Ranger's Oath

by Blake Arthur Peel

  Making a mental calculation, I draw another arrow and pull, this time only waiting a heartbeat before I release.

  Thud. This time a little to the left.

  As I draw my third arrow, I notice that the Nightingale guard is watching me curiously, his crossbow all but forgotten at his side.

  Taking aim, I release the arrow and grin with satisfaction as it thunks directly in the center of the target.

  I take five steps back and continue this process, sighting down the shaft and loosing until I can get into a rhythm of hitting the center every time. When my first quiver is empty I drop it to the ground and pick up another one, loosing until I feel comfortable shooting from that distance. Eventually I find myself with my back against the wall of a building, probably fifty paces from the training grounds, but I do not stop. I put arrows in every single one of the targets and practice dummies, delivering killing shots almost every single time.

  For a while I lose myself in the motions.

  Draw. Pull. Sight. Loose. Repeat.

  I find archery soothing, becoming one with the bow. In the back of my mind I recite the Ranger's Oath, finding peace in the vow that all rangers must make, until my arms and back start to become sore.

  The sky grows gradually brighter and soon I notice that something of an audience has gathered around me. Men and more than a few women, all in Nightingale cloaks, watch me in awed silence as I shoot arrow after arrow into the targets.

  Then, I pick up the final arrow from the third quiver. Arrow number ninety.

  Sucking in a breath I pull it to my cheek and quickly release, landing a shot on the head of one of the dummies.

  Then I stand there, looking with everybody else at the dozens of feathered missiles sticking out of the targets in clusters. My muscles feel worn out but I feel content. I always feel this way when I can lose myself in the shooting. Something about archery makes me feel like I am at peace.

  Finally, I break out of my trance and walk up to my stunned escort, handing him the bow and breaking the silence. "Is the cook up yet?"

  He nods, eying me warily, and begins escorting me to the cooking fires, a dozen whispered conversations following us as we go.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Zara

  I wake up to thin rays of light filtering in through the cracks in my bedroom walls, painting the bare trappings of the hovel in a faint golden glow.

  My jaw pops as I let out a yawn and stretch, sitting up in my bed and pulling off the scratchy blanket the Nightingales had supplied me with. My sleep had been restful, but my back still aches from sleeping on this sorry excuse for a mattress. What is this thing made out of, anyway? I think to myself in annoyance. Rocks?

  Abruptly, my stomach rumbles, protesting hollowly as I blink the sleep away from my eyes.

  Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I slip my feet into my shoes and stand, feeling the chill of the morning pebble my skin. It is cold in the little hut, and I shiver as I pull on my robes.

  Next, I try vainly to tame my frizzy hair with my fingers, smoothing it with my hands and hoping that it looks presentable. Light, what I would give for a brush right now. Glancing at my reflection in the room's only small window, I grimace. I can barely recognize the dirty, messy haired girl looking back at me.

  Finally, I heave a disgruntled sigh. It will have to do for now.

  Letting out another yawn, I step out of my bedroom and into the common room. Both Owyn and Elias' doors stand open, so I assume that they are both out getting food. Crazy rangers. I don't understand how they can function on so little sleep. Stepping past the ash-filled fire pit, I push open the front door and step out into the courtyard of Dagger's Point.

  By the position of the sun, I can tell that it is already several hours past dawn. The fort, which looks much less impressive in the light of the day, is already bustling with activity. Lines of soldiers stand in front of the cooking pots, waiting to receive their first meal of the day, their dark cloaks marking them all as Nightingale insurgents. People scurry every which way, busying themselves with various chores, and the pinging sound of a hammer on an anvil rises above the chatter of voices.

  As I step outside, a guard walks silently up beside me, crossbow held firmly in both hands. He begins dutifully following me, but otherwise says nothing. I choose to ignore him, making for the nearest cook pot to wait in line. I can feel the eyes of almost everyone around watching me curiously, but I try not to let it bother me.

  The time passes very slowly.

  Lost in my own thoughts, I find myself looking around the blocky fortification, inspecting Dagger's Point from the inside. High walls of sharpened wooden spears line the perimeter, and low, hastily-constructed buildings fill the inside. On the nearby the gate I can see strange objects adorning the tops of those spear-like walls. At first, I cannot make them out, but after a minute squinting it dawns on me.

  Those are heads, I realize in revulsion. Hairy, severed demon heads!

  My stomach lurches and I look away.

  Eventually I make it to the front of the line, and a fat man in an apron ladles some grey porridge into a bowl. He hands it to me roughly, slopping some of it over the side, then waves for me to get out of the way so he can serve the next man in line.

  I take the bowl and step aside, muttering an insincere, "Thank you," as I suspiciously eye the slop. Between the demon heads and the colorless food, my appetite suddenly does not seem so severe anymore.

  As I shovel the first tasteless bite into my mouth, I am approached by a dour-looking Owyn and his escort, who appears just as disinterested as my own guard.

  "Good morning," Owyn says, his smile looking forced.

  I nod at him and swallow, grimacing as I do so. "Good morning," I reply, trying to force a smile as well.

  "How did you sleep?" He asks.

  "Well enough," I answer, looking down at my bowl and trying to conjure the will to take another bite. "Where is Elias?"

  Owyn points to the great hall above the courtyard. "Speaking with the general," he says, speaking the title with a thick layer of sarcasm. "He's trying to convince him to let us return to Forest Hill without an escort of guards. He thinks they would only slow us down."

  "I see. Then I assume we will be heading out shortly?"

  He nods. "Hopefully."

  Disregarding my bowl of gruel, I notice that many of the Nightingales in the courtyard are giving Owyn a wide berth. They are looking at him with a mixture of respect and hostility, as if he had done something to frighten them.

  Strange, I think, giving them a curious look.

  After a moment, I turn to my guard. "Here," I say tersely, handing him my bowl. "I'm no longer hungry." I'd rather eat sticks and berries in the forest than try to stomach this stuff.

  Surprised, he takes the bowl, and I motion for Owyn to follow me.

  "Let's prepare ourselves so that we are ready to move as soon as Elias gets out."

  A smile cracks his hard mask of stoicism and me follows me. Together, we walk back to our group's hovel on the far side of the courtyard.

  Before we can reach the door, however, we stop, noticing a commotion near the front entrance of Dagger's Point. "Open the gates!" A man atop the wall shouts. "Scouts returning!" Many of the soldiers in the fort begin heading excitedly in that direction.

  Owyn and I look at each other, then silently agree to go investigate. We jog to the front of the fort just as the great wooden doors begin to swing open.

  A man on a horse, wearing the same dark cloak and armor that everyone else here is wearing, rides into the encampment at breakneck speed. Before he can trample any of his comrades he reins in his mount, hooves kicking up large clumps of dirt. The horse is lathered and breathing heavily from a hard run, and the rider slumps exhausted in his saddle.

  "What news?" Someone in the crowd asks and the mob becomes quiet, waiting eagerly for the response.

  The rider looks up and for the first time I get a good look at his face. He look
s as if he has not slept in days, dark circles ringing his tired eyes and his expression extremely harried. "The demons are on the move," he declares, causing the crowd to whisper and murmur. "Moloch is gathering his troops."

  "Make way!" A familiar voice shouts, and the crowd parts to reveal General William Pyke and Elias running up to where the rider sits on his horse. "You saw him?" Pyke asks when he arrives. "You saw Moloch with your own eyes?"

  "Yes, general," the rider replies, nodding his head vigorously. "I'd not soon forget a face like that. Or those blood-red eyes..." His voice trails off as he shivers visibly.

  "Then you're lucky to be alive, soldier." Pyke says, resting a hand on the hilt of a longsword strapped to his belt. "Tell me everything."

  "I saw them while making my rounds near the Heart of the Forest," he states. "Dozens of them, though not the entire horde. There were beasts of shadow that walked on all fours and ones that walked like men."

  Darkhounds and gorgons, I think to myself, remembering my book. Some of the most common fighters in the R'Laar armies.

  "They were gathering in a canyon, my lord. Like they were trying to avoid being seen. Moloch, the big red-skinned one, was addressing them. I couldn't hear much, but it sounded like he was preparing them to attack Forest Hill." The rider suddenly blanches, then lowers his voice. Everyone leans in to try and catch his words. "General, some of our brothers were there with him. They knelt in the grass before him like slaves."

  A troubled look crosses Pyke's face. "How many were there?"

  "Fewer than twenty" he replies. "But I have no idea where the rest of them are camped."

  Pyke curses under his breath.

  Barus pushes his way through the crowd and steps up to Pyke. Owyn and I inch closer to overhear what they are saying.

  "General, this could be our chance to cut the head off of the snake. If Moloch is away from the rest of his troops, then we could find him and eliminate him without risking the rest of our army. We may not get another chance to strike."

  Surprisingly Elias speaks up, shaking his head as he does so. "It sounds like a risky move," he interjects, a frown cutting deep furrows on his forehead. "The demons have every advantage here. I know those canyons. They are a poor place to do battle."

  "This, coming from a kingsman," Barus sneers. "Your words mean little here."

  "Enough," Pyke barks, rubbing his temples as if he has a headache. He squeezes his eyes shut, like he is trying to think, but after a moment he opens them again. Having come to some sort of conclusion, he continues. "Excellent work soldier. Get yourself some food and rest. You've more than earned it."

  The weary scout thanks the general and urges his horse forward, making his way for the barracks as the crowd parts before him.

  "Ranger Keen," the general says, once the scout is gone. "Your advice is appreciated. But Barus is right. This opportunity is far too precious for us to squander. Even though our position is less than ideal, the chance to kill Moloch once and for all is well worth the risk."

  He then turns to address the rest of the crowd, who are all looking expectantly toward him.

  "Soldiers," he shouts, raising his voice high so that he can be heard. "The Nightingales are an organization built on freedom. Freedom from the king and the Conclave, and freedom from tyranny. But right now, our freedom is threatened by these demons, who have already taken so many of our brothers and sisters from us."

  Almost all of the Nightingales around us are nodding at his words, looking at their general in rapt attention. I've never seen somebody command such respect, I realize, impressed. These people would follow him to their deaths.

  Pyke continues. "The day has come for us to put an end to this madness. I will be sending a unit of our best soldiers to find and kill this demon who has brought so much sorrow to our cause. We will fight back this threat like the legendary Legion of Light, and throw those Hells-cursed monsters out of these lands!"

  Pulling his sword from his scabbard, he thrusts it into the air and lets out a shout that is echoed by the cries of two hundred of his fellow Nightingales, who draw weapons of their own.

  Owyn, Elias and I stand amidst the jubilant throng, looking awkward and uncertain among the cheering soldiers. For the most part I agree with Elias' assessment. This whole thing feels wrong for some reason. But I keep my mouth shut, instead choosing to follow my companions out of the crowd to a relatively uncrowded location in the courtyard.

  "What does this mean?" Owyn asks as soon as we are out of earshot. "Are we still going to go back to Forest Hill?"

  Elias shakes his head. "No. We'll need proof of our claims, or else nobody is going to believe us that there demons inside of the Arc." He looks first at Owyn, and then at me. "We are going to go with them and end this before it even begins."

  WITHIN THE HOUR, DAGGER's Point is abuzz with movement as the Nightingales prepare to move out and engage the demon Moloch.

  Horses are brought out en masse, weapons being sharpened, and soldiers being outfitted with armor, making it appear as though the entire fortification is preparing for war.

  The three of us confer back in our little hut on what our next steps should be. Elias brings up the fact that we are too far away from Forest Hill to ask for reinforcements, and that it would be almost impossible to convince them to send any anyway. He reminds Owyn that it is their duty as rangers to protect the Emberwood, and suggests that they should instead accompany the Nightingales on this attack.

  Owyn argues that the Nightingales are enemies of the king, but eventually agrees when Elias counters that the threat of demons puts all of us on the same side.

  His sour attitude afterward indicates that he is unhappy with the decision.

  I agree to travel with them on this attack, having nowhere else to go myself. The thought of being disbarred from the mages ties my stomach into knots, but I try to be brave and take it all in with my head held high.

  When Elias approaches General Pyke, he is met with little resistance. At first the general seems to have reservations about having us beside them in battle, but Elias points out that having two more competent warriors and a mage would be a huge advantage. It isn't long afterward that Barus begrudgingly relinquishes our weapons to us.

  I clutch my talisman in my hand as I watch the Nightingales, the two dozen fighters who had been chosen to carry out this mission, prepare themselves to leave. Words come unbidden to my mind as I do, text from the dusty tome I had brought with me from Tarsys:

  Gorgons, far and away the most common type of demon in the R'Laar, represent the bulk of the armada. They are more intelligent than shadowlings and in many instances hold high-ranking positions in the armada's organization.

  It is the gorgons who were primarily responsible for the demonic process known as mindflaying...

  I cannot help but shiver at the thought.

  We are about to attempt to find and kill an actual Gorgon, I think to myself anxiously. Light almighty, please preserve us.

  Owyn approaches me from the side and hands me the reins to a horse. I stare at the white and black mottled creature with apprehension. "Are you looking forward to another long ride?" He asks with the ghost of a grin. I can tell that he is looking forward to getting out of this place.

  "About as much as I am looking forward to fighting another demon," I reply curtly, checking to see that my saddlebags had been properly secured.

  "Something feels wrong here," he says, looking out at the open gate and the forest beyond.

  I follow his gaze. "I feel it too."

  An unspoken fear passes between us as we stand there, Nightingale rebels hurrying in our periphery. Are we on our way to liberate the Emberwood from the demonic presence plaguing it, or are we merely delivering ourselves into their hands?

  Only time will tell.

  Elias leads his horse to our position, armed to the teeth and wearing a grim mask that put his usual stoicism to shame. In that look, I know that he can feel it too. "Are you prepared to depart?"


  We both nod.

  "Good," he replies, swinging up into the saddle. "Pyke has informed me that we will be leaving any minute."

  Taking a breath, I begin the painful process of mounting my horse and situating myself for the journey. The beast seems more spirited than my last horse, and I find myself quietly praying that will not throw me while we are on the road. Owyn does the same as me, though he pulls himself up with an easy grace that gives me a twinge of petty jealousy.

  It is not long before we are joined by the two dozen Nightingales, who have all been fully outfitted for battle. Their horses paw the ground with their hooves, mirroring the eagerness of their riders.

  General Pyke, resplendent in his plate armor and wolf's head cloak, trots his mount to the front of our group with Barus in tow. Both of them carry the same somber expression.

  "Brothers and sisters," he calls, lifting his voice high for the entire fort to hear. "My fellow Nightingales. We ride now for the Heart of the Forest, to put an end to the tyranny of the demons. Hold fast in these fortifications until we return. Men, ride out!"

  He leads us through the open gate and into the trees beyond, and Owyn, Elias, and I urge our horses forward to follow them. There is no cheering as we depart. The overall mood of Dagger's Point seems subdued.

  I watch from over my shoulder as the gates of the fort close shut behind us, as if sealing us to our fate.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Owyn

  This, I think to myself, is the most uncomfortable ride of my life.

  Never straying far from Elias and Zara, I keep to the rear of the column, riding through the thick forest growth and avoiding contact with anyone else. It is not the saddle nor the horse that is causing my discomfort.

  Rather, it is the present company.

  My show with the arrows this morning had done more than make my arms and back incredibly sore. Rumors have begun to spread through the Nightingale ranks like a disease making its way through a village. Several of the rebel soldiers steal glances at me as we travel, leveling glares and hostile looks in my direction. In addition to wariness, I can almost see a small sense of awe in their expressions, but to me it is all the same.