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

by AC Cobble

  “Pathetic,” she spit after killing another of the men. “Definitely from the Spinesend temple. They wouldn’t last a day in my father’s command. If these men were from Iyre, we’d be in trouble.”

  “I thought you said the temple in Iyre was destroyed?” questioned Rew.

  “The building but not the mission.”

  The ranger frowned at her. She’d spoken about her father in the present tense.

  “Hurry, Ranger.”

  “If they were from Iyre, wouldn’t they know you?”

  The woman smiled at him, only her gleaming teeth visible in the dark. She slashed her scimitar in front of her, flinging the blood of one of their assailants into the night. “What makes you think they don’t know me now?”

  “When this is over, we’re going to talk,” declared Rew.

  “There,” interrupted Lucia, pointing with her iron club to a tower ahead of them.

  It was the tall, slender structure they’d seen the purple smoke drifting away from earlier in the day, the one Lucia claimed was occupied by a man formulating poisons to use in battle, a man who had the door of his tower open.

  Round like a mouse locked in a grain silo, the arcanist squinted at them as they came rushing out of the dark. He raised a trembling arm, holding a flask filled with a clear liquid. He cocked back his arm as if to throw.

  “Reynald!” snapped Lucia, rushing to the front.

  The arcanist faltered then lowered the flask. “Lucia, is that you? What is happening?”

  “An attack, I’m afraid.” She stepped beside the man and rang her club against the side of his tower.

  All around them, the king’s black legion clustered into a defensive formation in front of the door to the tower. Arcanist Reynald backed slowly through the doorway, and they followed him inside, turning and quickly locking door.

  Rew grimaced.

  The king’s black legion was arrayed outside, and now, they were locked behind a sturdy door and stout stone walls, but surely Salwart would have considered that possibility. The Arcanum was full of towers, which, while not designed to be defensive, would do the trick just fine against a cadre of spearmen. Perhaps Salwart had hoped to catch them unawares, but he was an intelligent man, a learned man, and one who was intimately familiar with the Arcanum. He would have planned for this contingency.

  Arcanist Reynald was busy babbling and demanding Lucia tell him what was going on. The woman herself was scowling, and the nameless woman looked nervous.

  Rew strode toward her and jabbed a finger in her face. “What will he try next?”

  “How should I know?”

  “You knew he’d bring the Sons of the Father,” accused Rew. “You knew which temple he collected them from. King’s Sake, it’s obvious you know the man! Tell us what he’ll do next. Those spears could have taken your life as easily as ours.”

  Scowling, the nameless woman glanced away.

  “How did you know Salwart was coming?” demanded Rew.

  “Salwart, you say?” asked Arcanist Reynald, peering at Lucia like she was a particularly convoluted passage in one of his books.

  The man’s chins wobbled, and his breath was coming in short, exasperated huffs. He wore thick velvet robes embroidered with stars and moons. The robes might have been the height of fashion for an arcanist in a noble’s court three decades earlier. The robes were wrinkled and in disrepair, but it was the man’s hands and face which caught Rew’s eye. Reynald’s skin was stained with a myriad of colors, like a rainbow had vomited on him. Amongst the colors, white splotches stood out where he’d been scarred. The results of his failed experiments, presumably. It wasn’t for lack of trying the man hadn’t discovered the secret formula he’d been working on.

  Rew asked him, “You know Salwart?”

  “Of course,” snapped Reynald, scurrying to the side of his tower where a profusion of cloudy decanters, flasks, and beakers was spread on a battered table like the leftover results from a cohort of apprentice glass blowers. The arcanist unstopped the flask he was holding and began rooting through his collection, pulling out colorful potions and arranging them in a line. “The prince? Will he bring the prince?”

  The nameless woman shifted nervously before quietly answering. “No.”

  Rew glared at her.

  “We must get ready,” mumbled Arcanist Reynald, focused on his work, not looking at any of them.

  “Ready for what?” asked Rew, glancing at the locked door of the tower. The clashes of battle had faded. What did that mean?

  “Salwart is a fool, which makes him dangerous,” claimed Reynald, who was furiously dumping liquids to and from various containers, not pausing to measure and creating a frothing, multi-hued mixture that seemed to shimmer in the light of the lamps hanging around the room.

  “What is that?” asked Lucia, peering quizzically at the man’s work. She leaned closer.

  “Don’t inhale the fumes,” warned the arcanist. Grimly, without turning, Reynald added, “This is a way to stop Salwart dead in his tracks.”

  “I thought your potions didn’t work.”

  Reynald paused and glanced over his shoulder. “They work all too well. If the king or the princes knew what I’d developed, can you imagine the carnage…” The man huffed and turned back to the mixture. “My research has led me to understand there are some fields of knowledge which are too dangerous to be shared with the political set, so I continue my charade, pretending I don’t know what I know and making sure that any other searchers into the realms of chemical warfare are led astray. It’s a quiet life, one I’m proud of. It’s unfortunate Salwart didn’t follow my lead and keep his foul speculations to himself.”

  “I see.”

  The arcanist spun around, two half-full flasks in his hands. “How long do we have?”

  Rew and Lucia looked at each other then both turned toward the nameless woman.

  “How should I know?” she snapped.

  “Salwart must be here,” said Rew. “He would have come along with the Sons of the Father. We haven’t seen him, but perhaps he’s preparing… whatever it is he’s planning.”

  “We don’t have much time, then,” grunted Arcanist Reynald. He pursed his lips, lost in thought, the two flasks held carefully in his hands. He shook himself then continued, “Salwart is a fool, and his experiments were failures. It won’t be his own strength he brings to this fight. If he attacks, he’ll have some sort of device from Prince Hein— Ah, the prince. Is that what I think it is?”

  Rew looked between the nameless woman and the arcanist. The old man was studying her armor, and she simply shrugged.

  “Salwart is here. We’re sure?” asked the arcanist quietly.

  The nameless woman sighed and then responded, “He arrived in the Arcanum with the others. I don’t know where he is now or what he may have planned.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Anne.

  The arcanist poured one of his flasks into the other and then the contents of both back into the first container, mixing the liquids thoroughly. Rew blinked. The contents were clear, like water, but they bubbled as if being boiled. The arcanist stoppered the mixture then strode forward and handed the flask to Lucia. “Instruct the king’s black legion to find Salwart and then shatter this glass at his feet.”

  “The legionnaires—”

  “They’re already dead,” interrupted the arcanist crisply. “Hurry now. Time is a factor.”

  “I’ll need to—“

  “Go outside, yes, of course.”

  Reynald strode to the door, listened for a moment, and then unlocked and opened it.

  Lucia held up the flask she carried and peered at the clear liquid inside.

  “Don’t drop it,” Reynald warned.

  Stepping quickly, Lucia walked into the night, tapping her club against the exterior wall of the tower.

  Arcanist Reynald slammed the door of the tower shut and locked it, trapping Lucia outside.

  “What’s this!” cried Rew.
/>
  “There’s a trapdoor beneath my dining table,” said the arcanist. “We have thirty heartbeats to get into it. Give or take a few.”

  Rew’s mouth fell open, but the arcanist looked as serious as death itself.

  The gaudily robed man cleared his throat and said, “I’m not a young man. That table is too heavy for me to move.”

  Cursing, Rew spun, darted to the table, and flipped it out of the way. The glassware atop it shattered against the wall and the floor, acrid smells and popping and hissing filling the room. The arcanist was beside him, fumbling at a small hole on the floor then getting his finger beneath it and shifting a section of the wood. Rew grasped beneath the rim and tore the trapdoor open, revealing a narrow chute down into darkness.

  “Fifteen heartbeats left,” said the arcanist. Then, he put his hands at his side and jumped into the hole, disappearing with a swish.

  “Go!” barked Rew.

  Anne jumped into the hole right beyond Reynald then the nameless woman vanished as well. Cinda hesitated for a second, looking at the door Lucia was trapped behind. Then, she jumped into the hole. Rew followed a blink after, his instincts screaming they needed to protect Lucia, that something was wrong with this, but he’d seen the urgency in Reynald’s eyes. Rew fully believed the man had activated some terrible weapon, and that if they dawdled, they would die.

  The hole dropped into a narrow chute lined with smooth stone. It barely would have been big enough for the arcanist to squeeze through, and had Raif been with them, he wouldn’t have made it in his armor. Rew popped out the bottom and landed right on top of Cinda, about twelve paces below the floor of the tower. Cinda squawked, and Rew apologized, but their fall was cushioned by the nameless woman, who was lying beneath Cinda.

  Rew thanked the Blessed Mother they hadn’t landed on Anne.

  “I could use your help,” mumbled Arcanist Reynald. He was a dozen paces away, limping down a short hallway, shaking a vial and causing a chemical reaction with the contents. The vial began to glow, bathing his face in a low, red light. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder and said, “The ladder is broken, and I think I twisted my ankle...”

  Grunting, Rew moved forward and knelt, providing a platform for the arcanist to climb. The nameless woman scrambled up Rew’s back first, to a ledge the broken ladder was leaning against. The ledge was only the height of Rew’s head, but the short, pudgy arcanist couldn’t make it without help. Rew boosted the man over the lip of the ledge then helped Anne and Cinda right after him, the nameless woman gripping their arms and hauling them clear.

  “Blessed Mother,” groaned the empath. “What is this?”

  “A tunnel to safety,” came the muffled voice of the arcanist. Already, he was speaking between shortened breaths. “You, fighter, there’s a chain hanging on the right. Pull it when you’re inside the tunnel.”

  Rew easily ascended behind the others and found they were crawling into the tunnel. It looked like an ancient, abandoned aqueduct that had once brought fresh water to the Arcanum. It was made of close-fit stones, and it was a tight space. As the others moved deeper, Rew could barely see Arcanist Reynald’s light. The bodies of the others cast jagged shadows as they crawled after him.

  The ranger rubbed his face with both hands then looked back into the pitch black behind him. Could whatever Reynald released be worse than the tiny, cramped tunnel?

  “If he doesn’t pull that chain, someone else do it,” instructed Reynald. “If the vapors get inside of here, this tube will be our tomb.”

  Grunting, Rew felt around and found the chain. Then, he pulled it, and a series of sharp cranks and grinding of gears followed. There was a rush of water, and a waterfall of liquid poured down from somewhere above. Rew gaped, astonished. He couldn’t see a thing behind him, but he could feel the hole filling with water, the spray billowing up to kiss his face. Then, he felt the water spilling over the edge of the ledge, wetting his boots and his knees.

  “King’s Sake, how much water is coming down?” he cried.

  Arcanist Reynald, either unable to hear him or choosing not to, didn’t respond.

  Rew figured that regardless of the answer, he was better off moving. He scrambled into the tunnel, cracking his head on the ceiling as he went. His skull throbbing, rising water splashing as he went, he crawled behind the others into the dark.

  They weren’t in the tunnel long, but it felt like they were. The rush of water from behind had slowed, but it was still rising up the sloped tunnel. It made the stale air in the narrow space humid, and Rew felt like he couldn’t get a breath. It didn’t help that they were in near black, and only the feel of Cinda’s boots when he got too close and the muttered curses of the others assured him he wasn’t lost in some nightmare.

  They crawled for a dozen city blocks, Rew figured, until they exited the tunnel into a circular room which he realized must be a cistern. Reynald’s light bathed them all in its hot red glow. Rew stretched, looking up at a trapdoor far above and steel rungs sunk into the wall they could use to reach it. His gaze dropped to the arcanist.

  “Care to tell us what that was about? You left her to die.”

  Clearing his throat, Arcanist Reynald said, “I, ah… We had no choice.”

  Rew waited.

  The arcanist shifted, his sodden robes clinging to his legs, his chest rising and falling from the exertion of crawling through the tunnel. “I don’t have the craft to stand against any enchanted artifacts the prince may have gifted Salwart, so I felt it best to take decisive measures. That preparation I handed the woman is toxic. Within moments, it would shatter the glass, and the fumes would spread over half the Arcanum. By my calculations, even now, we are just outside the reach of the cloud. Ah, depending on which way the wind is blowing, that is. Do you happen to recall before you came to my tower which way—“

  “No, I don’t recall,” snapped Rew. “That flask was going to shatter on its own?”

  Reynald nodded.

  “Then why not let Lucia set it down outside the door and come with us? King’s Sake, man, you’ve killed her for no reason!”

  The arcanist coughed. “Perhaps setting it down would have worked. I didn’t consider that. I just thought… It had to stay safe until the solution was fully mixed. A single drop spilled, and the composition would be off, and those legionnaires are as fumbled-fingered as children. I thought the woman holding the decanter was the best way. With hindsight, I’ll concede things could have been done differently…”

  “That’s awful,” stated Rew coldly.

  The arcanist puffed up like a pastry in the oven, his face glowing red from his light. He claimed, “Scholarship is about efficiency, boy. Having the woman carry the solution was the easiest, quickest way. A better way, I might add, than anything I heard you offer when you came panicked to my doorstep. Besides, she was an agent of the king.”

  “What does that have to do with it?”

  The arcanist fell silent, and Rew squinted at the man. An agent of the king? Why would… Reynald didn’t want his secrets known. Whether Arcanist Reynald killed Lucia because of laziness or to cover those secrets, Rew wasn’t sure. Eyeing the man, he thought it could be either. He resolved to watch his back around Reynald from then on. Rew, after all, had heard the same secrets Lucia had, and he was an agent of the king as well.

  Shaking himself, the ranger turned to Cinda. “Can you confirm Lucia is dead?”

  “Of course she’s dead,” muttered the arcanist, but they all ignored him.

  Nodding, the necromancer closed her eyes, her lips tight. “She and dozens of others. I don’t know Salwart well enough to identify his… flavor. If he was close enough, I imagine he met the same fate they all did.”

  Smiling, the arcanist crowed, “Thanks to the Mother’s Grace.”

  “I’m not sure she’d be happy about her blessing being used this way,” commented Anne.

  “Well, yes, you’re right,” said the arcanist, hugging himself and jostling the vial of light ar
ound his neck. “I’m just grateful we escaped. I’d planned this route out in case there was ever trouble, but I’ve never had the need to test it. The water… Much could have gone wrong. The liquid barrier was the only thing which prevented the fumes spreading into the tunnel, and it worked! My own design. I thought it would work, but it always feels good to prove a theorem correct, don’t you agree? Now, another minute or two to make sure whatever vapors are left have a chance to blow away, and we can emerge onto the street. The preparation is designed to fade quickly, but I’d avoid any tight spaces with poor ventilation over the next hour, just in case.”

  Rubbing his hand over his head, Rew looked around the cistern they were in. It had very poor ventilation.

  “Lucia’s dead…” murmured Anne, shaking her head. “She was no friend of mine, but I feel awful she died this way. She didn’t deserve that. If you’d told us, if we’d known… We could have done something different.”

  The arcanist shrugged, his arms over his chest.

  “Lucia is dead,” repeated Rew, feeling like his heart just leapt into his throat.

  “What?” asked Anne, sensing something in his tone.

  “She claimed the king had bound his awareness to her soul,” said Rew. “If he did, he’ll have felt her death. Blessed Mother, the king may have felt her die!”

  “What’s that, now?” queried Arcanist Reynald.

  “We need to go,” said Rew. “Right now.”

  “Another minute for the solution to dissipate—“

  “Right now,” said Rew, and he rushed to the steel rungs in the wall and started to climb. “We have to get out of the Arcanum.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” called Arcanist Reynald, wringing his hands and backing toward the tunnel they’d emerged from. “You’re taking a terrible risk, going up there. My plan is that I stay here, to make sure… I—I’m going to stay here.”

  Rew reached the top of the cistern and leaned over, tugging on a wheel that released a mechanism to open the trapdoor. He pushed the trapdoor open and saw the night air above. Climbing out, he leaned down and assisted Anne, who was coming on his heels. As he was pulling the empath free, a booming voice reverberated through the compound.