The Ranger's Path: The King's Ranger Book 2 Read online

  Grund caught the blow and diverted it. The commandant unleashed a blistering counterattack with his other weapon.

  Rew stepped into the man’s guard so that the commandant’s arm smacked against his side but the blade missed. Rew swung his head forward, catching Grund on the bridge of the nose with the crown of his skull. Bone crunched, and Grund fell back, dragging his falchion along Rew’s upper arm as he did.

  Rew spun away and ducked, narrowly avoiding Grund’s second falchion as the commandant brought it back, trying to trap Rew between the razor-sharp edges. Blood streaming from his shoulder, Rew staggered clear.

  Grund stood, shaking his head. He wiped at his mask with the back of his wrist, and Rew saw the man’s blood glistening on the back of his doe-skin gauntlet. “Not bad, Ranger, not bad. I thought perhaps your time in the wilderness had made you slow, but—”

  A string snapped, and an arrow flew at Grund. The ranger commandant whipped a falchion around and knocked the arrow aside.

  “Run,” hissed Rew to the others. “Run, you fools!”

  Then, he was backpedaling again as Grund charged, swinging both of his falchions in alternating, lightning-fast attacks.

  Cinda’s sparks flashed at the man again, but Grund ignored them, plowing toward Rew, who darted behind a stalagmite and then ran around several more of the mineral formations, heading deeper into the cavern. He was trying to buy himself time to think.

  Grund stayed on his heels, though, his falchions whistling a pace behind Rew.

  Rew ducked behind a thick stalagmite that rose twice his height then spun, swinging back behind him with his longsword, putting his entire weight into it, trusting to luck the commandant wouldn’t expect the attack.

  Grund, coming around the spire of rock, was startled and barely raised his weapons in time to block Rew’s powerful blow. One of the enchanted blades was jarred from the man’s hands and went spinning off into the darkness of the cavern, but instead of panicking, Grund raised his palm toward Rew and unleashed a torrent of roaring fire.

  Rew threw himself away, rolling across the ground and behind another stalagmite as the blistering flames followed him across the cavern floor. Cursing and batting at his cloak where it was singed by the flame, Rew stalked silently away, heading toward where he’d knocked Grund’s weapon.

  But before Rew could find the blade, there was a scraping sound, and the enchanted falchion flew into the air, its silver edge reflecting the lonely shaft of light that spilled from the ceiling as it soared through the cavern’s mist and slapped back into Grund’s open hand. Rew spun, raising his longsword, and saw Grund behind him, both of his blades in hand, blood dripping from the bottom of his leather mask.

  The men eyed each other, but neither spoke.

  Rew stalked forward. Grund sidestepped behind the rocks and into the darkness, mimicking Rew’s flight earlier. Rew went after him, knowing the commandant meant to lose himself amongst the stalagmites and darkness and attack from behind. Rew knew he was playing into Grund’s hands, but it was better than letting the ranger commandant have time to formulate a better plan. Vyar Grund was an expert with his two falchions and had a deadly command of high magic as well. He could call upon fire, as he’d already demonstrated, and—

  Cursing, Rew spun and sprinted back toward his companions.

  Standing in the center of the cavern, in the light from the hole in the ceiling above, they all looked surprised as Rew came flying out of the forest of rock formations. He dropped his sword and pitched himself forward, rolling and reaching down to his boot to yank loose his throwing knife as he did. When he tumbled over his shoulder and back to his feet, he flung the blade.

  Cinda squeaked, and Zaine cried in surprise. The bright steel flew between them and thunked into the muscular body of a simian that had been standing right behind them. The creature howled, its fur-covered paw reaching to clutch at the hilt of the knife in its chest.

  Rew grabbed his longsword and lunged to the side as Vyar Grund burst out of the darkness and swung at him with one of his falchions. Rew turned as the falchion whistled overhead, but he couldn’t avoid the second blade that cut across horizontally, drawing a thin line of blood across his chest.

  The simian roared; Grund attacked silently, and Raif cried out in elation. The boy had found his gear, and the greatsword of his ancestors, on the sandy floor of the cavern. He was raising it above his head in triumph.

  The clang of steel continued, Grund pressing Rew, smashing down with one of his blades, forcing Rew’s longsword into the sand. The commandant whipped the other blade around and swung it at Rew’s head.

  Rew leaned back, barely avoiding decapitation and gaining a stinging cut across his cheek. He flipped his longsword up from the ground, digging the point through the sand and sending a shower of the fine grains into Grund’s face.

  The ranger commandant snarled, blinking his eyes to clear the grit, and suddenly was on the defensive. Rew came after him, slashing and hacking, both hands on his longsword, trying to overpower Grund’s defense through sheer force of will.

  The man was wielding two blades, but with only one hand on each, he couldn’t match Rew’s strength. Still blinking sand from his eyes, he couldn’t trust to finesse, either.

  Raif, rushing at the wounded simian, raised his greatsword. The creature lunged at him and caught the big fighter in a tight embrace.

  Roaring in pain, Raif brought down the pommel of his huge weapon onto the ape-like creature’s face, bashing it over and over until the simian released him.

  Rew feinted a blow to Grund’s head then jabbed with his longsword into the man’s stomach, catching Grund with a few finger-widths of steel then snapping the blade back out and cutting along the inside of the commandant’s forearm.

  The simian released Raif and fell back, covering its face with its hands. It didn’t see the boy wind up and deliver a sweeping attack to its torso. The greatsword cleaved into the creature and buried in the simian’s chest.

  Grund stumbled back, trying to find cover in the formations of stalagmites again, but Rew was relentless, keeping after his commandant, not giving Grund a breath to steady himself.

  Snarling, Grund threw himself forward, trying to force Rew back, but the ranger was ready and hacked down into Grund’s leg, carving a hunk from his thigh. The commandant grunted in pain and dropped a falchion, thrusting his palm behind himself.

  Rew pressed him, and the commandant stumbled away, but as he retreated, a brilliant purple, gold-streaked vortex appeared behind him. The moment it opened, Grund backed through it. Rew crouched, preparing to jump after his commandant, but he hesitated. If he went to wherever it was Grund had portaled to, he’d have to leave Anne and the children behind.

  Slumping against a wall on the other side of the portal, Grund held up his hand, and his enchanted falchion flew into the air from behind Rew and through the vortex. The opening winked shut a second later.

  Rew stared at the empty air then staggered back out of the rocks to where his friends were clustered tightly together. He rasped, “Everyone all right?”

  Raif, taking a tentative breath as if to test his lungs, said, “I think so. It felt as if that thing was trying to crack me like a nut, but somehow, I don’t think it broke any bones. I’ve had worse in—Are you all right?”

  Rew snorted, shifting his stinging shoulder and touching his bleeding chest with his hand. “I’ll live.” Blood ran down his chin from his cut cheek, and he wanted to dab it away, but he kept his longsword in his hand, looking around the cavern. “We need to leave this place.”

  “Not until I see to those injuries,” declared Anne.

  “Not yet,” said Rew. “Vyar portaled out of here, which must have taken some effort with all of the copper in the rocks, but he might have strength to return still. We can’t risk it. We have to get out of here so he can’t pop out right behind us, maybe with more friends the next time.”

  Anne nodded. “Fair enough.”

  “Wo
uld he be able to fight if he returned?” questioned Zaine. “He appeared badly injured.”

  “He’s tougher than you can know, lass. Trust me,” said Rew, suppressing a groan as he adjusted his grip on his longsword, “we don’t want to face him again now that he’s angry, and we definitely don’t want to find out what other allies he has.”

  Rew looked meaningfully at the dead simian, and they all nodded agreement.

  They started back out the way they’d come, Cinda again lighting the way with her glowing palm. The party remained silent until they emerged from behind the waterfall and were within the thick growth of the forest. Zaine glanced over her shoulder at Rew and asked, “So, that was your boss?”

  “He was,” replied the ranger, and he left it at that.

  4

  Three leagues of quick-paced, strenuous hiking later, they paused to catch their breath. The younglings drew ragged, gasping lungfuls of air, and Anne slumped against a tree. For the first time on the journey from Falvar, she did not immediately offer her healing. Rew paced anxiously, wanting to put more space between them and the cavern, but he knew there was no point running the others until they dropped. If he overtaxed the group, they would be no good the next day. And the next day, they had to keep moving. They had to put more distance between themselves and where Vyar Grund would know to look for them.

  The ranger commandant would have little difficulty following them through the forest, but distance meant they might have a warning before he arrived, and distance meant Rew may have an opportunity to obscure their trail. When they made it to the highway, even the ranger commandant would have trouble discerning their footprints from the hundreds of others. First, though, they had to gain some distance.

  “Can someone,” rasped Raif, “please explain what just happened?”

  “You’re welcome, by the way,” said Cinda, reaching up and gripping her older brother behind the neck. “I was worried about you.”

  Raif snorted. “I was fine, I think. At least, he hadn’t done anything to me yet. I got wrenched around and banged up when the simian took me, but nothing broken, nothing badly bleeding. They roughed me up a little, then threw me down on the ground and left me there. It felt like I was dreaming, drifting in and out of consciousness. It was cold but no worse than I’ve felt on winter hunts through the barrows. I am famished, though, if we’ve time for a bite. I haven’t eaten a proper meal, in, ah… I didn’t pack well, and then Grund had me tied up for a day…”

  Rew nodded to Anne, and she dug into her pack, pulling out a pouch of salted meat and a wedge of cheese for the boy. Raif fell on it ravenously, and Anne knelt beside him, putting her hands on his shoulders to assess just how bad his bumps and bruises were.

  While her back was turned, Rew prodded at the cuts Vyar Grund had given him. The blood was congealing already, the tacky liquid making his clothes stick to his skin. They hurt something awful, and they’d caused a mess, but he decided they were shallow enough. He would survive, and rather than delaying, he figured he could keep going until nightfall. Then, a few stitches would sort him.

  Cinda was watching Rew. “My brother had a good question. What just happened?”

  Rew grimaced and kept pacing. He answered, “That man was Vyar Grund, the ranger commandant.”

  “Doesn’t he work for the king?” questioned Zaine. “Why did he… Did he say was going to kill, ah, all of the Fedgleys?”

  Clenching his fists at his waist as he walked back and forth in front of the younglings, Rew admitted, “That’s what he said, and I think he meant it.”

  “The king?” questioned Anne. “Grund claimed the king ordered it, didn’t he?”

  Rew shrugged. “That’s what he said, but men are known to lie.”

  “Tell us what you suspect,” insisted Anne. “The king is the one who started the cycle, isn’t he? The entire point of the exercise is that through backstabbing, betrayal, and outright battle, one of the princes proves themselves worthy, right? If the king is weighing on the scales, it seems… Well, I suppose calling something unfair in all of this isn’t right, but that’s what it seems like, doesn’t it?”

  “I doubt the king is trying to change the outcome of the Investiture,” murmured Rew.

  “What is it, then?” asked Anne.

  Rew glanced at her again and kept pacing. The empath’s face was serious, and he could sense she wouldn’t be turned from her line of questioning. He couldn’t think of a way to distract her, so he decided he had to tell her something.

  “I think Vyar Grund is probably in league with Prince Valchon,” said Rew, his voice barely above a whisper. “It could be why he brought Raif to that cavern. The copper in the walls would make it difficult for someone to farsee what was happening, even for the king. The other possibility—which I don’t think is true—is that the king has become worried about necromancers.”

  “Why would the king fear necromancers?” asked Anne. “He is the most powerful one, is he not? Could Fedgley, or someone else, unleash something the king could not control? Is he worried what will happen to the princes?”

  Rew shrugged uncomfortably. “Vaisius Morden is the most powerful necromancer the world has known. He has no fear of any summoning another necromancer could call upon. And believe me when I say the king cares little for the fate of his children and nothing for the damage they’ll do to the common people as the princes contest with each other. He’ll let the Investiture play out, and he won’t interfere if the princes unleash wraiths or do any other despicable things I imagine they’ve planned. It’s not ghosts that others may call which the king worries about.”

  “Worries about? So the king does fear necromancers?” asked Cinda. “Is that why Father was taken? Was the king behind it?”

  “I don’t think it was the king,” said Rew. “That’s not how he works. He’d be right to fear, though, what the princes may have planned with Baron Fedgley. I suspect Heindaw or Calb are behind the capture of the baron, and Vyar Grund is working with Prince Valchon, trying to figure out what is going on.”

  “Why would the ranger commandant kill Raif and Cinda, then?” asked Zaine. “This has nothing to do with them, does it?”

  “High magic passes through the blood,” explained Rew, glancing at Cinda then looking away, “from parent to child. When both parents have a talent for it, the child is always stronger. We’ve discussed it enough. Baron Fedgley is a talented necromancer.”

  Zaine blinked then turned to Cinda.

  The noblewoman’s jaw dropped, and she sat there, stunned.

  “Cinda’s not a necromancer!” barked Zaine. “She’s not. She’s, ah…”

  “I’m an invoker,” murmured Cinda. “We’ve been practicing invoking. Mother is—was—an invoker.”

  “Your father kept you isolated in the Duchy of Eeron,” said Rew, still pacing, speaking his thoughts aloud. “He taught you no necromancy, which, by all rights, you should have a natural talent for. It’s your family’s legacy after all. I saw the wraiths he called in Falvar, and I am sorry, but I saw what your mother was capable of as well. Your father was the stronger, both in talent and practice. Alsayer claimed Fedgley was the most talented necromancer outside of the royal line, and maybe that’s the truth. If it is, why did your father not teach you what he knows? Why did he not guide you to the power that resides in your veins? Instead, he gave you the theory, lass, of a skill you’ve little natural affinity for. He let Baron Worgon handle your instruction, what little of it there was. Why would your father do that?”

  Rew stopped, looking down at Cinda where she was slumped against the trunk of a tree, her chest still rising and falling with the strain of the hike, her face flushed from that same exertion and from the torrent of ideas and emotions gushing through her.

  “He didn’t teach you,” guessed Rew, “because he meant to protect you in his own way. He knew what was coming. The baron guessed he’d be a target in the Investiture, and he sought to prevent you from becoming one as well. As long as
you remained ignorant of what you are capable of, the princes have no reason to pursue you.”

  “B-But…” stammered Cinda.

  “But they don’t know you are incapable of the feat they expect your father to perform,” said Rew. “That was the baron’s fatal miscalculation. He kept you in the dark to hide your abilities from yourself and from others, but everyone knows high magic passes through the blood, and the princes haven’t been to this duchy in a decade. I doubt the king has even left Mordenhold in that time. None of them know you haven’t been trained as a necromancer. As far as any of them know, you are your father’s better.” Rew turned to Raif and offered a grim smirk. “You as well, lad. High magic passes through the blood, but it doesn’t always find fertile ground. With the way your father isolated you two, the princes couldn’t know you have no magical talent.”

  “And Vyar Grund?” asked Anne quietly.

  “Loyal to the king but also a friend of Valchon’s since they were boys,” muttered Rew. “Grund is the one who was tasked with teaching the young princes woodcraft. He taught them a bit of low magic and swordplay, as well. Maybe even a bit of invoking, though they had more talented tutors for that. Valchon latched onto the ranger, which I suspect is why the king assigned Vyar as the ranger commandant—an apolitical position by design. Vaisius Morden wanted Vyar away from his eldest son. He didn’t want the boys gathering allies until it was time. I suspect Vyar is playing both sides now, still serving his duties as commandant but assisting Prince Valchon in the Investiture on the sly. I cannot be certain, but it fits.”

  “How do you know all of this?” questioned Zaine. “Did Grund tell you? I don’t think we should put much faith in the words of that man.”

  Rew shook his head. “No, my source isn’t Vyar. I—Rest assured, I know what I speak of when it comes to the Mordens.”

  “What does it all mean, then?” wondered Raif.

  “The princes, and maybe the king himself, are hunting your family,” said Rew. “Vyar Grund is likely doing the bidding of Prince Valchon, and Alsayer could be working for Prince Heindaw or Calb. Duke Eeron or at least one of his arcanists… Ah, we need to learn more. He’s probably in league with Heindaw or Calb as well, but is he on the same side as Alsayer, who knows?”