Rangers magic 2, p.5
Ranger's Magic 2, page 5
He knew what she meant. “I feel a bit disturbed by that vision or dream or whatever it was, and I feel sure that Akhen knows or guesses more about it than he’s letting on.”
“We’ll corner him and get him to tell us about it,” Lana said. “If he knows something, I want to hear what it is. He’s not going to get to keep his secrets from us this time. From what you said about what you saw, it sounds serious.”
“I agree,” Ralnor said, “but here’s the commander’s tent. Let’s talk more about this later.”
It was evening. The light was dimming fast and the watch torches were being lit on the palisade wall in preparation for the approaching darkness. The rain was easing, but the cloudy sky was inky black. The watch torches were little spherical globes of light, gleaming against the night.
Ralnor ran his eye along the wall, seeing in the gathering dimness the curve of their outer defenses. The wooden palisade ran in a circle right around the outpost, with a walkway running around the top for the use of soldiers and lookouts on patrol.
Though the light was failing, Ralnor could still see the lighter wood of the recently replaced stakes in the palisade wall, where the repairs had been made after the wall was broken in the battle with Malavax. He remembered that moment again, the enormous boom like thunder and the cloud of black smoke when the humans had used their explosive devices to blast a breach in the wall and gain entry to the outpost.
He and Lana and Farlo had been out in front of the outpost during the battle, in the field beyond the gate, fighting the enemy mages in the midst of the human army, but they had heard that boom and seen the cloud of smoke that rose up from the blast.
They had heard later about how the battle had played out inside the outpost. The fighting had been bloody and hard, but the Rangers had suffered less casualties than one might have expected in a battle of two hundred against one thousand. But victory had been won in the end. Akhen had used his powers to great effect in the defense of the breach, and the Rangers were battle hardened and well trained. The efforts of Ralnor and his friends out in the vanguard had kept the powers of the human sorcerers at bay, keeping their magic from tipping the balance within the outpost itself.
Ralnor stepped up onto the wooden decking and spoke clearly through the flap of the commander’s tent. Commander Rayne’s squire, an elven lad of fifteen years or so, immediately opened the flap and ushered Ralnor and Lana inside. Perch, the squire, was a ruddy faced and cheerful fellow, but Ralnor could not help but notice that Perch had become less boisterous and happy since the battle.
He had fought side-by-side with Commander Rayne in the breach of the palisade wall, and he had acquitted himself well. He had killed, and he had defended his commander, but the experience had changed him.
“Come in,” he said quietly. “Drill sergeant Jonah is giving his report.”
Ralnor and Lana stepped up to the big wooden table that dominated the space. Jonah and Commander Rayne stood together next to the table, on which were spread out a large, detailed map and a set of ledgers that showed the troop tallies of the outpost.
Jonah, Commander Rayne’s drill sergeant and the person in charge of the training, mustering, and monitoring of soldiers, was giving his report in a quick, clipped, professional manner. “There are still many Ranger casualties recovering from injuries sustained in the battle, Commander,” Jonah was saying. “Darya the healer has been run off her feet, and we can’t spare many to help her out. Some of the injuries were serious, but many were less so, and many of them have recovered enough to be able to help out in the infirmary.”
“What’s the count as of today, Jonah?” the commander asked.
Jonah sighed and ran one stubby finger along a line on his ledger. He was not one to display strong emotions, but Ralnor could see in his furrowed brow and hear in his strained voice that he was upset by what he had to say.
“Out of the two hundred who we deployed for the defense of our outpost, thirty-five of the Rangers were killed outright in the battle and a further seven have died of their injuries in the weeks since.”
The commander’s brow darkened as he listened, but he said nothing.
“That brings the total count to forty-two,” Jonah continued. “In addition, sixty-three remain out of duty due to injury. Of those…” he paused, turning a page in his ledger. “Of those sixty-three, eighteen have taken injuries bad enough that they will be invalided out of the service of the Rangers and sent back to Suntower City, or wherever they wish to settle, with a pension from the crown. The remaining forty-five I expect to be able to return to active duty within six weeks.”
“So,” Rayne said, “we have at the moment ninety-five active Rangers on duty, and I should expect that to rise to one hundred and forty before midwinter?”
“Correct, sir.” Jonah nodded.
“Hm. And we’re still operating with a skeleton crew here in the outpost, isn’t that right?”
“Correct,” Jonah said again. “By your orders, sir, we have between twenty-five and thirty Rangers, in scouting squads of five Rangers each, deployed at any given time to scout the Unclaimed Lands.”
“So,” Rayne said thoughtfully, “some sixty soldiers at the ready in the outpost at any given time and some thirty on deployment. What do the scouting parties report?”
“No activity in the Unclaimed Lands, sir,” Jonah said with satisfaction. “No humans at all. It would seem that we have made a powerful stroke against the enemy in the battle of the outpost. Our Rangers report no hostile activity between here and the borders of the human country.”
Commander Rayne shook his head and frowned. “We cannot afford to get complacent,” he muttered. “This attack by Malavax represents an unprecedented escalation of the border conflict. We’ve been skirmishing back and forth for a hundred years here at this outpost, and yet the humans have never made a concerted attempt to destroy us in this way before. It makes me want to know what is going on in their homelands. We had no idea that they even had the capability to field such a large, well-equipped army. And this mage, Malavax…Ralnor here has defeated him as far as we can tell, and yet the very fact that they have created such a powerful mage in the first place says to me that there are things happening in the human lands that I would wish to know more about.”
“Behind the line of forts that guard the human border, we are blind, Commander,” Jonah said with a shake of the head. “Without spies in the human country it’s impossible to know what is going on there.”
“I know it,” Rayne said, straightening up from his table and placing his two hands in the small of his back. He leaned backward, and Ralnor heard the commander’s back crack as he stretched.
“Ah,” the commander groaned, straightening. “That’s better. I’ve spent too much time hunched over my table these last few days.”
He looked at Lana and Ralnor and gave them a tired smile. “Welcome,” he said to them. “I’m glad you’ve come. Jonah, will you stay? I propose to hear the king’s messenger, now that Ralnor and Lana are here.”
“Certainly, sir,” Jonah said, bowing his head and gathering up his papers. “I’ll stay if you wish it.”
“Good,” the commander said. “Perch?” he called, and the squire appeared from his place in the corner where he’d been waiting. “Bring us some dinner, would you? And send for the king’s messenger, who should be fed and rested by now.”
“Sir,” the squire assented, and then disappeared through the tent flap.
Commander Rayne’s tent was a large, generously-proportioned structure. Inside, it felt more like a room in a castle keep than a tent in the field. Thick rugs and skins blanketed the floor. Sprite lamps of high quality cast a fine, warm glow throughout the space, and a brazier of hot coals kept the tent at a pleasant temperature. Around the edges of the tent, small areas had been sectioned off by screens and hangings, concealing the commander’s bed and the parts of his quarters where he stored his clothes, books, and other gear.
Rayne himself was a big, broad shouldered, stocky elf with a short-clipped gray beard and short hair. His eyes were as gray as the hair on his head and his chin. He was an unusual-looking person, for an elf. Most of the elven folk were tall and slender, and even the strongly-built ones, like Farlo, retained a grace and sense of lightness that were uniquely elven. Also, few elves that Ralnor had ever seen before had a beard, and even fewer wore their hair short.
For all that, there was no doubt about the upward sweep of his pointed ears, the graceful tilt of his steel-gray eyebrows, or the fine-boned, not-quite-human structure of his face. These markers showed him for what he was; a high elf of a noble lineage.
Where does Rayne come from? Ralnor wondered. What’s his background? How did he end up here, in charge of this outpost on the frontier of the elven country?
He found himself surprised that he’d never wondered about it before. Once, Rayne had mentioned that he’d come from a noble family and had not wanted to join the army. He’d even mentioned that he had not been a natural soldier and had been picked on and sidelined by his fellow soldiers when he’d begun his military career. Looking at him now, steely-eyed as he sat at his table in the command post, that was a hard thing for Ralnor to imagine.
Jonah, on the other hand, was that rarest of beings, a full-blooded human who had deserted his people to join the elves. He was short and stocky, almost squat, with a round head like a cannonball and thinning black hair above a creased brow. His ears had the curved tops that marked him as a human, and his dark, thick eyebrows curved downward at the edges, but there were a dozen other smaller, subtler physical characteristics that marked him as human rather than elf. His thick fingers and slab-like hands, his stooped, broad shoulders, his button nose, and his deep, growling voice all set him apart from his companions.
Ralnor raised a hand to his own ears. Their tops were rounded like a human’s, but in most other ways he looked like a high elf; his eyebrows had the distinctive flourish, and he knew that the features of his face had that delicate quality common to pure-blooded elves. He was a half-elf—a hybrid or a half-breed as they were sometimes disparagingly called—but if he kept his ears covered by his long hair or his hood he passed well enough as an elf. Certainly he felt more elf than human. He had grown up among the elves, learned their culture and their ways, and felt loyalty to them.
His father may have been a human, but Ralnor had barely met any humans in his life, and had never seen their cities or learned about their culture. His loyalty was firmly with the elves and their cause, and he thought of himself as one of them.
“Well, my young friend,” the commander said, looking keenly at Ralnor. “You’re very thoughtful this evening.”
“It’s been that kind of day, sir,” Ralnor answered, pulling out a chair and seating himself at the table. Lana did the same, and at that moment Akhen appeared at the doorway, dressed in clean robes and with his gray hair bound up elf-fashion behind his round-topped ears. He, too, was half-elf, half-human, but he retained less of the elven features than Ralnor did, and would have passed easily for an old man of the humans.
Out of his muddy outdoor work robes, Akhen looked quite different from how he had appeared in the training ground earlier that same day. He was straight-backed and bright-eyed, and he carried an air of dignity and solemnity that Ralnor had not noticed in him before. He felt that something had changed in Akhen, though he did not yet know what.
Something to do with that vision of mine? he wondered, remembering the scared look on Akhen’s wrinkled face.
Akhen sat, and a moment later Perch entered, carrying a covered basket and followed by another young Ranger who carried a covered tray. The tray and the basket were laid out and uncovered, and between them, Perch and his helper laid out a generous supper of roasted venison, boiled root vegetables, oat bread, butter, honey, and hard cheese. There was dried fruit and goat’s milk, and a jug of good ale as well, and Perch served the food with a practiced style and swiftness that made Ralnor smile. This was a new side to the young squire’s character and talents that Ralnor had not seen before, though of course it made sense that Commander Rayne’s squire would be as skilled in these household duties as he was at helping the commander put on his armor or maintaining his blades.
Perch gave Ralnor a wink so fleeting that only he saw it, then vanished as smoothly as he had appeared.
Ralnor looked at the spread of food in front of him. The outpost had been on a war footing for some time, and this was a better selection than he was used to sitting down to. “I see the hunters have been able to range further into the woods than usual,” he said, gesturing to the venison.
The commander smiled. “Since the battle, there has been less of a threat from human patrols in the woods. Our hunters have been able to go a bit further and get some fresh meat for the first time. Also, a supply drop came out from Suntower City to us yesterday; we have them to thank for the cheese, butter, and the honey.
Ralnor breathed in the fragrance of the roasted meat and felt his belly grumble.
At that moment, Perch returned again, leading a tall, green-eyed male elf with a scar down one cheek, dressed in a dark blue robe.
“I present Jearn, the king’s messenger,” Perch said formally, and the commander rose to greet the newcomer.
“Sit, Jearn, and eat with us,” he said, and the messenger did so gladly.
No one spoke much for the next twenty minutes or so. Everyone had been hard at it that day, and the hearty meal was welcome. After half an hour, they all sat back with a sigh of contentment, and Commander Rayne had Perch clear the dinner things away and bring out a bottle of good brandy. He poured a small measure for everyone, but the messenger—who had not taken any ale earlier—held up a hand.
“Thank you, no,” he said. “I am a remembrancer of the Order of the Palenthier, and in my order we may not take any intoxicating drinks, as such pleasures may affect our memory and recall, and memory is one of the most important skills for my order. We do not disapprove of it in others, however. Please, do not deny yourselves the pleasure on my account. It looks and smells excellent.”
“It is,” Commander Rayne said, pouring the amber liquid into a small crystal tumbler and then passing it to Jonah. “I was not aware that there were any of the Order of the Palenthier still practicing. It shows how long it’s been since I was on the road east. I’ve not been in Suntower City for many a long year.”
“The order still practices in a small way,” Jearn said. “And the members of my order are often favored by the king in being his choice for swift messengers, because of our carefully cultivated skill of memory.”
“And you bring with you a message from the king now, is that right?” the commander asked. “I have held off from hearing your message until this evening because you told me it was not urgent, and because I desired that Ralnor and Lana should both be here when I learned its content. Ralnor has not long come to the garrison from Suntower City, sent by the king himself, no less. Lana is a member of his Ranger squad, and I trust her advice and opinion.”
The messenger nodded cordially to Ralnor and Lana, then rose from his seat. “Very good,” he said. “My message is this.” He closed his eyes for a moment, cleared his throat, and took a deep breath through the nose before speaking.
“King Harald III, overlord of the elven peoples, high dignitary of Suntower City and ruler of old Galen, sends his greetings to the commander of Rayne’s Outpost and congratulates him on his recent glorious victory over the encroaching enemy forces of the humans. King Harald entreats that Commander Rayne should travel to Suntower City in person as soon as can be made convenient, there to receive from the king’s own hand the medal of the order of Galen and the promotion to commander-general of the garrison armies of Red River, with ultimate oversight of all the armed forces on our western border, and an increase in pay of two hundred gold leaves per season on top of his current salary.”
The messenger cleared his throat again, then resumed his seat, smiling. It was clear that he relished his role as the messenger, and was proud to have remembered the message and delivered it word for word to the commander.
But Commander Rayne was scowling and shaking his head.
“Of course,” Jearn said, “when I return to Suntower City via the transit vines, you may give me any message you wish to bring back to King Harald. I will, of course, stay for as long as you need to make your plans, so that I may communicate them to—”
“No,” the commander said with finality. “I will not leave.”
The messenger looked horrified. “But,” he stammered, all his suavity vanished in a moment, “the king’s order…”
“I do not have the highly-refined recall of a member of the Order of the Palenthier,” Commander Rayne said, “but my memory is as good as that of the next elf, and if I remember the words of the message correctly the king ‘entreated’ me come to Suntower, is that not correct? And also he said, ‘at my earlier convenience?’”
“Why, yes,” Jearn replied. “Those words were used.”
“Well,” Rayne said, “an entreaty is not an order, but just a request. Here is my reply. I politely decline the king’s request. It will be a long time indeed until I will find it convenient to leave my post here at the garrison. I’ll not deny that I would relish the chance to take on the post of commander-general of the border garrisons. The command has been wretchedly managed for years, with no oversight and no-one holding the role of commander-general for more years than I can remember.”
The commander shook his head, his face darkening into a thunderous expression. “Oh, I know what he’s up to, old Harald,” he continued, passion inflaming his features as he began to rise from his seat. “He sees this human incursion, and he’s suddenly realizing he’s neglected his western defenses for too long. Now he wakes up to the fact that one determined push would be all it would take for the cursed humans to punch through our defensive line, crush the garrison outposts, and cross the Red River in force. What then would lie between the humans and Greenwood?”
