Vincent nodded his understanding as they carried on. The main street of the town was crowded with people, which was surprising considering its size. Every person in all the surrounding area must have come to watch the arrival of the Rangers. Vincent’s eyes didn’t stop moving as he tried to take it all in.
All of the buildings were made from rough cut stone. Even the roofs of the buildings were covered in stone tiles. Villagers peered from windows, watching the small band of Rangers pass. There was a sense of excitement in the air. The children seemed oblivious to what was going on as they ran and chased each other through the crowd of people, stopping only momentarily to look at the passing Rangers.
The crowd parted to let the Rangers through. Each Ranger in the line looked straight ahead, head held high; except for Lauren. She looked at the ground. Ben placed a hand on her shoulder from behind and they carried on.
There was a large stone building in the centre of the town. It was much more elegant than the others, and stood a full story taller. It also had glass in the windows. The town’s people seemed to be ushering them toward it.
Trent walked boldly up to this building and knocked, very loudly, on the door. Before Trent had finished knocking, the door swung open, revealing an individual that looked more like a bear than a man. He was tall, muscular, and very hairy. He seized Trent’s hand with his own very calloused hand, and shook it vigorously. He had a broad smile on his face, which revealed several missing teeth.
“Welcome Rangers,” he roared, his voice as gruff as he looked. “Come in, come in.” He ushered them inside the building and closed the door. The room that met them was large and spacious. A long wooden table sat in the middle of the room with fifteen chairs set around it.
“Please, have a seat,” the man said, pointing at the table. “Oh, where are my manners,” he added, “my name is Ryan, and I’m a blacksmith by trade, but I also serve as head of the town council.”
With a curt nod, Trent took a seat. The others stood behind him in their teams on either side of Trent. Vincent elected to stand directly behind him. Ryan took the seat across from Trent.
“I’d offer you a drink, but I know you’d refuse.” Ryan said with a smile. Trent continued to stare at him, the smile dropped from Ryan’s face. “As you know, we’re having trouble with some missing sheep,” Ryan explained, getting down to business. “Normally I wouldn’t trouble the Rangers with something as trivial as this. You always do so much for us. That Master Silva is a saint for always answering our calls for help. But,” he hesitated a moment, obviously trying to choose his words carefully, “we sent out some of our militia men a few days ago to get to the bottom of this, and they still haven’t returned.”
“Where did you send them?” Trent asked sharply.
“There’s a farm just north of the city where the majority of the sheep have disappeared,” Ryan explained. Trent raised his hand. David and Weston nodded and then left the building.
“What else can you tell me?” Trent asked.
“Very little,” Ryan admitted sheepishly. “It’s just that the sheep always go missing at night, and only from the farms near the mountains.”
“Very well,” Trent said pensively. “Red Team, take the boy to the sanctuary, I still have a few matters of business to conduct here.
Ben and Lauren nodded as Ben grabbed Vincent hard by the shoulder and pulled him along as he left the building. It was dark outside now. Most of the people had left the streets, although a few still remained, trying to peek through the windows to see what was going on inside the great building.
Ben ignored the people and led the way through the narrow streets until they came to a simple wooden building at the edge of the town that was slightly bigger than the others. It, like the big building at the center of town, had glass in the windows; however, these windows were beautifully stained. The hand of Sandora was carved very carefully in the door.
They entered the small sanctuary and closed the door. A warm tingling sensation came over Vincent as he entered the building. The interior was just as simple as the exterior. Lines of pews ran from the front to the back with a simple statue of the goddess standing upon the altar at the front. Six glass orbs sat in alcoves along the walls, glowing softly and giving an inviting feeling to the room.
They didn’t wait long before Trent too entered.
“Lauren and Ben,” Trent said as he pulled off his mask, “I want you two to go see if you can get any information from the farmers near the mountains. I want to know as much as we can before we make our move. Something seems off here; it’s too organized for simple thieves.”
They nodded before plunging once again into the night, leaving Vincent and Trent alone. It was near midnight when David and Weston returned.
“David,” Trent said as soon as he entered, “your report?”
“We found the tracks of the militia men heading for the mountains from the farm. We found their bodies halfway up the mountain.”
Trent sat down on one of the pews. “How did they die?”
“It looked like they’d been beaten to death,” Weston cut in, “but there’s something strange about it.”
“What would that be?” Trent asked curiously.
“Well,” David said, clearing his throat, “their bodies were half eaten.”
“Wolves?” Vincent asked, trying to be helpful.
“I don’t think so,” Weston said quietly. “There was no sign that wolves had been there recently; or any other wild animal for that matter. Lots of cattle tracks though.”
“There’s something strange going on here,” Trent muttered, “and I don’t like it.” As Trent was speaking, Ben and Lauren walked through the door.
“I hope you have better news than these two,” Trent sighed in frustration.
“I doubt it,” Lauren said. “The farmers all reported strange howls on the nights when the sheep went missing and they also said they found hoof prints on the ground. I think we’re dealing with minotaurs.”
“Gah!” Trent shouted angrily, kicking the pew in front of him and knocking it over. “I knew it; thieves would have been too easy. I bet Silva knew all along, too.”
“Wait,” Vincent said, thinking back to the dream he had had his last night in the Academy, still hoping that it was just a dream. “I thought minotaurs were a myth; they don’t actually exist, do they?”
“Believe me,” Weston said grimly, “most of your fairy-tale creatures exist, hiding in the dark places of the earth. Servants to the Magi.”
“There’s still something that strikes me as odd here,” David said thoughtfully. “This just doesn’t add up. Minotaurs are incredibly stupid, there’s no way they’d be able to keep their presence hidden for so long; unless…”
“Unless someone else was leading them,” Trent cut in.
“Exactly,” David added, “and on top of that, I don’t think we’re dealing with a small band of them either. The average militia should be able to handle a single minotaur, so we probably have more than three; and judging by the way we found the bodies, many more than three.”
“So, what are we going to do?” Vincent asked, becoming nervous.
“We’re all going to get some rest,” Trent said firmly. “That’s what we’re going to do. If things are as bad as you’ve just said, then we’re going to need to be in our best form tomorrow. So get some sleep.”
Vincent unrolled his bed roll and lay down. Sleep didn’t come easily. Images of shadowy creatures he had always thought to be stories haunted him. Eventually, however, sleep did find him, and he welcomed it gratefully.
Chapter 9: The Tower of Earth
“Rangers!” Trent’s voice startled Vincent and he jolted awake. “Get ready, we leave in twenty minutes.”
Vincent got up slowly. He was sore all over from sleeping in his armour. He stretched as he looked around. The others were all carefully checking their gear or pulling things out of their bags and setting them aside.
“We trave
l light today,” Trent explained. “Be sure you carry only what you need.”
Vincent checked through his bag. There was nothing in it that he felt he absolutely needed, so he set it aside completely. He watched the others as they finished their preparations. He had never really noticed what weapons the others preferred to use. Weston had a half moon axe that he hung from a loop in his belt, while David carried a simple long sword. Lauren had a quiver of arrows hanging from her belt with a short sword stuck in the back of it. It was Ben’s weapons that caught Vincent’s attention, though. He had two large leather pouches sown on the front of his pants, covering from just above his knee to his hip. Something that looked like a glove was peeking out the top.
Ben noticed Vincent’s curiosity and he stuck his hands into the pouches and pulled out a pair of gauntlets that had long, thin blades strapped onto the top of them. The blades were as wide as his fists and as long as the pouches that they came from.
“You like them?” Ben asked with a smile. “I made them myself,” he added with a hint of pride in his voice. “I call them Grapplers.”
“They’re nice,” Vincent said in admiration. “May I see them?”
Ben handed him the strange weapons. They were much heavier than they appeared. He could hardly lift them. He passed them back to Ben.
“How do you use them?” Vincent asked, disbelieving. “They’re so heavy.”
“Metal comes from the earth,” Ben explained. “I have the token of earth, which is what I used to make these. They’re practically indestructible; I can even cut stone with them. The weight is something that I had to train to deal with, but they seem natural now.”
“Everybody ready?” Trent asked, cutting their conversation short. There was a murmur of assent. “Alright then,” he said calmly, “we need to be alert today. These aren’t stupid thieves we’re dealing with here. Benjamin, I want you to run point; David, rearguard. We need to work as a unit today.” Trent paused a moment as he looked at Vincent. “Vincent, I want you to stay by me at all costs, and,” he paused again, obviously torn, “I may regret this later, but, I give you permission to use your token; but only if absolutely necessary.” Vincent nodded his agreement.
“Right,” Trent continued, “Let’s be smart about this. I’m officially upgrading this mission to class orange. Weston, take us to where you found the bodies.”
The group tied on their masks before leaving the sanctuary. The sun had barely crept over the horizon, yet they could already see men working in their fields.
“What’s an orange class mission?” Vincent asked Lauren quietly as they walked. She seemed annoyed at having to answer simple questions, but answered none-the-less.
“The classes of missions signify their difficulty; they run from white to black. A white mission is so simple that a single team can deal with it alone. Next is yellow, still simple but a company is needed. Orange is still one company but it will be difficult and usually dangerous. Red is difficult and a second company is usually recommended where possible; they’re usually extremely dangerous.”
“What about black?” Vincent asked as Lauren stopped her explanation.
“I’ve never been on a black class mission,” Lauren said hastily. “It will always involve multiple units and has the highest difficulty and danger rating. If you go on a black class mission, you don’t expect to come back. I only know two people that have survived one,” she went on, “and they are in this group right now, Trent and Ben.”
Vincent walked in silence the rest of the way, thinking about this new piece of information. Weston led them to a small farm at the very base of the mountain. A humble, one room cottage housed the family, but there was little else. Ten scrawny sheep stood huddled together near the cottage; it was obvious that the herd had been much larger in the past.
From the farm yard, Weston turned west, heading toward the mountains. The terrain rose quickly, becoming increasingly steep as they went. Trees covered the slope and Vincent had to hold on to them to keep from sliding back. Weston stopped abruptly a short way up the mountain.
“This is where we found them,” he stated coldly. “We buried what was left of them over there,” he said, pointing a short distance away.
“Very well,” Trent was deep in thought. “We’ll continue up the mountain. It’s clear that they pass by here frequently, as the lower branches are all broken,” he said pointing at the trees. “Let’s hope that we don’t get attacked here. This wouldn’t be a good place to make a stand.”
They continued up the mountain, following the trail of broken branches and torn turf. It wound up the mountainside, heading toward the summit. As they climbed higher and higher up the mountain, the signs of the passing beasts became more apparent. Bones of various animals started dotting the ground, and hoof prints dug deep into the path.
A sudden roar from the right caught the group’s attention as a hulking beast burst from the brush, charging into Weston and knocking him to the ground. Vincent stood for a moment in horrified awe of the minotaur. It was even more impressive in life than it had been in his dream. The creature towered over him and was heavily armed. Very little flesh was exposed through the jagged armor it wore. Its ghastly, rusted long sword was dwarfed by its huge hand.
“Lauren, take him down,” Trent shouted.
Lauren quickly drew her bow and loosed an arrow. It buried itself cleanly in the monster’s throat. It was quickly followed by another from Benjamin.
The beast reeled, gasping for air, before falling heavily to the ground. It landed on Weston, who was still stunned from being hit. Weston choked and coughed under the weight. As quickly as the battle had begun, it was over.
Trent shook his head in disgust as he rolled the lifeless body of the minotaur off of Weston.
“Well that’s just great,” Trent grumbled, finally freeing Weston. “It’s wonderful!” “What’s wrong?” Vincent asked, puzzled.
“Look at that,” Trent growled, pointing at the body. Vincent looked. It was lying face down on the ground, quite motionless.
“What am I supposed to see?” Vincent was even more confused now.
“The armour, Vincent, the armour,” Trent was obviously irritated. “Minotaurs don’t wear armour. They’re too stupid. Which means that someone gave it to him; and what’s worse, we didn’t see or hear it until it burst from the woods. So he was probably a look out. Do you know how scared a minotaur would have to be to stay in one place, absolutely silent for hours on end?” Trent paused, gently rubbing his forehead in thought. “We’re dealing with something, or someone, incredibly powerful.”
“There are only three beings powerful enough to command fear in those around them to such an extent,” Lauren said solemnly.
“And what would those be?” David asked as he pulled Weston to his feet.
“First is a Magi,” she said slowly. “Their goddess, Katrina, is a god of beasts. The minotaurs are her creations in the first place.”
“I doubt it would be them,” Trent interrupted. “Magi avoid dealing personally with ‘lower life forms’ as much as possible.”
“Which leads to possibility two,” Lauren went on, “a Draylor.”
“A what?” Vincent asked.
“A Draylor,” Ben repeated. “They look like humans, but have super-human strength. They also have a unique distinguishing feature of being half dragon. It means they can transform at will from a human appearance to that of a dragon. Honestly, what do they teach you in the Academy these days?”
“But that’s even less likely,” Weston added, ignoring Benjamin’s comments. “The Draylor are followers of Sandora, and thus, our allies.”
“Which leaves only one,” Trent said apprehensively.
“A Lich,” Lauren said; her voice a barely audible whisper.
This time Vincent wasn’t alone in his confusion.
“What’s a Lich?” David asked before Vincent had the chance.
“A Lich,” Trent explained quietly, “is of the living
dead.” The words hung in the air, resonating in the silence. “They were once the most powerful wizards in Pallà. Their power knew no bounds. They could have even challenged the Pallàdrim, had they so chosen. It was this power, however, that blinded them. They sought to become as the gods, eternal. As punishment, they were stricken by Sandora, and cast into the abyss, where they were found by Katrina. She allowed them to return to the mortal plain cursed with the thing that they had longed for. They would never die, yet their bodies slowly decay. The pain of the rotting bodies which they cannot escape drove them to insanity.”
They stood in silence, pondering the implications of this new revelation.
“What do we do now?” Lauren asked hesitantly.
“We do the only thing we can do,” Trent replied somberly, “we carry on.” Trent pulled his mace from his belt loop and tossed his cloak over his shoulders so it hung like a cape. “It’s a good bet that this lich, or whatever it is, knows we’re coming. Be on your guard, this mission is now red class.”
Trent continued up the path. The others followed, drawing their weapons as well. The sun was now high in the sky. Sweat trickled down Vincent’s face under the mask. The path continued steeply up the mountain. The trees started to thin as they approached the top, until they disappeared completely.
The path they had been following came to an end as the ground leveled out. Vincent stared in wonder. The view from the top of the mountain seemed to continue forever. To his surprise, a giant tower had been built on top of the mountain near where they were standing. It was more of a ruin now and had obviously been abandoned for centuries. It seemed to grow from the mountain, with smooth walls except for where holes had been knocked through. The top seemed to have crumbled completely, but it still held an aura of splendor. Vincent could almost see how it had looked in its days of glory.
“Perfect,” Trent grumbled. “The day just keeps getting better.”
The Ranger (Book 1) Page 12
