Rise of the Ranger (Echoes of Fate: Book 1)

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “I never knew my parents; at least I don’t remember them. Nightfall doesn’t recruit people with family ties, like your order I believe.”

  “We take volunteers and orphans off the streets, the younger the better,” Nathaniel said. “I volunteered at twelve, Elaith here was found on the streets of Ameeraska.”

  Asher looked at Elaith and saw the picture come together. She still retained that tough exterior required to survive on those streets, but her time at West Fellion had allowed for the real woman to find herself.

  “I was only eight when the order came through, searching for fresh recruits,” Elaith elaborated, with a long stare into the fire. “I didn’t want to go but... they had nice coats,” she lied. It was an obvious deflection from a truth she didn’t want to share with a mentor she didn’t like, and a man she probably thought of as nothing but a killer.

  Asher looked at Nathaniel but he remained silent. His reasons for volunteering were his own and the ranger couldn’t argue. The ranger had already told them more details about his life than anyone else.

  “Perhaps the Graycoats and the Arakesh have more in common than we thought?” Asher regretted his comment as soon as he saw Nathaniel’s expression.

  “We seek to help the people of Illian.” Nathaniel increased his grip on the hilt of his sword. “We don’t kill them for money. We take children off the streets and turn them into warriors for the realm. You steal children and turn them into killers and monsters.”

  “Are all Graycoat’s as sensitive as you?” Asher couldn’t help himself. The Graycoat was pissing him off with his misconceptions of Nightfall, which in itself was ridiculous, because Asher had grown to hate his old order more than anyone.

  Nathaniel’s body tensed, absorbing the insult. Asher could tell he was weighing up the potential outcomes of a fight between the two. Elaith watched them both, clearly unsure what her role would be if it came to blows. The ranger was confident however, in his ability to react if the Graycoat decided there had to be blood.

  A twig snapped from somewhere behind Asher, where the storm raged beyond the shelter of the alcove. He berated himself for not picking up on the other sounds that he would normally have detected. Nathaniel and Elaith confirmed his fears when they both reached for their swords, their eyes looking past the ranger. He heard more branches snap and estimated at least eight men, from the different footfalls, spreading out behind him. His bow was on the other side of the fire, at Elaith’s feet.

  “What do we have ‘ere then, boys?”

  The ranger had heard words like these before and knew what followed.

  Asher stood up with the others and turned to see where the offensive accent had come from. Seven bandits emerged from the dark and the ranger’s instincts took over. Most were overweight and unkempt, with a collective odour that Asher should have discovered before now. He counted six swords, three axes and two bows between them all. The bows were already out with an arrow notched in both, giving them an advantage over the distance. From where he stood, Asher was too far to land a single strike against the band of criminals.

  The central figure, the largest of the seven, gave the three companions a toothless smile from between his tangled beard. As they stepped under the canopy of the rock shelf, the rain water poured off the bandits in a collection of waterfalls.

  “Can we help you?” Nathaniel asked with his sword still in its scabbard.

  “Well I should think so!” The toothless bandit opened his arms, becoming theatrical. “We’ll take everything ya’ horses carry, probably the horses too, ya’ weapons, boots and, oh, I’ll take that lovely coat of ya’s as well!” The other men laughed, while eyeing Elaith with a different type of hunger.

  Asher felt his anger rising to the surface, colliding with his years of training, which commanded him to control his emotions. His anger would only cloud his mind and stop him from making split-second decisions that would keep him alive. It was those emotions however, that demanded he keep the mouthy one alive until last - let him see what a mistake he’s made. A clearer mind knew that killing him first would put the rest off balance though, giving him the advantage.

  “We’re on Graycoat business.” Nathaniel lifted his sword in its scabbard, revealing an inch of the blade. “Be on your way.”

  Asher commended the authority Nathaniel warned them with, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough.

  “All I see are three o’ you, and seven o’ us!” The leader hefted his axe in both hands. “With the added guard on the land it’s become hard to make our way. Can’t pass up easy pickings...”

  Asher had heard enough, he knew where this was going. The ranger lifted his broadsword just enough in its scabbard to set the group off. Changing tact immediately, Asher released his broadsword and removed the short-sword from his back. The two arrows left their bows, as predicted, only one was heading straight for Nathaniel instead. Allowing his muscle memory to take over, the ranger deflected the arrow away from himself, tapping the side of the arrowhead at the last moment. In the same fluid motion he lashed out, chopping the second arrow from the air, before it could end the Graycoat’s life.

  The cry of shock from the leader was cut short, when Asher span round, after deflecting the second arrow, and let loose his short-sword. The blade flipped end-over-end for just a second, until it impaled the leader through his open mouth, piercing the back of his head. The ranger had his broadsword free of its sheath before the big man hit the muddy ground.

  Nathaniel killed the skinny one on the end with a quick-fire shot from his own bow, before both he and Elaith drew their swords and leaped over the fire to join the ranger.

  The bowmen had to go next. Asher’s sword sliced through the wooden bow and cut deep into the bandit holding it. The blood splattered into the eyes of the second bowmen, making him pause in his attempt to notch the next arrow. The ranger moved like a dancer, spinning his sword as he moved, before plunging the tip of his blade into the man’s broad chest.

  With his sword buried to the hilt in the bowman, Asher let go of the blade and dashed backwards, diving into a roll. By the time he jumped to his feet, his hand found the hilt of the short-sword sticking out of the leader’s prone body. The ranger’s muscles knew exactly how to react, with no thought required to assist in the ending of another man’s life. His free hand halted a bandit’s killing blow, saving Elaith from one of her two attackers. There was no hesitation in driving the rune sword up through the bandit’s jaw and continuing on, into his brain. As the body fell to the floor, Elaith cut down her other attacker, while Nathaniel decapitated his opponent.

  Asher stepped back and took a breath. His stamina wasn’t what it used to be and his lungs felt as if they were on fire. Sheathing the rune sword on his back, the ranger moved to retrieve his broadsword, while trying to ignore the pain in his knees and back.

  “Thank you...” Elaith looked at him, wide-eyed.

  The ranger wasn’t used to gratitude, beyond a bag of coins, and simply nodded his head in response. He looked at Nathaniel and saw himself twenty years ago. The Graycoat replaced his sword, showing no sign of exhaustion.

  “Awfully close to the city for a group of bandits this size.” Nathaniel kicked the leader. “A ballsy group, I’ll give them that.” The Graycoat laughed, all previous offences forgotten.

  Asher couldn’t help but smile back, Elaith’s wide eyes now an amusing sight. Any fight, no matter the opponent, was an opportunity for death to claim him, and surviving seven armed criminals was still a victory.

  Retrieving his broadsword from the bowman’s corpse, Asher turned and waved his hand over the fire, putting it out completely. “Storm or no storm, we should leave now.”

  Nathaniel nodded his agreement and placed a firm hand on Elaith’s shoulder. They met each other’s eyes for a brief moment, a silent conversation passing between the two. It dawned on the ranger that the young Graycoat had just taken her first life.

  “Don’t worry, kid, the next one will be easi
er.” It was all Asher could think to say.

  As she slowly rode away, Nathaniel shook his head at the ranger. “You give terrible advice.”

  Nathaniel’s horse took him back into the storm, leaving Asher to reflect on his own second kill, many years ago. He wasn’t shocked to realise he couldn’t remember them.

  The rain lashed against the side of Asher’s hood, as the three companions came to a stop, outside Velia’s main gate. The small village at the city’s base was devoid of activity, with only rats and mice darting between the various buildings and the occasional drunk making their way back from a night in the tavern. The defensive walls of the city arced round from the main gate, where they met the ocean, and formed into the great Direport. Asher inhaled deeply, in hopes of smelling the sea air, but quickly turned his head at the foul stench of piss and shit running out of the drains and mixing with the rain water at the bottom of Velia’s thick walls.

  Nathaniel rode up beside Asher. “You know what happens after we pass through those gates, don't you?”

  Asher looked at the six guards sat on stools inside the shelter of the portcullis. Two of them were asleep with their heads resting against the wall, while the others played cards to one side. The ranger couldn’t ignore the voice in his head that told him the quickest way to kill all six guards. When he saw weapons it was the first scenario his mind worked out, before he could move on to more civilised thoughts.

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “Oh, I know I’ll be fine,” Nathaniel replied. “After the king is done with you, the order will take you in for questioning. They won’t ask nicely, Asher. Lord Marshal Horvarth wants a place in history, a place easily secured if he can locate Nightfall.”

  “That’s a war he wouldn’t win.” Asher thought about Nightfall’s defences, but knew the real difficulty would be marching the Graycoats into the southern deserts of the Arid Lands.

  “Win or lose, it still starts with throwing you in a dark room with West Fellion’s inquisitors.”

  Asher couldn’t help his cocky smile. “We’ll see...” With that, he tapped Hector’s ribs and continued towards the portcullis.

  Having Graycoats by his side, the ranger was able to move through Velia with ease. Asher noted the extra guards patrolling the streets, unusual for the time of night. There was a definite absence of people as they made their way through the alleys and streets, heading into the north-west corner of the city. The ranger had never been inside the Velia sector house, but he certainly knew where it was.

  “Where is everybody?” Elaith asked. They were the first words she had said since they were attacked by the bandits.

  “There must be a curfew.” Nathaniel looked just as confused.

  After a few more minutes of weaving through mostly empty streets, the group came across the grand sector house of the Graycoats. Asher was still unable to hear the ocean over the pouring rain, but he could see several sails at the end of the street, where the port opened up.

  Nathaniel banged on the green, oak door, while Elaith handed over the horses to their private stable hand. The door was soon answered by a Graycoat with shoulders as wide as the door.

  “We’ve been expecting you.” The Graycoat’s voice was as deep as his shoulders were wide.

  Asher followed them in, surprised to feel his heart rate increasing. He really was getting old. Keeping his breathing and heart rate in check had become second nature after his training; he usually didn’t even need to think about it. But right now the ranger could feel his heart quicken as the door closed behind him. He had cheated death so many times and thought nothing of it, revelling in his youth with the feel of invincibility. With old scars causing pain and his joints feeling the hardship of his violent life, Asher could feel death closing in on him. It shocked him to find that he didn’t fear death, but instead feared the unremarkable life he left behind him. With no children to take pride in and no great love to mourn him, the ranger would leave nothing but a trail of bodies to speak for his life.

  Nathaniel cleared his throat and woke Asher from his reverie. Standing in the centre of the large foyer was a handsome man with a long face and shoulder-length blond hair. His long coat identified him as a Graycoat, though his overall appearance told Asher he kept his gear, and indeed himself, in good condition. It was his arrogant smile that gave him away.

  “Darius Devale...” Nathaniel stepped aside to properly reveal the ranger, “this is Asher, formerly of the Arakesh.”

  Devale lingered on Nathaniel after hearing the introduction. It was certainly the nicest thing he had said about the ranger yet.

  Devale stepped forward and Asher felt his instincts alert him to the tactical advantages. The prestigious Graycoat was now within striking distance, but he could also be used as a shield or leverage to secure his escape, should he need it. Despite everything Asher had heard about the promising Devale, he possessed nothing the others didn’t. His sword was identical, if more polished, and his bow was just as unremarkable as Nathaniel’s.

  “You come willingly, assassin.” Devale screamed confidence and control, but Asher could sense the fear bubbling under the surface. “Did you hold his hand the whole way, Nathaniel?”

  Asher’s fist clenched naturally at the sight of Devale’s smile. The surrounding Graycoats laughed at Nathaniel’s expense, only Elaith maintained her stony expression. The ranger observed Nathaniel, expecting some sarcastic reply to put Devale in his place, but none came. The Graycoat was obviously used to this treatment and had learned to grit his teeth over the years. It wasn’t hard to chart Darius Devale’s career path, and know that some day he would be the next Lord Marshal of West Fellion.

  “We were met by a band of rogues not far from here,” Nathaniel stayed professional, but locked eyes with Devale, “but it was nothing we couldn’t handle.” Asher could see the threat behind his eyes and wondered if Devale noticed it too.

  Darius lost some of his bluster under Nathaniel’s gaze. “Good, I’m sure the assassin’s skills came in handy.” He turned his attention on the ranger. “King Rengar wishes an audience with you. I will show you to his grace and you will obey my every command in his presence. If I think the king’s safety is compromised for a second-”

  Asher took a single step in the blink of an eye, bringing him nose to nose with Devale. “You’ll do what?” The seven Graycoats behind Devale tensed, while two bow strings were pulled taught, somewhere above Asher on the landing.

  Devale’s chiselled jaw twitched, while he held back what would have been a sharp reply. His emerald eyes darted from side to side for a moment, while he calculated his next words very carefully.

  “Your weapons will not be permitted in the king’s presence.” It was Nathaniel who spoke up. “Give them to me and I’ll see them returned when the king is satisfied.”

  Asher instantly picked up on the confusion in the room. Devale had just lost face in front of his men, while the runt of the litter confronted the scariest thing they had ever met. Enjoying the reversal more than he expected, Asher complied with Nathaniel’s request and handed over all of his weapons, a lengthy process in all.

  After retreating a few steps, Devale found his voice again. “Your part in this is done, Galfrey. Take your ward and return to West Fellion, you will receive new orders there.” With a flick of his head, he commanded one of the others to take Asher’s weapons away.

  “But we’re already here!” Nathaniel protested. “We might as well be part of the detail.”

  “You might be wearing his coat, but you are not Tobin Galfrey. You are of little use here...”

  It was clear that Devale had a talent for striking nerves. Nathaniel’s hand gripped the sheath of his sword, under the guard. Even from across the room, Asher could see his knuckles whitening, desperately trying to stop his hand from reaching for the hilt.

  With a lasting look at Asher, Nathaniel turned for the door., “Elaith...” the young Graycoat obediently followed her mentor after silently mouthing good lu
ck to the ranger.

  Asher was left alone with Devale and his dogs.

  Darius raised his chin. “The king is waiting.”

  Chapter Nine

  The Criminal Element

  The wind tore through the streets of Dragorn, expelled by the great storm rolling over The Adean. Galanör’s dark robes were whipped about him, standing atop one of the many flat-roofed buildings that populated the south-east quarter of the sprawling city. The building was three stories, giving him an excellent vantage point on the winding streets and alleys below. As if he were a bird-of-prey, the elf watched the humans scurry about in the moonlight. The tavern across the street was the hub of activity in the neighbourhood. Situated on the corner of the block, The Anvil was at the head of an intersection where five roads came together.

  It wasn’t hard for Galanör to find what he was looking for. His elvish eyes spotted the armed men, disguised in everyday robes, positioned on the corner of every road. Galanör had expected extra protection to be present, that’s why he brought his own. Across the intersection, the elf could just make out Naiveen, hiding in the shadows of the adjacent roof. Ailas and Eliön were somewhere on the ground, disguised as beggars, ready to spring if he was walking into a trap. With forward planning, he had sent Adamar into The Anvil at dusk, leaving him there to blend in with the other drunks.

  “Doesn’t this city ever sleep?” Lyra crouched by his side in the darkness. Her perfume was intoxicating.

  “It’s hard to believe what was here before they arrived.” Galanör looked on the sprawling cityscape, wishing he could have seen the great island when his own people inhabited it, alongside the dragons.