The Ranger (Book 1)

by E. A. Whitehead

  Vincent turned, looking out across the mountains. Waves of men were flowing toward the tower. Suddenly, the ball of fire on top of the tower erupted, shooting columns of fire at the advancing armies. It did not take long for the ranks to break and the men to flee.

  “Our fortifications were too strong for them. We felt invincible; which may be why our fall was as great as it was. Had we prepared like we should have, as we were told to, it may have all been different.” Silva stopped, obviously depressed. Vincent continued to watch the invading army. With each wave they grew bolder. At length, Silva continued.

  “In preparation for the last great assault by the Eresians, they acquired the services of the Magi, the servants of Katrina, The Beast Mistress and Dark Goddess of the Abyss. They are little better than werewolves, except the ‘gift’ of Katrina allows them to control the disease. Much like true werewolves, those they bite become infected, except their victims lack the control granted by the Dark Lady. The Magi hate Sandora and all who follow her,” his tone somber. “They joined the Eresian Empire as their Elite Army.”

  Vincent turned back to the advancing army. It had changed. Hundreds of cloaked and hooded figures now marched at the head. As the fire tower began to target them, they transformed. Great wolf-like creatures bounded up the mountain, dodging the fire as it shot at them.

  “With the gifts they received from Katrina, they were able to overcome our defenses. They destroyed the great towers; only fire remains intact now. All the others are simply ruins; shadows of their former glory.”

  The scene shifted once more. Vincent now stood in the plains surrounding Gesta. Hundreds of Pallàdrim were lined up on either side of him, each wearing a strange silver mask and a suit of black armor. In the distance, he could just make out the line of the Eresian Army as it advanced.

  “The Magi marched at the head of the Eresian Army, destroying all in their path until they reached Gesta, capital city of Pallà.” Silva had composed himself again, but resentment still rang in his voice. “It was there we made our last stand. By that point, only about seven hundred Pallàdrim remained; the rest of the knights were scattered, but we fought anyway.”

  The Eresians drew close, charging at the line of Pallàdrim. Fire erupted from the hands of the front rank, cutting men down where they stood. As with the tower in the mountains, the lines were scattering before the force of the Token of Fire.

  “There were more soldiers than I could count, yet the Eresian forces broke against our lines. We were immovable. Our victory was to be glorious, unlike anything before it. Then the Magi joined the battle.”

  Just as Vincent had witnessed in the mountains, the Magi darted around the raging fires and charged the lines. Swords were drawn all along the line as the Pallàdrim engaged the Magi. The Magi cut through the line of Pallàdrim, leaving destruction in their wake.

  “We were pushed back, briefly,” Silva stated breathlessly. “The tides were turning against us. We rallied together and pushed back, regaining lost ground. Once again they fell upon our lines. But then, the Grand Magi used his gift. He transformed into a monstrous beast and tore through our ranks, killing all in his path. All Magi can transform, but this was something else.”

  A giant shadow grew from the midst of the Magi, standing almost three times taller than the rest of the army. Great bat-like wings spread from its back and monstrous claws grew on its massive hands. The creature tore through the ranks of the Pallàdrim, leaving only death.

  “The King called the retreat, and shortly thereafter, he surrendered.”

  Vincent felt himself pulled backward. He landed in a chair with such force that it fell over backwards. Slowly, he got up and righted the chair. He was back in the cabin.

  “The Royal Family and all remaining Pallàdrim were exiled.” Auna explained as Vincent recovered from the shock of what had just happened. “The Emperor allowed us to live, and the people to continue their worship on the condition that we didn’t fight against the Empire, or train new Pallàdrim. The Magi didn’t like this, as their goal was the total destruction of the Order of Sandora, but they didn’t dare oppose the Emperor, at least, not openly. If this were the only condition, we would have happily submitted to their rule; however, the Magi have been growing in influence in the Empire, and have restricted the rights of the people of Pallà. The Imperial Garrisons have been removed from the majority of the towns in the province, leaving them undefended. The Rangers are now the only source of protection in most of the Old Kingdom. Also, the Emperor has now imposed a heavy tax on the people. It is all the workings of the Magi, trying to force an uprising to justify an invasion. And if things continue the way they are, they’ll have their uprising, and the people will be swept away. In the days after the Great War we could have done something, calmed the people, but now we are too few.”

  “There were ten of us left back then,” Silva explained. “Two died shortly after the battle due to their wounds. Five others were hunted down by the Magi during the ensuing centuries, leaving only Jerome, myself, and the Guardian: the defender of the Royal Family. Then, they found the Guardian and killed him with most of his family and all but one of the Royal Family. I now am the guardian of the last heir to the throne.”

  “We’ve been on the run for centuries, Vincent,” Auna had a serious tone to his voice, “but that’s about to change. I believe you have the potential to become a truly powerful Pallàdrim, the likes of which hasn’t been seen since Breen was gifted the first token over five thousand years ago.”

  “If the Magi are really hunting me, and if they know all about me, why didn’t they send Frost to the abbey to get me?” Vincent asked. “I mean, I spent hours away from the abbey just sitting on the riverbank. It would have been easy.”

  “There are greater powers than you understand at work Vincent.” Auna replied with a smile. “Abbots are given remarkable powers to protect the people of their abbey. Some are more powerful than others, but they can all repel evil to some extent. The creatures of the abyss and the followers of Katrina are almost entirely ruled by the evil desires of their hearts and therefore cannot penetrate the barriers created by the abbots. Some of the abbots are only powerful enough to shield their sanctuary, like Abbot Lowe in Gesta, while others can cover the entire grounds of their abbey despite the encroaching evil all around them, like Abbot Foster in Spacco. Abbot Markov is truly powerful. He is able to create a barrier that stretches all the way to the river; but the far shore is beyond his protection, which is why you were never permitted to cross.”

  “But how can I make a difference?” Vincent interrupted, not really paying attention to Auna’s explanation. “I’m just one man. You’ve been fighting for hundreds of years, and I, by your own mouth,” Vincent pointed at Silva, “have never seen real battle.”

  “Vincent,” Auna put a hand on Vincent’s shoulder and gave him his familiar, encouraging smile, “you will make all the difference. The fact that the Magi are hunting you means that they fear you; they fear what you will become in time. That fear is well founded. You controlled an elemental, Vincent; they are made of flames from the high plane. Normally, only high ranking Pallàdrim, with years of training, can do that. Not even Jason, not even I can do that, and you did it naturally. They are right to fear you.”

  “I don’t know if I can do it,” Vincent whispered. “Like I told you, I’m no leader. I don’t know the first thing about leading an army.”

  “Vincent, I’ve known you since you were a small child. I have seen you rise to every challenge you were confronted with. I know that when the time comes, you will be equal to the task,” Auna said comfortingly. “But we’ll be there to help you along the way. You don’t have to do it alone.”

  “But still, what if I fail you? What if I’m not what you think I am? What if I just can’t do it?” Vincent let his fear show in his voice.

  “You still don’t get it, do you?” Silva sounded frustrated. “You are the Chosen One. You have been marked. You are the hope of a
ll those that worship the Great Goddess. You won’t fail.”

  Suddenly, Vincent was standing on the training field at the abbey. This was different from when he had been transported by Silva, this was his memory. Hundreds of people were cheering him. A searing pain shot through his back as Mayberry pressed his hand into his token.

  “I see great things in store for you, Chosen One. You may yet be the hope of many,” Mayberry’s voice seemed to ring ominously.

  He was transported away to an empty road in the woods and a great black centaur stood before him.

  “At last I’ve found you, Hope of Sandora.”

  The scene changed again. Vincent was lying on the ground; a giant boot was pressing down on his chest.

  “And so dies the hope of Sandora.” The voice echoed like the growl of a wolf through Vincent’s mind.

  Then he was back in the chair in the cabin. One thing was clear: it couldn’t be coincidence, not that many times, even if one was just a dream. There was something more going on, and Vincent was determined to find out what it was.

  “I’ll do what I can,” Vincent said after a few minutes of reflection, “but I can’t promise anything.”

  “That’s all we can ask,” Silva said, the frustration disappearing from his voice. He got up and stretched. “Now, I think it’s about time for you to get to bed. You have to get up early tomorrow, and it’s going to be a long day.”

  The sun had set. The darkness pouring in from outside was pushed back by the lone flickering candle on the table as Auna and Silva left the cabin.

  “I’ll see you in the morning Vincent,” Silva said as he left.

  Vincent stood alone in the room as the candle slowly sputtered out. He undressed, hanging his new armor on the rack in the corner of his room. His bed welcomed him, and he was quickly asleep.

  Chapter 7: Training Begins

  Vincent awoke early the next morning. The sun was slowly creeping over the horizon sending rays of light cascading through his small window. He sat up and yawned. The events of the night before still felt surreal.

  His stomach growled. With a sigh he got up, pulled on his pants and grabbed a clean shirt from his pack. After strapping on his boots he drowsily made his way to the Hall, looking for something to eat. The same group of Rangers sat around the fire.

  “Vincent,” Trent called as he walked through the door, “come get some breakfast.”

  Vincent sat down next to the fire and Trent handed him a bowl of grey mush from a pot that hung over the fire. It neither looked nor smelled appealing.

  “Enjoy,” Trent said before returning to his own meal. Vincent stared at the mush uncertainly.

  “What is it?” He asked incredulously.

  “It’s a mixture of various grains and some honey,” Lauren replied, notably cheerier than she had been the night before, which didn’t take much. “It’s good for you.”

  Vincent took a cautious bite; it was sweet and tasted surprisingly good. He devoured the contents of his bowl and spooned himself out another.

  “Someone’s hungry this morning,” David laughed. “I personally can’t eat more than one bowl of this...” he trailed off pointing at the bowl, not wanting to finish the sentence under the burning glare of Lauren.

  The group laughed as David scooped himself a second bowl and hastily started eating once again. He looked relieved as Lauren finally took her gaze off of him.

  “So, how did all of you end up as Rangers?” Vincent asked tentatively, as he didn’t want to offend.

  “Now there is a story,” Trent sighed with a smile. “I have been a Ranger for almost thirty years now. I ran away from home when I was sixteen. Hitched a ride with a merchant who was passing through town and I was off, ready to see the world.” Trent shook his head with a disparaging laugh. “I made it as far as Vangelico before I ran out of food, and I didn’t have any money. It didn’t take long before I had to resort to picking pockets just to survive. I lasted about three months before I was caught. I saw a man that was wearing a fine, black cloak. He looked rich and I figured that if I could just get his purse, I wouldn’t have to steal again. Well, that man was Jason Silva.

  “I didn’t stand a chance of getting away from him. I had barely grazed the coin purse tied to his belt when he spun around and caught me by the throat. I remember it still. He had a look in his eyes like he was ready to cut me in two, right then and there. I was terrified. Those red eyes of his didn’t help much either, I was sure he had to be a demon. Then his expression changed. ‘You look like you haven’t eaten in a while,’ he said to me. ‘Why don’t you come with me and we’ll get you something to eat.’ I’ve followed him ever since. At first he would only let me be a page, running errands around the camp; but he would take me aside every now and then and teach me something fun and exciting about being a Ranger. When I was twenty two he finally let me join.”

  “My story is not much different,” Weston cut in. “My father was a merchant, specializing in fine silks and fabrics. We traveled the Empire doing business. But that didn’t last. We were attacked by a band of thieves. They killed my family, stole our goods and left me for dead. When I blacked out I was sure that I was a goner. I was surprised when I woke up. It was an even bigger surprise that I was in a warm bed. Master Silva was sitting next to my cot in the sanctuary here at the camp, reading an ancient book in a language long forgotten. That was almost ten years ago, I was twenty five.” Weston laughed to himself. “Funny how things turned out; I accepted Master Silva’s offer to become a Ranger because I wanted to get revenge on those thieves that killed my family. But now, I just want to keep that kind of thing from happening to others.”

  “What about you, David?” Vincent asked, intrigued by the stories.

  “My story is much less exciting,” David sighed. “My parents sent me to the academy as soon as I was old enough. They couldn’t wait to be rid of me. I figured that I would become a Ranger to prove to them that I was worth something. I requested to be transferred to the Rangers every year after I graduated, but every time I got the same response, I wasn’t ready. Looking back, I really wasn’t, but I thought they were just underestimating me, so I took every opportunity I could to show them that they were wrong. I got into a lot of trouble too. I was lucky that I didn’t get killed. Then, one day I was assigned to escort a nobleman from the abbey where I was assigned to the Grand Abbey. I was less than thrilled, but I did it. It was just me and one other knight. Little did I know, but the nobleman was actually Master Silva. We were attacked by Frost and a pack of his lupis. The other knight ran. I would have been right behind him; but something changed in me that day. I finally realized that there were more important things than being recognized by others. I had a duty to fulfill, and I was going to fulfill it. I killed the first lupis that jumped at me. Fortunately for me, Master Silva stepped in at that point and quickly dispatched Frost and his lupis. When we arrived at the Grand Abbey, he asked me to join the Rangers. That was seven years ago.

  “Anyway, I have to go relieve Ben,” David said, snapping out of the semi trance he was in. “I’ll see you for lunch,”

  Vincent hadn’t noticed that Ben was missing.

  “You’d better get going too, Fire Boy,” Lauren said sarcastically. “Jason doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “Who?” Vincent asked, slightly confused.

  “Master Silva,” Trent laughed, slapping Vincent on the side of the head. “Hurry up and get to the training field.”

  Vincent dropped his bowl and dashed from the Hall as the others laughed raucously. He sprinted through the rows of cabins to the training field. He found Silva already there, casually juggling some small stones.

  “Good morning Vincent,” Silva said, catching his stones. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Well enough,” Vincent replied.

  “Excellent, I hope for your sake that you have plenty of energy,” Silva was smiling, “you’ll need it. Now, first things first, you need to learn to control your toke
n better; so make a ball of fire.”

  Vincent nodded and took his flint from his belt pouch. Embracing his token, he struck the rocks together, causing a shower of sparks. He took hold of them with his token and made them grow to form a small ball of fire that hovered above his hand.

  “Lauren tells me you threw a ball of fire at Frost last night,” Silva commented absently, Vincent nodded that it was true. “Well, if it was anything like that ball there, then I doubt you even singed his hair.” Silva stuck his hand into the ball. “See, there’s no power in it.”

  Vincent felt the control of the ball pulled from him. Silva rolled the ball around in his hand, looking at it disapprovingly.

  “This,” Silva continued as the ball suddenly erupted into roaring blue flames, “Is a ball that can be used as a weapon.”

  Vincent could feel the intense heat rolling off the small ball. Silva allowed the ball to return to normal before returning it to Vincent.

  “That’s the first thing you need to learn,” Silva explained. “Everything else is just an appendage of that ability. Good luck.” Silva started walking away.

  “Wait,” Vincent called after him, “how am I supposed to learn something like that on my own? I’ve never done anything like that before.”

  “Oh, but you have,” Silva said smiling and walking back. “Think about it. Try to remember.”

  Vincent thought hard. It certainly hadn’t been when he fought Frost the night before, and Master Auna had definitely never mentioned anything like that. He was at a loss, and almost ready to admit defeat.

  Suddenly a sharp pain cut across the scar on his shoulder where Mayberry had cut him not two days earlier. A blue flash of light and he was back on the field at the abbey, standing face to face with Mayberry again.

  “You lack concentration,” Mayberry laughed.

  The battle continued; then another blue flash. This time Mayberry’s blade stopped as the flames on Vincent’s sword glowed blue.