The Ranger's Sorrow: The King's Ranger Book 4

by AC Cobble

  “Who built it?”

  Scowling, Lucia spit, “Arcanist Salwart.”

  Rew shifted his grip on his longsword, unsure what to do. Could they let Cinda attempt to operate the device, even though there was ample evidence it might kill her? He didn’t fancy the alternative—fighting an entire company of undead which he could not kill and Cinda could not release.

  “We should have brought Raif,” muttered Rew, glaring at the legionnaire in the doorway. Quickly, he added, “Don’t tell him I said that.”

  “I told you to turn away,” mentioned Lucia suddenly, speaking to Anne. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, but we are where we are. It’s not just my life, you understand? For a failure of this magnitude, the king will follow me into death. I have to protect myself—my soul. I have family, friends, as well. I have to understand and make this right before the king finds out.”

  “Where is Salwart now?” growled Rew.

  Lucia shrugged. “I don’t know. If I knew that, maybe there’d be a way out of this.”

  “Well, we’re not going to let Cinda try and turn this horrific thing on,” declared Rew. “I don’t care what you threaten us with. That’s not going to happen. You can try to fight us, but I’ll tell you, I’m coming for you first. I may not survive against a company of undead, but you won’t survive against me.”

  “A false threat, Ranger,” retorted Lucia. “The king has ties to my soul. If I die, he’ll feel it. You can’t kill me without drawing his attention. To be frank, that’s why I haven’t killed myself. When he feels me die violently, how quickly do you think he’ll be here?”

  “Is that true?” asked Anne when Rew did not respond to Lucia’s threat.

  “It could be,” admitted Rew. “The king is capable of it, though he doesn’t bind every one of his minions.”

  “You don’t have any choices,” suggested Lucia. “You cannot kill me without bringing the king. You can’t fight against an entire company of his dead. You can’t even get out of this room without facing them. I didn’t want to drag Anne into this, but you forced my hand, so let’s be done with it. Lass, summon your strength, and flip the switch. We’ll find out what Arcanist Salwart has accomplished here. Are he and Prince Heindaw able to raise the dead?”

  The nameless woman gagged and coughed.

  Lucia gave her an exasperated look.

  “You shouldn’t have said that,” growled the nameless woman.

  “Shouldn’t have said what?” questioned Lucia.

  “There are, ah, enchantments I have heard of,” stammered the nameless woman, “where one can detect when one’s name is spoken. You said the prince’s name. If he’s behind the construction of this device, then you may have drawn his attention.”

  “How do you know that? What did you see?”

  “You’re working for Heindaw,” snarled Rew, spinning to face the nameless woman. “I knew it.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” she snapped.

  “It’s too late for that,” replied Rew, raising his longsword. He paused. “Wait, that didn’t come out the way I meant it.” He shook himself. “If you’re not working for the prince, then how do you know about his enchantments?”

  “You’re being naive,” retorted the nameless woman. “You think they’d put a lock like that upon the door and not inscribe an enchantment to know when it was shattered? Look at it, what’s left of the back. That sigil is—“

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I didn’t think anyone would be stupid enough to say the prince’s name,” growled the nameless woman. Her eyes grew distant and then hard. “Did you hear that? Arcanist Salwart is here, in the Arcanum.”

  “Salwart?” gasped Rew, his thoughts spinning. “How do you know? Hear what? Why would Salwart be here?”

  “He’s here.”

  Rew scowled at her.

  “If the prince was coming, he would have come right into this room. Salwart, though, would have had to use a portal stone. Ah, I see. No one wants to be associated with this, in case the king finds out. That’s why Salwart came without the prince. Like Lucia, they understand the danger of the king learning of what happens here.”

  Rew shifted his stance and held his longsword ready. Half the time, it felt like the nameless woman was talking to herself or to someone they could not see. The other half of the time, she wasn’t making any sense.

  He stepped closer to her. “What is going on?”

  She turned to him. “Arcanist Salwart has arrived in the Arcanum by portal stone. Can’t you hear? It has to be him.”

  Rew quieted, and his heart fell. The nameless woman was right. Somewhere out there, he heard the distinct clash of steel on steel.

  “What’s going on out there?” asked Rew, spinning to Lucia.

  Gripping her iron club tightly in frustration, Lucia replied, “I don’t know. I’m not… I didn’t bind these soldiers. I’m not a necromancer. I was just taught the means to control the company here using a pattern of sounds. I can’t sense what they’re seeing any more than you can.”

  Rew glanced back at the nameless woman.

  “Salwart would rather die than see us leave here. He’ll be a victim of the same fear Lucia has. I believe he’ll have the Sons of the Father from Spinesend with him. He might have enchanted devices. I don’t know.”

  “How could you possibly know—“ began Rew.

  “We don’t have time to talk,” said the nameless woman. “Lucia, can the black legion defend us?”

  “Against what?” snapped the king’s spy. “I can’t direct them to attack what I cannot see. If I’m not careful, they’ll turn on us. The commands I can give are limited, and it’s dangerous to guess. I need to see what we’re up against.”

  “Blessed Mother,” said Rew. “Outside, then. Let’s go outside and get this over with.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The black-clad legionnaire in the doorway turned when Lucia approached. They followed the silent shape outside. It’d grown dark while they had been inside of the building, and only a handful of lights were visible in the Arcanum, all too far away to provide them any illumination.

  Lucia drew close to Rew, and against his drawn longsword, she rapped out a pattern with her iron club. From the shadows, shapes began to emerge, and men garbed in the king’s colors began to form a circle around the party.

  “They’ll defend us against anyone who approaches,” explained Lucia. “They’re terrifically difficult to kill, but they’re slow to respond, and they won’t be aggressive unless I can see a target and direct them to it. It’s more elegant when a necromancer can control them, but this is better than nothing.”

  “These are the missing legionnaires?” asked Rew, studying the backs of the forms nervously.

  “Some of them,” replied Lucia, peering into the dark around them. “I… was given these resources by the Lieutenant General. He, ah, recruited these men for me from the existing allotment at the fort, and added some of his own… men. He’s become embroiled in politics and is aware of what’s happening here.”

  “We need to talk,” said Rew. “The king’s Lieutenant General is aware of this, and hasn’t told the king?”

  “A friend of his, are you?”

  Rew grunted and did not respond.

  “These were given to you? How long does the king bind them for?” wondered Cinda, clinically studying the dark forms around them.

  Lucia shrugged. “As long as he needs them. Fresh bodies are the strongest. They have the most material to animate, but there’s a period where they can be unpleasant to be around. The odor, you understand? After that, the bodies have deteriorated physically so they are weaker, but don’t smell as strongly of rotting flesh. This company has been beneath the Lieutenant General for some years, I imagine. They could have been used for a guard detail in Mordenhold or something like that. Not even the king wants his hallways to smell of the freshly dead.”

  “The king binds the souls for years at a time?” choked Cinda
.

  Giving the young necromancer a tight smile, Lucia replied, “You use the tools you have available the best you are able. This is who you are, lass. Best get used to it.”

  Down the street, they heard another clash of combat, and everyone turned. They couldn’t see anything, but there were heavy crunches and thuds from impacts. There were no shouts, no cries of pain.

  “The dead don’t voice their wounds, but…” murmured Cinda.

  “But their opponents should,” agreed Lucia.

  The woman clutched her iron club like she meant to use it against someone’s skull. Cinda stood close, trails of vapor building around her hands. Anne had her arms crossed over her chest. She looked scared and disturbed at everything she’d been hearing. The nameless woman came beside Rew, her scimitar held ready.

  “Ranger, the Sons of the Father are as talented as I, and they have no more fear of death than the legionnaires. These men worship the Cursed Father, and they think they’ll find comfort in his embrace. Dying in battle isn’t something they’ll try to avoid.”

  “Great.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. They’re still going to try and kill us, but they’ll have no fear. They’ll sacrifice themselves if necessary. Be wary of rash attacks at your front. They’ll give up one of their own to leave you exposed on the side or back.”

  “How do you know all of this?” growled Rew, half an ear cocked to the approaching sounds of fighting.

  “The Sons of the Father trained me. I told you that.”

  “You told us a lot of things,” said Rew, glancing at the woman from the corner of his eye. “I’m questioning how much of it was true.”

  “Trust me on this, at least. It is the Sons of the Father we will face, and they will not fear death.”

  She gave him a toothy smile, and he was about to reiterate just how trustworthy he found her, but out of the darkness came a low whistle.

  “Duck!” shouted Rew.

  A spear swished overhead and thumped onto the weed-strewn street behind them. In front of them, the dark shapes of the king’s black legion lumbered about, some apparently trying to position themselves in front of additional attacks, others vanishing into the gloom, heading toward whoever threw the spear.

  Over the clank of the legionnaires armor, Rew barely heard the next incoming missile and yanked Cinda out of the path of it at the last second. Another came right behind it, and Rew stumbled, cursing.

  “They can see your casting, lass. You’ve got to release it or use it. Sooner or later, one of those is going to hit us.” He called to the nameless woman, “No warning about the spears?”

  She shrugged.

  “Use my spell against what?” Cinda snapped. “I can’t see a thing.”

  “Just fling it down the street,” he ordered.

  “I’ll hit the legionnaires.”

  “They’re already dead,” he reminded her.

  Her eyes sparking with a green glow, Cinda raised her arm and hurled the vapor of death’s breath down the street. It boiled over the backs of the legionnaires, leaving them unharmed, and then vanishing into the dark.

  Another spear came flying out of the gloom in response, but from a different angle, and it smacked harmlessly into the torso of one of their undead guards. Rew thought that, with luck, Cinda had hit someone. The legionnaire turned to face the direction the spear had come, a pace-long shaft of wood sticking straight out from its center.

  “We’ve got to find cover,” snarled Rew, crouched down, ready to spring out of the way of more spears. “Back, everyone. Fall back.”

  They began moving the way they’d come originally when they’d arrived at the Arcanum. Rew thought that if they could gain the wall with its long tunnel, they might improve their chances. The sluggishness of the dead legionnaires wouldn’t matter as much if they didn’t have a lot of ground to cover. It would also limit the sight lines of the spearmen. With their backs against solid stone and steel, Rew would feel better about fighting blind.

  A man, dressed entirely in black, including a hood and mask, burst silently from the dark and struck at one of the shambling legionnaires. He punched the tip of his spear into its side then yanked it free. He twirled the weapon and swept the legionnaire’s feet out from under it.

  The legionnaire crashed to the ground, and the man stepped over the body, raising his spear. Rew advanced, putting himself between their attacker and the others.

  “Be ready to dodge,” he warned, hoping the spear didn’t come at him and Cinda or someone was stupidly standing right behind him when he jumped out of the way.

  The masked man, evidently understanding Rew’s warning to his companions, aimed the spear as if taking Rew’s advice.

  Rew growled, ready to try and knock the weapon down, but before he could, and before the spearman could make his throw, the fallen legionnaire reached up and grasped the spearman’s belt. The spearman looked down, surprised that the legionnaire wasn’t dead, and then the spearman caught the point of the legionnaire’s broadsword in his face. The man died silently and quickly.

  “Blessed Mother,” said the nameless woman as the legionnaire clumsily clambered back to its feet.

  “I told you. You don’t want to fight these things,” said Lucia.

  “Come on,” barked Rew.

  He turned and started jogging down the dark street. He made it two blocks before he stumbled into three more men carrying spears. They were as shocked as he was when Rew came jogging into their midst, but none of them took long to react.

  Rew lashed out with his longsword, the steel barely visible in the low light. A spearman raised his weapon in defense, and Rew’s blade slammed into the wooden shaft. The weapon was torn from the spearman’s hands, but the other man dodged away from Rew’s follow-through swing.

  A second spearman lunged forward, thrusting with the sharp point of his weapon. Rew twisted, and the spear tore into his cloak, causing him to stumble to the side, which helped avoid the third man who came crashing into his back.

  The third man grappled with Rew and grunted, “I’ll hold him still.”

  Rew grabbed the man on the back of the neck and tore him away, hurling the spearman toward the first man and then spinning and stabbing his longsword into the second, who was still trying to recover his spear from the tangle of Rew’s cloak. That man grunted but did not scream or cry out as Rew’s steel found him. The ranger darted after the other two, lashing at them, striking flesh but unable to see well enough to deliver a fatal blow.

  Cinda’s light flared for a moment, and Rew saw startled eyes. He stabbed them.

  “King’s Sake,” muttered the nameless woman. “I can’t see a thing. How’d you—“

  “I can’t see either, and neither could they,” interjected Rew. “It was luck. Could go the other way next time. We can’t keep stumbling through these streets hoping we get a jump on everyone. It’s blocks to the doorway in the wall, and I get the feeling the Sons of the Father will be scattered all throughout the city. They’re certain to hear us coming…”

  Rew waved around them, where more of the king’s black legion were shuffling into place in a defensive position, their shambling lope finally catching the party’s quicker pace, their armor and weapons clanking with their disjointed movements.

  “I can’t get them to go any faster,” apologized Lucia, “and they definitely won’t understand the idea of being quiet.”

  Rew looked around, hearing the sporadic sounds of battle all through the arcanum. “How many do you have under your command?”

  “One hundred,” answered Lucia. “There’s another hundred that are, ah, on standby. I don’t know if they’re in the fight or not. They’re well on the other side of the compound.”

  “We’ve got to find cover,” said Rew.

  The battle was too spread out, too random. They couldn’t risk one of those spearmen getting a lucky thrust or one of their party catching a spear hurled out of the dark.

  He spun and spied a single light
high in the air. “That’s the arcanist who was making the poisons to use in battle?”

  “Arcanist Reynald. He’s crazy.”

  “Can’t be worse than what’s going on out here. At least we can defend the tower.”

  Lucia rang her club again, and the king’s legionnaires formed up and began marching toward the tower. She told the others, “At least in the midst of them, we’ve got bodies to block any attacks from the dark.”

  Thinking that the noise of the soldiers outweighed the benefit of their cover, Rew made as if to hang back, but then behind them, they heard another clash of fighting, and the voices of their attackers drifted on the air. The Sons of the Father had found the trail and were calling for help. Rew sighed and hurried after the legionnaires.

  Throughout the Arcanum, clashes of violence rang through the night, but there were no screams of pain or men crying out in the throes of death. The participants in the battle were either already dead or eager to reach that purported exalted plane.

  Twice more, they encountered the black-garbed Sons of the Father. The spear-wielding men emerged like wraiths from the night, but they were living souls powered by breath and blood. They had no advantages at night except for their numbers.

  The king’s legion, however, was dead, and they saw the world with the senses of those pulled from the spectral beyond. They could sense the approach of the Sons of the Father, and soon, Rew and the others were able to detect the change in stance of the undead moments before their assailants arrived. It gave them the edge they needed.

  The Sons of the Father were competent fighters, and like berserkers, they had no fear. They were fast, but trying to force their way through the undead left the Sons exposed, and they were quickly dispatched by Rew or the nameless woman.