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

by AC Cobble

  “We’re sure this is Iyre?” questioned Zaine.

  “It is,” confirmed Rew, peering out a cloudy window at the street beyond.

  Drab gray walls braced a drab gray cobblestone street, but the people on the street were a burst of color. Vibrant hues abounded. Even the commoners dyed their thick woolen clothing. Those dyes were the city’s primary industry. Berries, roots, and minerals were harvested from the land around Iyre, some of it there naturally, other sources domesticated over the years. Most of the dyes in the kingdom were manufactured in the Northern Province, and even the markets of Carff were stocked with Iyre’s products, exporting Vaeldon’s colors to the lands across the sea.

  Moving the dyes to Carff made them expensive, but in Iyre, dyes were plentiful. If one wasn’t picky about the color, dyes were nearly free as merchants raced to respond to a season’s changing tastes, adjusting their hues and needing to clear the previously fashionable colors out of their warehouses. It was jarring when one wasn’t used to it.

  Iyre had a reputation as a cold place, the northernmost capital in the kingdom, and one that was most strongly associated with the Cursed Father and the rites of the dead. That reputation wasn’t entirely undeserved, but the common people in the city were just as joyous as they were anywhere. Perhaps more so as the bitter winters forced them inside, and frequently, that meant into a tavern.

  Musicians and actors could make their careers in Iyre. During the winter there was nothing to do but drink ale and watch someone on stage. Performers spent months in the city, until the weather changed. Then, they flocked to the south of the kingdom, where those cities were getting unbearably hot and the migration between indoors and outdoors reversed course.

  Rew was busying himself with such thoughts until Anne cleared her throat, and he turned to look at the rest of them. The area around Heindaw’s palace was layered in a network of traps, wards, and protections. Baron Barnaus had told them some of what to expect, but the baron wasn’t privy to Heindaw’s innermost kernel of defense. Even if he had been, from the Arcanum, they knew the prince was exploring realms of magic that were previously undiscovered—or maybe just wisely left alone.

  By now, Heindaw must know of Valchon’s endeavors in the Northern Province, and he would know Rew and the others had slain Calb. He would be as ready for an attack as he could be. He probably was hoping for one. It was Heindaw’s way, to set a trap and to let someone walk into it.

  “So, do we climb over the walls of the palace or wear disguises and try the door?” asked Zaine, looking over Rew’s shoulder at the profusion of colorful garments passing by the filthy window. “It looks like it’ll be easy enough to stay unobtrusive out there. King’s Sake, dressed like we are, we’ll be invisible on these streets.”

  “Or we’d stand out like a chicken amongst a muster of peacocks,” remarked Raif.

  Zaine blinked at him. “A group of peacocks is called a muster?”

  Raif nodded.

  “Why do you know that?”

  Rew cleared his throat, silencing their squabbling. Then, he turned to Cinda. “How are you feeling, lass?”

  She shifted uncomfortably at the scrutiny of the others. “I am fine, but I suspect that’s not what you are asking, is it?”

  “Iyre was the home of Vaisius Morden before he ascended to the throne and built Mordenhold as his capital. It’s the place the cult of the Cursed Father was founded and houses his oldest crypt. There’s a well of power here I believe you can tap, and taking it from the king’s hands might be just as important as stopping Heindaw, but that’s not something I can do. Whatever is here, stored within the temple, is beyond me. Can you feel anything?”

  “Maybe. We need to get closer,” she said. “Ranger, like you said, the king will have spent centuries building his power base here. You think we can really slip in and just take it?”

  Rew shrugged. “On a Kings and Queens board, sometimes the most vulnerable pieces are those that haven’t been moved. They’ve been forgotten, left hanging. Besides, you were able to draw upon that power in Jabaan, weren’t you? It’s going to be dangerous, but I think we have an opportunity to gain leverage over Heindaw and strike a blow to the king as well.”

  “I lost every game of Kings and Queens I played against that innkeeper, Bressan. If I had to guess, I’d imagine that the king and the princes are far better players. Surely, Ranger, both the king and Heindaw have considered someone threatening the crypt.”

  Rew grinned. “I’m not so sure. Heindaw isn’t a necromancer. He can’t use the power housed here and likely doesn’t even know it exists. He wouldn’t be able to feel it any more than I can. There hasn’t been a necromancer who ruled Iyre since Vaisius Morden himself. Since the first Investiture, none of the princes have been necromancers. It’s possible, even if another necromancer was aware of the stored power, they may not be able to take it. I’ve been thinking about your family and why there are no crypts in the Eastern Territory. I think that’s the secret of your blood, Cinda.”

  “What if Heindaw is aware of the power in the crypt?” interjected Anne. “Could this be what he captured Baron Fedgley for, the reason all of this began? Turning the king’s own power against him sounds like something your brother would do, at least the way you’ve described him.”

  Rew scratched his beard. “It is something he would do. There’s more to it, though. Simply stealing the power from one crypt won’t be enough to take down the king.”

  “He could use it against Valchon,” mentioned Anne.

  Shaking his head, Rew replied, “Risk the ire of the king to face his brother? Even if he didn’t use it against the king, he’d be stealing some of our father’s power. I don’t think that’d go over well.”

  “Fair enough,” admitted Anne.

  “Prince Heindaw might be playing a deeper game than us, Ranger,” warned Cinda. “Your family has been plotting for this Investiture since the last one. We don’t even have a plan. On a Kings and Queens board, what may look like an undefended piece is frequently a trap, and whoever spends the time planning almost always wins.”

  Grinning, Rew shook his head. “You’re right, but instead of trying to beat them at their own game, we’re going to flip the board.”

  Anne crossed her arms over her chest. “Rew, that sounds like foolishness, and it’s definitely not an actual plan.”

  He laughed and nodded in acknowledgement. “The nameless woman lied to us about the Cursed Father’s temple burning to the ground. How about we go there and find out what else she lied about?”

  Despite Zaine’s assertion they would be nearly invisible in the colorful and crowded streets of Iyre, they wanted to be sure, so Anne, taking the thief with her, went shopping. Rew and the Fedgleys paced restlessly back and forth in the narrow townhouse, kicking up clouds of dust and sneezing furiously.

  Raif looked eager to get on the move, just happy to have a plan they could try to execute with little care for what the plan was. Cinda looked nervous.

  Rew came beside her and said, “You’ll do great.”

  She snorted. “Do great at what? I understand the power that may be housed within the crypt, but what am I to do with it? You don’t want a repeat of Jabaan, do you? Ranger, how many people—innocent people—do you think died there? That is a burden I will bear because I must, but I don’t fancy shouldering it again. I lost control in Jabaan, lost control completely, and the stakes are too high to gamble with that again.”

  “I hope it does not come to that,” said Rew. He tucked his thumbs behind his belt and continued, “And I can’t give you instructions for what we need to do. I don’t know. But I know this. You are the heir to incredible talent. Your blood is the summation of centuries of careful breeding and training. Only the king himself is more capable than you, and part of his capability is a part of you. His blood runs in your veins, and here, in the place that was his home, I think we can find opportunity.”

  “He’s a part of me, but I want no part of him,” said
Cinda. She shuddered and shook her head mournfully. “What happened in Jabaan, binding all of those souls, that’s a part of me that I don’t want to acknowledge. You cannot understand, Ranger, having that in me, knowing it is who I am.”

  Rew touched the hilt of his longsword. “I understand that sorrow more than you know.”

  Cinda glanced at him.

  “The king’s blood that flows in your veins flows in mine as well.”

  “Fair enough,” replied Cinda, and her eyes flashed green before she looked away toward the doorway where they expected Anne and Zaine to return.

  When her eyes left him, Rew cringed. He felt the pull of his blood. Did she feel it too? When the time came, would it pull her, or would she pull it?

  An hour later, Anne and Zaine finally returned. Rew had grown quite grumpy, but Anne flightily dismissed his complaints about her pausing to shop by declaring that in a months’ long quest, a few minutes to purchase new clothes and perhaps keep them from being noticed, was a small investment to make.

  Rew became worried they were going to try to fit in with the denizens of Iyre, wearing loud purples and oranges, but when Anne opened the packages she’d brought, he saw it was somber clothing meant to make people’s eyes slide over them without anything standing out. She would not try to hide that they were foreigners to Iyre, but instead encourage everyone to think they were unremarkable foreigners.

  They could not hide that Raif was wearing armor, so he tugged on a plain blue tabard over it. It looked like the attire of a minor house which had not yet earned a crest or that of a wealthy merchant who aspired to more but couldn’t afford customized uniforms for his men. In short, it gave no one reason for anyone to give Raif a second look. There would be hundreds of armored men in the city just like him.

  Anne herself replaced her blouse and skirts with a dress of forest green. It accentuated her red hair and pale skin, and Rew thought it looked quite fetching. She appeared to be a well-off housewife or artisan, dressed for the city, rather than a country wife wearing clothing suitable for the outdoors. Rew scratched his beard. It was a change, but not much of one.

  Zaine produced a pair of trousers made of leather and a silken blouse, and when she changed into them, she returned with her hair bound back behind her head. She put her old wool and cotton clothing in her pack then tugged her leather vest back on.

  “You look the same,” remarked Rew, glancing between Anne and the thief. “You both look nearly the same.”

  “It’s a finer cut than my raggedy old stuff,” said Zaine, her chin in the air. “And my hair is in the style of Iyre now. People notice these things, or, I should say, women notice these things.”

  Rew threw up his hands. “Well, we’re not just hiding from women, and the whole point of this is that we shouldn’t be noticed.”

  “It’s all about our persona, Ranger. We’ll inhabit a role, and those who see us will believe that is who we are,” claimed Zaine. “We figured I could play your apprentice.”

  Sighing, Rew asked, “All right. What did you get for me?”

  “You already look like a forester,” said Zaine. “We didn’t get you anything.”

  “I might be recognized.”

  “We thought you should shave your beard,” suggested Anne. “If they recognize you, Rew, it won’t be your clothing, it will be your face. Do you have a razor with you?”

  He scowled at her and stepped back.

  Anne raised an eyebrow.

  “If I shave my beard, it will be rather obvious,” argued Rew, beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow. “The sun hasn’t touched my cheeks in over a decade. It’ll look like I’m wearing a mask, or that I’m sick.”

  Pursing her lips, Anne kept looking at him but did not comment. Finally, the empath turned to Cinda, “We got you clothes befitting a common lass of Iyre. With luck, people will think you’re my daughter and that we’re simply out running errands. We saw people were carrying weapons, so that’s not a concern. Apparently, word of the conflicts around Vaeldon is getting out.”

  Cinda shook her head. “No, I’ve been thinking since you were gone. I’ve decided to keep wearing my robes.”

  Anne frowned.

  Rew said, “Cinda, they may or may not recognize any of our faces, but they will certainly notice your robes. Word of a necromancer strolling through the streets to the temple of the Cursed Father is going to get Heindaw’s attention.”

  “I know.”

  Rew threw up his hands. “What’s your plan, then! You want to give him a warning so he can prepare for us?”

  “The palace is layered in traps you said, right? Traps so insidious, so difficult to squirm between that Prince Valchon himself cannot do it. Ranger, what if we can’t get into the palace? I’ve been considering that maybe we don’t need to. We can have Heindaw come to us. You think he’ll hear about me being in Iyre? Good. Let him find us at the crypt, and we’ll face him there, where with luck, I can draw upon its power. We make him move, take away his advantages and his traps.”

  “And our advantage of surprise.”

  Cinda smiled coldly. “If I’m able to tap into the power residing within the crypt, I think he will be surprised.”

  Muttering to himself about that, Rew looked to Anne, who appeared nervous.

  The empath shrugged. “We’re counting on her to face the king, right? Maybe this will be good practice.”

  Rew glared at Anne then glanced at Raif, who held up his hands to signal he didn’t want to get dragged into it. Clearing his throat, Rew said, “But if he knows—“

  “You gave me the idea,” interrupted Cinda. “We spread our story, hoping word would get out and slow the princes’ plans, hoping it’d keep Heindaw near home. Isn’t that what you said, you wanted to keep him here so we didn’t have to chase after him? I’m paying attention, Ranger. It worked with Baron Barnaus, didn’t it? This is just a twist on what you did.”

  Uncomfortable with her argument, Rew gripped the wooden hilt of his longsword and tried to come up with a better plan, but he couldn’t. Alerting Heindaw to their presence was dangerous, but attempting to walk into the palace could be even worse.

  He grumbled, “It goes against my instinct as a ranger.”

  “It works for me,” said Raif, grinning.

  “We know that,” groused Rew.

  “He’ll be ready for us at the palace, won’t he?” Cinda argued. “We’re not giving up the element of surprise if we don’t have it in the first place. Isn’t it always better to pick the ground for a fight?”

  “That’s true,” chimed Raif. “It’s always better to pick your own ground.”

  “Very well,” conceded Rew. “I suppose we should get started, then.”

  He led them into the street, trying to appear casual as they exited a home which hadn’t been occupied in years. Most passersby wouldn’t think anything of it, but any neighbors who saw them walk out would be suspicious. But the location of the home had been well chosen. It was near a bustling street where strangers were common but tucked between the backs of two commercial shops on an alleyway. There were people passing in front of it regularly, but there would be few people who had a direct view of the door.

  They shut the door and waited a moment, but no one gave them more than a cursory glance. Rew waved down the street, and they joined the jostling crowd, letting it sweep them along the streets of Iyre.

  The northern capital was built for harsh winters and for defense. Hundreds of years prior, it’d been the home of Vaisius Morden, and it still retained some of his character. Rew knew the outer walls had been constructed during Morden’s rise, when mankind battled against the Dark Kind. Supposedly, the walls had been to protect against the narjags, ayres, and their valaan leadership, but the barriers served a handy defense against the king’s old enemies as well once the threat of the Dark Kind was dealt with.

  The buildings and the streets of the city were dark granite, threaded with delicate white crystal veins. The roofs of those
buildings were black slate. The sky above was thick with clouds. Late winter, it could portend either snow or sleet. Rew sniffed the air, but within the throng of people in the street, he couldn’t get a clean whiff to tell for sure.

  The people were like a rainbow river, each adorned with brilliant color, the only thing that granted any levity to Iyre. Without them, it would be as dark and bleak as Mordenhold, which Rew supposed made a lot of sense.

  It’d been years since he’d visited Iyre, but Baron Barnaus had given them a sketch of which part of the city the portal stone exited into. Anne also had some familiarity with Iyre, and between their recollections of the city and the baron’s information, it was an easy trek through the rigid granite matrix toward the old town, which had been there before Vaisius Morden had claimed the city as his capital and expanded its footprint.

  There were still stark buildings formed of dark stone, newer constructions replacing older structures that had crumbled or had burned, but there were ancient edifices still standing proud and hardened by the years. Some structures had pale limestone facades, others were of simple wood, grown as sturdy as stone over the centuries. There was a pretentious-looking theatre clad in shimmering marble, and a few humble structures hidden in alleys slathered in stucco. In the old town, the streets were not as neatly laid, and more people wore the dark gray or black of the king and his administration. Rew tried to avoid those men and women when they could, tagging along with packs of brightly attired citizens, looking resolutely ahead and hoping no one noticed.

  No one did notice them, until they saw Cinda.

  Her crimson robes were like a banner, and there wasn’t a person in the king’s colors who did not mark her passage. They would feed information of her presence to whatever spies the king kept in the city, and no doubt to Prince Heindaw as well. Rew guessed they had half an hour before that information reached the prince’s ear. Longer, he hoped, until the king found out. After that, maybe another half hour for the prince to gather his spellcasters and his armsmen. Would he portal, or would he come on foot, expecting an ambush?