Following this false king they knew to be the Great Ranger, the party traipsed down the other side of the mountain from which they had come, approaching a pass between the next two peaks in the range. As it was, this chain of mountains wasn't on many maps. They weren’t named, not really. Only the small villages and the gypsies and other nomads that roamed this land had names for them. They all were different. The closest thing that Coe had ever heard that described the mountains, and the name he liked the best, was the Hazel Tops. They weren’t so much a barrier as they were an indication to go another way. Nothing but desert lay beyond them to the ocean on the other side of the continent.
The Great Ranger didn’t let up for some time, so Coe had to be the one to call for rest along the way, still playing his part as the weathered old man.
“So, how did a man of meager means come to employ an elf?” the Great Ranger finally asked. He took a swig of something, water or wine, from his skin.
Coe sat upon a rock. It was more uncomfortable to rest on this rock than it was to walk, the jagged hard edges of stone dug into his backside. He wasn’t sure if it was the thin frame of the old man that was to blame, but he cursed the halfling all the same.
“That is an easy answer,” he said. “Wellum was on his own way to your castle. He, too, had heard this legend of the gold. He offered his services free of charge, assuming we’d help him to find these riches. I hope that is still the case.”
“I’m not sure I would have taken this man’s bargain,” Wellspoken said softly, doing his best now to mimic the proper voice of an elf. “Had I been alone, I may have shared the same fate as your son.”
“Oh, there’s still time,” the Great Ranger said with a sneer. “It’s not far now, another day’s journey. You’ll find losing your head in such a place is easy. I can offer all of you this one chance now to turn back.”
“Turn back?” Wellspoken said, faltering.
To his credit, Two-finger said nothing, only looking away. Two-finger and Bill were as close of friends as dwarves get.
Coe knew better than to lay eyes on the Great Ranger at this standoff. He wasn’t sure what the man was playing at—what sort of trick this could be, but he knew better than to play into it.
“My legs are rested,” Coe said. “Let’s head onward.”
Behind them, Rotrick followed the small signs: a rock kicked upside down in the dirt, a few blades of grass broken.
The air was fresh in the mountains, damp and cool. His short stature as a dwarf was a hinderance, unable to see as far ahead as usual.
He was almost over it, over Coe’s bad faith. Rotrick was a ranger, dammit, the same as Collus. They’d done the same things, defeated the same beasts, troll, and mountain cats… a dragon once. They’d fought in battles alongside each other, most recently against a horde of orcs.
Rotrick knew Coe’s plan was a good one. It might just work. But his mind was settled on several facts. One: he was just as good as Coe, if not better in some ways. Two: the Great Ranger had to be stopped.
Rotrick could alter the plan, if only a little.
6
Night fell, quick and dark as it often does in the fall, and they made a hurried camp. The land had become more treacherous, the mountains more jagged and narrow.
The campfire was warm but not a replacement for the sun’s heat that had diminished almost the second it disappeared behind the horizon. The party ate the remnants of leftovers from their packs, and the dwarves were quick to sleep. But Coe who was never fast to anything, not even battle, stayed staring into the fire.
The Great Ranger, who had been quiet most of the day, too quiet, took a seat beside him.
“Out of all the hundreds, maybe thousands, of things you could've had your little magician do—and yes, I know he's little. Of all the spells, all the protection he could've offered, strength or stamina or something else entirely, out of all of that, you had him change your appearance… And just that?”
Coe looked away, unmoving. Unbelieving. All of it, all the acting, all the subterfuge. Wasted.
“I saw through you the minute your thief stepped into my castle,” the Great Ranger continued. “That’s how long it took for your plan to go to shit. And look at you. Sure, you look old. But I can tell in your eyes and your walk that you are no old man. I am an old man. I still have the same strength I did at thirty. And yet, I walk like an old man, tot because I feel old, but because I am old. You don’t walk like that. You still don’t know what life is. I’ve walked this realm for over two hundred years… I know what life is: it’s hard, and it’s aching… And you, you’ve disappointed me. I thought you were a worthy opponent, but now, I know you aren’t.”
Coe began to speak but stopped, his mouth half open.
“I’m not going back on my word. No, you’ll still have your last chance.”
“But—”
“But what? Do you want to fight me here and now? This was your second chance. Not all battles deal in combat. You lost the first. Now you’ve lost the second.”
Coe sat listening to the crackle of the fire, feeling defeated. “And what of my friend? Can we still seek to save him?”
“Yes.” The Great Ranger looked back at the camp, at the sleeping bodies of Two-finger and Wellspoken. “Your friends… they don’t have to know of your failure, not yet. But whatever trap you’ve set—if you’ve set one—I’m telling you now that it’s no good.”
“And what about the trap you’ve set? This gold… This madness?”
The Great Ranger stared off into the fire. “You get no more special treatment than the others. A deal is a deal.”
The next morning, they reached the end of the mountain pass. Beyond it, Coe thought it looked as if the ground had just given up. A vast desert extended across the horizon. Dunes of sand, rivers of it, and tangerine cliffs sculpted by the wind—all greeted the party.
Travelers didn't often roam this particular piece of the continent. In ancient times, it had been the land of the dragons. And still, their fossils could be found by merely sweeping away a bit of the sand and stone.
Not that there weren’t a few dragons left roaming the realm, but not here in this desert. Coe was confident he knew where the last of the dragons roosted. And he had other plans for that knowledge.
This was what set Coe apart from the other rangers—from everyone. Coe listened. When at a bar filled with the constant banter and stories, the tall tales and exaggerations of men, he listened. And he remembered. The ranger could pick a story apart for any nugget of truth. Words, like puzzle pieces, were sifted meticulously in Coe’s mind. One by one, he put the pieces of each story with their partners, finding patterns to tales told hundreds of miles away or decades apart—and often, both.
His failure this time was in planning, in preparation. Perhaps he’d been too quick to act. Still, he left small markers in the sand for Rotrick to follow. His plan could still work. He’d never really meant to defeat the Great Ranger this time anyway.
They waded through sand so deep he was sure it would trap them inside. And a mirage would spring from nowhere, a river, a lake, an outcropping of palm trees. None of them led the Great Ranger astray, though the dwarves were prone to turn to them. Then finally, an oasis—it had to be a trick of the sun. A lonely mountain stood surrounded by a thick tropical forest with first a few isolated palms and then a whole tangle of lush undergrowth and twisted vegetation leading up to a lake, encased by the trees with a few of them growing haphazardly out from the shore and then a whole island at its center. The mountain itself seemed a dormant volcano, cratered at the top.
He blinked his eyes, waiting. He blinked them again to reveal the truth.
“What you see is real,” the Great Ranger told the party. “Inside this mountain lies the City of Gold. Like my castle, the mountain only reveals itself when it’s ready, or when I ask.”
“We’ll make camp tonight,” Coe said. It was time to stop following orders and be the leader he knew he was. “I
have something I’d like to talk to you all about.”
The Great Ranger looked at him dubiously but didn’t say a word.
7
“You mean he’s known all along?” Two-finger said, his accent a gruff reminder of who he really was underneath the facade. “And to think, I been hushed up so long. You knows it ain’t in my nature.”
“Well, why don’t we just turn back now?” Wellspoken asked.
Before the Great Ranger could speak a word, and he looked like he was going to, Coe interjected, “Our chance for turning back was already offered. Plus, Billy’s still out here somewhere.”
“And what if we find Bill? What then? Do we have to—”
“As I said, our pact is just that. We’re to help the Great Ranger return treasure to the castle. We made a deal.”
“But—”
“Listen,” Coe said to the two of them. “The Great Ranger also made a deal with me, to give me three chances before he takes my life. I don’t want him going back on that deal, so we’re not going back on our word either. We’ll go with him to this City of Gold, and we’ll help him bring treasure back to his castle.”
The dwarves weren’t happy about this, but what could Coe do? The Great Ranger had him in check.
Wellspoken eyed Coe warily. With his eyes, he asked about the aspect of the plan. Behind them, Rotrick followed, completely unknowing that Coe’s had gone so far south. He shrugged a response that didn’t seem to quell the unease in Wellspoken’s eyes.
There was not much he could do now. There wasn’t a ranger’s mark, no sign to turn back—it wasn’t in their nature. It wasn’t the ranger way.
Rotrick watched their fire from between dunes. It was the best he could do to shelter himself from the cold and the wind. Every light breeze sent tiny daggers of sand digging into his face and eyes.
He was familiar enough with magic to know that he couldn’t sleep this night. If he should ever take his eyes off the oasis, well, then his eyes would probably never find it again. That was the way of things, magic.
His body became numb with the cold. His fingers felt like the digits were sewn together, unable to move except as one. His knees ached with the lingering pain of a forgotten battle.
Rotrick was reminded of his first meeting with Coe. Before they were friends, Coe had acted identically, believing Rotrick a nuisance that would only hinder his attempts on the mountain cat they both sought to kill.
Tomorrow, Rotrick would enact his plan. And Coe, well, he would just have to deal.
The oasis was eerily quiet, the same as the castle had been. Birds weren't chittering away in the morning light. There were only the hushed yawns of Two-finger and Wellspoken groggily waking.
Behind him, the dunes rose like an endless sea of sand, but Coe was careful not to look back, not to let on that anyone was back there, following. There was still some semblance of a chance Coe’s plan could work. If anything, the Great Ranger had his guard down, thinking Coe had already lost.
The man kicked out the dying embers of last night’s fire, signaling it was time to leave. Coe wasn’t sure whether the Great Great Ranger ever slept. He seemed less man than he had back in Seascape where they first fought. The Great Ranger was more just a presence here than anything else.
A cave’s black entrance was etched into the mountain and easy to see. They walked along the sandy banks of the lake and then up to a grassy trail. While it looked well-traveled, all white sand and knots of weeds, Coe knew better. It was all magic, not real in any true sense. As the trail grew tattered and rocky, Coe wondered why. Why make any more obstacles? What was the point? The Great Ranger had them in his snare now, didn’t he?
They rounded a bend. The cave mouth was now in full view. But so was something else: a man.
“There might be one thing I forgot to mention about those that touch the gold.” The Great Ranger stepped back, smiling. “Once they find the gold, they’re willing to protect it… with their lives. And sometimes more.”
What did that even mean? Coe wondered. But he would soon find out.
The man stumbled forward. Parts of Bill showed through the spell. When Coe had last seen him, Epik had transformed his white beard to a long blonde that hung shaggily at the shoulders. His round nose had been reduced to a mere button. But now, the hair was a mixture of blonde and white. His beard had grown back an inch or so. And the nose was somewhere in-between. He still wore the patch, the black one over his right eye, but the left eye was wild with rage.
“Bill,” Coe said without trepidation. “It’s us. It’s Coe. You remember? I told you we’d all be changed.”
But Bill just grunted, his mouth snarled and angry. He looked and moved as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, emaciated—as if his sole purpose in life had been to find this treasure.
“Billy,” Two-finger said, his arms open and ready to greet his friend.
“Watch it,” Wellspoken said to no avail.
But Bill had already raised a hammer. It glided unsteadily through the air before meeting the ribs of Two-finger’s pristine body. He fell limp on the ground, the wind and affection knocked out of him in one swift movement.
“Like I said, your friend is not your friend anymore. His only care is for the gold that lies inside the mountain.”
The party backed away with care as Bill sprang forward, coming at Wellspoken now. But Wellspoken’s grace, whether it be of the elf he portrayed or something deep inside him, helped him swiftly duck out of the hammer’s way. The problem: Wellspoken didn’t know what to do with Billy now. He arched upward and kicked Bill’s stomach, hoping to impede his progress further, but the wild one-eyed man only staggered in Coe’s direction.
The ranger had more of his wits about him. Coe may have looked an old man, but he no longer had to pretend he was something he was not. He knocked the hammer out of Bill’s grip with a swift kick to the dwarf-man’s wrist. Then Coe pounced on Bill’s back, hoping to stop the wildling from further harming himself or others. Coe pulled Bill’s arms back and kneed his spine.
It would’ve worked, too, had it not been for Epik’s silly spell. The old man Coe did not have the weight of the real ranger. Bill bucked him off easily and grabbed at his hammer.
The Great Ranger seemed to watch this interchange with satisfaction.
Two-finger, recovering, was able to tackle Bill before he reached the hammer. Wellspoken jumped on him, too, and they both dragged the emaciated figure down to the ground.
Coe quickly found some rope from his pack and was able to tie Bill’s hands and feet together like he was an unruly hog.
“Good show,” the Great Ranger prodded them.
“You knew he would be like this?” Coe said, spitting. “How can we change him back?”
The Great Ranger bit his lip, mocking Coe. “This is your show, isn’t it? And this," he pointed to Bill, writhing on the ground, "is your penalty for thinking a few months planning could outdo my years.”
“Will he, will he walk the earth like this… forever?” There was a chill in Two-finger’s voice.
The Great Ranger shrugged apathetically.
“We’ll find a way to break the curse,” Coe said, meaning it.
“I’m sure you’ll try,” the Great Ranger said derisively.
Bill lay on his side on the ground, kicking at his captors.
8
“For ya own good,” Two-finger said, knocking Bill out with a solid, if downcast, blow to the back of the head.
At the cave’s mouth, Coe finally succumbed to the temptation and looked back before entering. Briefly, he thought he had caught a glimpse of something down along the path. Just a shadow or a shadow’s shadow. A pang of vexation ran down Coe’s middle. Why was Rotrick so close behind? Wasn’t he a ranger? Couldn’t he stay out of sight?
Coe turned to see if the Great Ranger had also peered down the path. Of course, he had.
“There’s nothing more to fear out there,” the man said. “All that’s to fear lies ahead.”
There was more to the story, Coe knew. He could only guess what traps awaited them inside.
Torches were lit down the passage as if by magic. It was all magic, the whole mountain, the whole oasis. That was what hurt the most. As a child, Coe’s father had told stories of this legendary man, this Great Ranger. Coe could remember the twinkle in his father’s eyes as he had told the bedtime stories to the young Coe. His father had believed them possibly more than Coe had. But his father’s idol was nothing more than a parlor trick, the outcome of some spell. Maybe once he had trained as Coe and his father had, maybe he had once been a true ranger, a protector of the weak, a protector of the realm. But now this man was twisted into something else entirely—a shell of a ranger, encrusting a black magic soul.
They marched down the dimly lit caverns. The city was itself a beacon of light. An amber glow of the gold sparkled off the cave walls. They stopped short, twenty meters from anything golden.
“This is how it will work,” the Great Ranger said. “You will each go, one at a time into the city. You may touch one thing… And one thing only. You will bring it back to me. When the gold passes into my possession, you will be allowed one more token, yours to keep. Do you understand?”
The three of them nodded. But what Coe couldn’t understand was why? Why the Great Ranger continued the ruse. It was like this was a play and the man an actor.
“What happens if we—”
“Don’t,” Coe cut Two-finger’s question off. “Do exactly as he says.”
Two-finger nodded warily. He went first, picking out a golden locket for the Great Ranger who hung it from his neck. Then Two-finger went back, picking a ring with a trio of diamonds at its center for himself.
Wellspoken was next. He did as he was told, finding the false king a golden chalice and himself a dagger encrusted with jewels, its hilt solid gold. The blade looked to be sharp enough to cut a thought.
The Vanishing Castle_An Epik Fantasy Short Page 3
