committed to helping us still?” asked Cinda, looking between Rew and Anne.

  “Of course,” said Anne. She leaned over and elbowed Rew in the ribs.

  “Yes,” said Rew, studiously ignoring Anne.

  “Then let us discuss this matter between ourselves, and we’ll tell you what we decide to do,” said Cinda.

  “What you decide?” questioned Rew.

  Cinda nodded.

  “Well, that doesn’t make any sense,” argued Rew. “We’ll help you rescue your father, but not—“

  “Come on, Rew,” said Anne. “Let’s give them time to think this over.”

  Grunting, Rew picked up his ale mug and the pitcher. The pitcher was empty, so scowling at the table, he sat it down and left with Anne. Behind them, he heard Cinda telling Zaine to stay. Muttering under his breath, Rew followed the empath to the bar and settled his back against it with both elbows on the counter.

  “Another pitcher,” he said to the barman. He glanced at Anne. “And a wine for the lady.”

  The barman walked off to fill their orders.

  Rew leaned toward Anne. “They’re being foolish.”

  “Are they?” asked Anne.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We hadn’t told them about their father and about Worgon,” reminded the empath. “That’s important information, Rew, and we’d been keeping it from them. I see now we should have told them what we know. If we want them to trust us, we have to show we’re trustworthy.”

  Rew shook his head. “They know now, and see where that is getting everyone? It’s just confusing them. This entire exercise is foolish, dangerous. It will only be worse if we let the children decide what the next steps are.”

  Anne snorted. “It’s their lives. It’s their father we’re trying to rescue. We have to let them decide what to do. That’s for the best, Rew.”

  “Best for who? They’ve abandoned their barony, their people. What about those folk!”

  “And if they’d stayed in Falvar as you wanted, then what? When Duke Eeron’s soldiers arrived there, do you think it would go better or worse for the people if the Fedgley children were behind the walls? Would Raif and Cinda have turned themselves over to a man they suspected of kidnapping their father, or would they have fought? Fleeing Falvar might have been the smartest decision any of us has made since this started. By leaving the city, they gave themselves a chance, and they likely prevented open warfare and saved hundreds of lives.”

  Rew frowned at her. The barman returned with their drinks, and Rew refilled his ale mug. He drank, and Anne let him think. After half of his mug, he conceded, “We had no way of knowing that Duke Eeron was on the march. Of course, if we’d known he was coming, my advice would have been to flee. The duke has no ill will toward the people of Falvar, just its leaders. As long as they aren’t there, there is no conflict. You’re right about that, at least, but—“

  “So the children made the right decision, did they?” interrupted Anne.

  “That’s unfair!” claimed Rew. “We didn’t know what was coming.”

  She poked him in the ribs again with a finger. “Aye, and they didn’t know about their father’s plotting and how Worgon may not be their enemy. If more information would have helped you to make the right decision, then why wouldn’t it help them do the same?”

  Rew tilted up his ale mug, hiding his face with it.

  Anne lifted her wine and turned to study the room.

  Flummoxed, the ranger set down his mug and said nothing.

  “It looks like they’re arguing,” said Anne, looking toward the youths in the corner.

  “What if they decide to go to Worgon?”

  “Then we’ll accompany them.”

  “I have responsibilit
ies in the territory,” muttered the ranger.

  “And responsibilities here,” said Anne. “We’ve committed to helping the children, Rew. Besides, I know you already wrote to Blythe. What’d you tell her, that Vyar Grund tried to kill you and you’ll be resuming your duties just as soon as you can get rid of the nobles? Come on, Rew. You made your choice, and it’s sealed in blood now.”

  He didn’t reply.

  “You told me, they’re at the heart of it,” continued Anne. “It’s not just about them. If Prince Valchon or one of the others gets their hands on Cinda, what will they do with her? I know you have your suspicions.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Wraiths let loose in a major city, or is it worse than that, Rew?” wondered Anne. “A necromancer is a powerful pawn in the game of the Investiture, but I worry… What do you know? What are you not telling even me?”

  Rew looked away.

  “Didn’t we just talk about keeping secrets?” demanded Anne.

  “I can’t,” he said. “I can’t tell you.”

  “There is more, isn’t there? You know why the princes want Baron Fedgley and Cinda, don’t you?”

  “I have a suspicion,” whispered Rew.

  “Then tell me,” insisted Anne.

  “I can’t.”

  Anne snatched up her wine mug and turned to go back to the younglings. “You frustrate me, Senior Ranger.”

  “I know.”

  “Whatever they decide to do, you will help. Whether it’s leaving here at dawn or going to see Worgon in his keep, you will help,” declared Anne. Then, she left him alone at the bar.

  Rew didn’t reply as she walked away. Whatever the children decided, he was certain that it would be foolish, just as the entire enterprise was foolish. But she was right; he would help. He had to, now. He could feel the pull of the Investiture on his soul, dragging him down, deeper into the whirlpool. There, at the bottom of that swirling maelstrom, was the reason that the princes wanted Cinda and her father.

  He’d help, but he worried about how many might die because of it.

  Leaning on the bar, Rew drank his ale in silence.

  The mud and timber structures of Yarrow rose around them as they marched down the wide boulevard, keeping as close to the center as they could. The streets were bricked, but it had poured rain the night before, so the gutters beside the paving were filled with refuse washed from the alleyways and behind the homes and the shops. It smelled dank, the stench lying over the city like a blanket.

  Rubbing her delicate nose, Cinda murmured, “Up in the keep, the air felt fresher.”

  Rew nodded. “That’s the way it is with nobility. Sit up in your towers, divorced from the filth and the stench that washes below you.”

  “You’ve made your point, Ranger,” responded the young noblewoman crisply.

  “Not well enough, it seems,” groused Rew.

  “Baron Worgon is allied with Prince Valchon,” said Cinda. Without waiting for a response, she continued, “And our father was also allied with Prince Valchon. That’s what you told me. I understand your concern about the princes and the risk involved with becoming known to them, but the choices have already been made! Our family—and Baron Worgon who you think we can trust—are supporters of Valchon. Whether the prince will ignore us or use us, we can at least be certain he wants us alive! Can we say the same for whoever stands behind Duke Eeron? You were right all along, Ranger. We cannot face Duke Eeron alone, so what better ally than a prince?”

  “It’s not so simple,” complained Rew. “I did not say you can trust Baron Worgon and you certainly cannot trust Prince Valchon. Bah, it’s the Investiture, lass. Allies, enemies, they’re not all that different! You shouldn’t trust any of them.”

  “Maybe not,” allowed Cinda, “but if we can tell Prince Valchon where our father is, then perhaps the prince will rescue him. We’re not trusting the prince to do the right thing because it’s the right thing, but because his interest aligns with ours. Is that a worse plan than going to Spinesend and trying to rescue Father ourselves? Don’t you see what I mean?”

  Rew grunted and did not respond. He saw what she meant, and he understood why the nobles had decided as they had, but he didn’t agree with their decision. Just because they hadn’t actually heard Baron Worgon plotting against their family didn’t mean he never had, and freeing Baron Fedgley would not be the end of their problems; it would only create more of them. Whichever prince was behind Duke Eeron wasn’t going to simply forget about the baron once he’d been sprung free. But Rew couldn’t find the words to explain himself to the nobles. In their view, family meant supporting each other no matter what, and he wasn’t going to be able to talk them out of it. It didn’t matter that the world simply did not work the way they wanted it to.

  “I’m glad you’re with us,” said Cinda, “even if we’re not taking your advice.”

  Rew offered a bitter smile and rolled his shoulders. Several blocks ahead of them rose Yarrow’s keep, the seat of Baron Worgon. Right or wrong, that was where they were going, and, terrible idea or not, he’d agreed to help.

  “You don’t talk much, do you?” pestered Cinda.

  “Not when I can help it.”

  “Then let us do the talking when we get inside,” instructed the noblewoman.

  She strode to the front of their party, and she and Raif led the way to the gates of Baron Worgon’s keep. Half a dozen guards stood there, and through the open doors, Rew could see dozens more moving about, ferrying supplies, training, and preparing for battle.

  Now that they were next to the keep and past the clangor of the rest of Yarrow, they could hear the constant ring of hammers on steel as blacksmiths rushed to fashion more weapons or repair old ones. A group of boys ran by the open gates, bundles of recently fletched arrows on their backs. The battlements above were well-patrolled by armored soldiers, and Rew judged by Raif’s low whistle that none of this was normal for Yarrow.

  On the river side of the city, they’d noticed nothing out of place, but now Rew wondered what they would see on the western side. That side faced Spinesend. Were soldiers staging there, preparing to march, or did Worgon have them working to shore up the city’s defenses? It was clear from the little activity they could see through the open gate that Worgon was aware of what was happening elsewhere in the duchy and he was doing his best to prepare.

  “No one inside unless you have official business,” called one of the guards in front of the gate.

  “I am Raif Fedgley,” declared the boy. “I am here to see Baron Worgon.”

  The guard looked him up and down. His voice—his entire demeanor—dripping with doubt, the guard asked, “You’re the son of Baron Fedgley?”

  “I am,” confirmed Raif, puffing his chest out and nearly standing on his tiptoes trying to draw himself up.

  Rew glanced at Anne and rolled his eyes. Nobles, without their velvets and silks, without their embroidery and sparkling jewelry, looked much the same as everyone else.

  “I’m his sister, Cinda Fedgley,” declared Cinda. “We fostered here not long ago. Surely one of you recognizes us?”

  The guards shifted, the men looking at each other as if they wondered whether it was possible the two, travel-stained youths in front of them could possibly be nobility. They must have been weighing that chance against the trouble they would find if they brought the worn-looking pair in front of a senior officer.

  Finally, one of them took the initiative and spoke. “I’m sorry, but if you’re Baron Fedgley’s children, why are you dressed like that? I’ve seen Baron Fedgley’s brood, and they dress just as fine as any other noble. Pardon the thought, but you two look like you’ve been swimming in pig mud.”

  Cinda coughed, and Rew grinned, imagining how bright red her face must be.

  Raif reached over his shoulder and wrapped his hand around the hilt of his family’s enchanted greatsword. “We are who we say we are, and if I hear you insult us again—“

  “B
oy,” warned one of the guards, his hand moving to his own sword hilt, “don’t think to draw steel on us.”

  Raif did not draw his blade, but he didn’t let go of it, either.

  Anne leaned toward Rew and shoved him on the back. Sighing, he stepped beside the two nobles.

  “I am Rew, the King’s Ranger,” he said. “I request an immediate conference with Baron Worgon.”

  The soldiers eyed him up and down. Their leader asked, “Are these two who they say they are?”

  “They are,” confirmed Rew.

  “Very well, then,” responded the soldier. “Fall in. I’ll take you to Seneschal Kaleb, and he’ll either grant you an audience or not.”

  Rew nodded and followed the soldier as he took them through the gates, across the busy courtyard, and into the keep.

  “King’s Sake,” muttered Raif. “Why’d he let you right in when he was ready to throw us down the street like a pair of snot-nosed pig farmers?”

  “Men see what’s in front of them and rarely any deeper,” Rew replied back in a whisper. “I’m dressed like the King’s Ranger, and I carry myself as such. You’ve the attitude of a noble, but right now, you’re wearing the uniform of a snot-nosed pig farmer.”

  Behind them, Anne laughed, and Raif offered a sheepish grin. The big youth brushed his clothing, little more than tattered rags after their time on the road, and then he reached up to pull his hair back behind his head. He claimed, “Perhaps my attire is that of a pig farmer, but this is the face of nobility.”

  Despite himself and the seriousness of their situation, Rew chortled and shook his head. “A visage all snot-nosed farmers would be jealous of, m’lord. Never again shall I imagine you in the muck, tending to pigs.”

  His grin faltering along with his bluster from earlier, Raif looked ahead to the massive doors of Baron Worgon’s throne room. “No, but maybe being a farmer wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

  “Not bad at all,” agreed Rew. He reached out and squeezed the young noble’s shoulder before letting go and looking ahead as they walked into the keep.

  At a delicate desk perched right outside of the throne room sat Seneschal Kaleb. The slender man looked up, saw the party crossing the expansive foyer, and leapt to his feet, accidentally spilling a jar of ink across the documents he’d been working on and tipping his chair over backward. He didn’t give the mess a second glance.