by AC Cobble
“Ranger, you’re an idiot,” called Jacquiss. “I forgive you that. You’ll have to finish this, though.”
She tossed her scimitar toward Rew and rushed Heindaw.
The prince turned back to her, but she was already inside his guard. She jumped, like she was going to strangle the man, though that was about the stupidest thing Rew could imagine. He was an idiot? Rew stood, and Heindaw wrapped his arms around Jacquiss, squeezing her.
The plates of her armor began to buckle, and chains split with gravelly crunches, but she kept her bronze-armored hands on the prince’s neck. Rew stepped closer, unsure what he could do, but certain in moments, her torso was going to be crushed like a rotten melon.
With a wild shout, Jacquiss ripped Heindaw’s helmet from his head and threw it over her shoulder.
Heindaw snarled at her and squeezed again. Her armor crumpled, and her ribcage collapsed with a muffled crack. The prince dropped Jacquiss at his feet and raised his blade toward Rew.
The ranger could see the prince now, see the gleam in his eye and the smile on his lips. “I’ve always moved in the shadows, but I’m beginning to enjoy killing with my own hands. Come here, Rew. Let’s end this.”
Rew smirked and then charged.
Heindaw was as rested as when they’d first begun, and he’d anticipated Rew’s attack. He thrust his sword, trying to skewer the ranger, but Rew was faster. He’d been drinking from the well of natural magic in the wood, and he was invigorated. He was as rested as when they’d begun as well, and unlike Heindaw, he didn’t need high magic to know how to swing his sword.
Rew jumped, putting a toe on the edge of Heindaw’s blade and stabbing with his longsword.
Heindaw caught it with his empty fist, clamping his bronze-covered fingers around the blade and stopping the thrust.
“Nice tr—“
Holding himself up with one hand on his longsword, Rew yanked his hunting knife from behind his back with the other hand and slammed it into Heindaw’s face, the wide blade of the knife tearing through the prince’s cheek and burying half its length in his head before reaching the back and stopping there, the tip resting against the inside of the prince’s skull.
Blood gushed, pouring over Rew’s hand, and he fell off Heindaw’s sword, landing and collapsing to his knees. He looked up, but his brother was motionless. The bone hilt of the hunting knife protruded from his face, and he still held the longsword in his gauntleted hand. The red glow of the script along his armor throbbed with the pulse of a heartbeat and began to fade.
And then, it stopped, winking out.
Heindaw still stood, his armor supporting him, but he was dead.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rew pulled his new cloak tightly around his body, glad one of the rangers had a spare which fit him and that it wasn’t in the garish colors popular in the city. He rubbed his head and wished they’d had time to see a barber, but that was a foolish notion.
Heindaw was dead, but Valchon wasn’t, and the king wasn’t. The moment those two found out about Heindaw, Iyre was going to be a very dangerous place for Rew and the others. He hadn’t allowed them to rest or even for Anne to tend to the small wounds they’d received. Instead, they’d immediately set off for the gates of the city, accompanied by the rest of the king’s rangers.
The rangers were men and women who’d sacrificed everything to answer his call. They’d left lucrative positions all around the kingdom, their friends, and family in several cases. They’d assembled in Mordenhold, right beneath the nose of the king himself. They’d betrayed him and, for that, would have his wrath. From now until it was over, now until forever if Rew did not succeed, they’d be hunted by Vaisius Morden. They knew that and had come anyway.
Led by Ang and Vurcell, they’d defeated Heindaw’s ranger company and then freed Anne and the younglings. If it wasn’t for their timely arrival, Rew’s victory over Heindaw would have been meaningless. He couldn’t have fought through the rest of the prince’s men and spellcasters to free the others, but while he was grateful for the ranger’s support, he had to tell them to leave. So many remarkable men and women, all traveling together, were certain to be noticed. For the safety of everyone, they had to split up.
They’d arrived by portal stone from Mordenhold where Ang and Vurcell had collected everyone, but all agreed it was far too dangerous to try and flee the same way. The bulk of Heindaw’s army was intact, and now, the palace blazed with light as his men and surviving spellcasters tried to figure out what had happened.
Even if they believed they could fight their way through Heindaw’s men to the chamber the portal stones were housed in, Rew thought Heindaw might have laid traps on the portals that went anywhere except Mordenhold. That one was protected by the king and only open to those in his service. No one fancied returning to Mordenhold now that they’d helped to kill a prince, and Heindaw was at war with everywhere else.
One ranger, Thaddeous, could manage a little invoking, and he scattered a dozen others outside the city through small portals, but his portals were little things and did not reach far. He wore out quickly, so most of the rangers fled on foot.
Rangers drifted away as the group skulked toward the gates, each taking different paths, hoping to lose any pursuit by going in all directions. They left instructions on where they could be contacted, sharing the information only with Rew, Ang, and Vurcell. They wanted to continue the fight, but they had to get away cleanly first.
Rew tried to memorize where each ranger said they were headed and the secret ways he could reach them. In time, the rangers would assemble again in a safe place, and he could call them if he needed them through the ancient magic of the land, but the messages he could send were primal, little more than instructions to help or to run. He hoped he didn’t have to send either.
By the time their party reached the main gates of Iyre, the bulk of the rangers had disappeared. Only Ang and Vurcell remained with them. The gates were open, and the guards were easily distracted by a crackling display of light Cinda set off on a rooftop nearby. Quietly, they slipped outside undetected. They kept walking in the dark, marching down the highway, trying to make good time. Everyone was exhausted, but they all knew they had to get some distance between themselves and Iyre.
Rew would have liked to have disappeared into the woods and hills around the city as many of the rangers had, but Anne and the children couldn’t move quickly with stealth, so instead, he opted for speed and distance.
By daybreak, they were five leagues from Iyre, and Rew took them off the road into a thick stand of trees where they could hide during the day when the road would be thick with other travelers. Ang and Vurcell obscured their tracks from the road to the trees. Unless one of the other rangers happened by, no one was going to see the signs.
They made a cold camp, and as they settled down, no one offered anything other than grins and gratitude that they’d survived.
“Two down, one to go,” declared Raif, sitting against a tree, stretching his legs out in front of him.
Rew nodded, feeling it was a bad time to point out that after Valchon, they still had the king to deal with. They’d done well, all of them, and it was worth celebrating the victory. Celebrate as much as they could, that was, at a camp with no fire, no ale, no music, and running for their lives.
“We’ll come with you,” stated Vurcell, squatting on his haunches near Anne. He reached back to touch the wooden hilts of the falchions over his shoulder. “These might come in handy again, and we’ve got to go somewhere until the dust settles. Might as well be with you, Senior Ranger.”
Rew shook his head. “I’m not a ranger any longer.”
Ang laughed. “Pfah, you’ll always be the King’s Ranger. We’ve just gotta get you a new king. And my brother is right. We can help. We want to.”
Rew glanced at Anne, and she frowned, pursing her lips.
“We won’t drink all of the ale,” offered Vurcell.
“Yes, you will,” retorte
d Rew.
Grinning, the ranger shrugged. He leaned toward Anne. “Maybe we’ll drink all of his ale, but after so long, you must want someone to talk to other than Rew, right?”
Anne laughed at that and nodded. “Fair enough. You’re not one of us. Don’t look at me like that. I mean you’re not connected to our party like the rest of us are bound. Not yet, anyway. You don’t have to do this. You can leave, find some wilderness, and lose yourselves there. The Investiture has not touched you two. Away from the cities, the king will never find you.”
“We’re not family,” said Ang, looking over the five companions, “but we are friends. We’ll come along until we can get you some place safe. Our blades, our woodcraft, it could come in handy. We can be of use until it’s safe to gather the others again.”
“We’ll be glad to have you,” said Rew, surprised that he meant it.
He’d been reluctant to involve anyone that he didn’t have to, particularly those he cared about. Each moment in his company, they were putting their lives at risk, but it was a comfort to be surrounded by those he knew and trusted. In addition, having the rangers around might make it harder for Anne and the younglings to gang up on him.
“Come with us… but to where?” asked Cinda, her eyes flashing green in the morning light. The rangers saw, and they understood, but no one commented. Cinda continued, “Back to Carff, Mordenhold itself? Now that Heindaw is fallen, will Valchon be named, ah, king? I know Vaisius Morden will inhabit his body, but will they conduct the ceremony? Is there a ceremony?”
Rew shook his head. “Calb and Heindaw are dead, but there’s another brother left besides Valchon. Me.”
“But you abdicated your title and defied the king,” argued Anne. “Surely, after all that’s happened, after he knows what we’re doing, the king wouldn’t… Rew, he knows we’re trying to end his reign!”
“He’s not inviting us to supper, Anne. He’s trying to winnow his sons down so the strongest survives, and that’s the body he’ll take over. I’ve killed two of my brothers now. Valchon hasn’t killed any. No, I’ve been thinking about this all night as we walked. It’s possible Vaisius Morden will let us go free, for now. He’ll want Valchon and I to face each other, and I don’t think he’ll interfere until we do. If he truly wanted to capture us, he probably could have by now. Blessed Mother, after the explosion in the Arcanum, he could have carpeted the entire province with undead searching for us, but instead, he just sent a few hundred soldiers. I suspect, after two hundred years of rule, he doesn’t fear us. We cannot be the first to defy him, and every time, he’s prevailed. He might think keeping us alive is worth the risk, or maybe he doesn’t see us as a risk at all. We have to watch our backs, of course, but I don’t believe he’s actively hunting for us. I hope not, at least.”
“Blessed Mother,” groused Anne. “Maybe he’s not, but what if he is?”
“Perhaps a prayer to the Mother instead of a curse?” suggested Rew.
The empath glared at him.
Rew shrugged. “She’s your goddess, Anne, not mine. It can’t hurt, though, can it?”
“So where to?” repeated Cinda. “If you think Vaisius Morden isn’t a threat, do we make for Carff to face Valchon? Or should we try for a surprise and go straight to Mordenhold?”
“Maybe Carff,” said Rew, “but first, you need to do some reading—the book you took from the Arcanum and the one Jacob gave us. You need to study those, so we understand what knowledge Jacob sacrificed himself to pass on. There’s a place about a week ahead which will be safe from the king and from Valchon. You’ll have time there to read and to consider.”
“Great. A week,” said Zaine with a dramatic sigh. “You know what would have helped getting there? Horses.”
Rew laid down, closed his eyes, and did not respond.
Thanks for reading!
My biggest thanks to the readers! If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be doing this. Those of you who enjoyed the book, I can always use a good review—or even better—tell a friend.
My eternal gratitude to: Felix Ortiz for the breath-taking cover and social media illustrations. Shawn T King for his incredible graphic design. Kellerica for inking this world into reality. Nicole Zoltack coming back yet again as my long-suffering proofreader, joined by Anthony Holabird for the final polish. And of course, I’m honored to continue working with living legend Simon Vance on the audio. When you read my words, I hope it’s in his voice.
Terrible 10… Always stay Terrible.
Thanks again, and hope to hear from you!
AC
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