A Mark of Kings, page 29
part #1 of The Shattered Reigns Series
“Is that it?” Ester demanded the moment she heard him coming up behind her. Her eyes were wide again, once more reminding him the smallest bit of a child being shown the wonders of the world for the first time. “Is that it?”
“That’s it,” he assured her happily, following her gaze to the outline of the town in the distance, indistinct against a backdrop of sprawling, still water. He couldn’t recall the name of the lake—Tehrys? Or Tessys, maybe? —but he assented to its beauty from their high ground, and he couldn’t help but be pleased that this was Ester’s first impression of the place, even from a distance. They were closer to Ranheln than he might have anticipated, the rolling hills of the day’s walk apparently having hidden its shape from them for some time. It was perhaps three miles off, well beyond Ryn’s radius of awareness even if the dragon had been focused on looking for it, but they would certainly reach the city’s border before nightfall, if not prior to the markets closing for the day.
Again, Ester’s enthusiasm got the better of him.
“Come on,” he told the woman eagerly, leading her down the slope and leaving Bonner and Ryn to catch up with them at their own pace.
Not an hour later, and still with a little light left in the day, he and Ester conquered the last bend in the High Road, forgoing the final line of trees that had swallowed up Ranheln’s details again as they’d approached. The woman gave an audible exclamation of awe that made Declan feel quite pleased with himself as the city and lake—the Tessys, he was almost sure of after pondering it further—presented themselves more aptly in their proximity, and she didn’t stop there.
“Gods above,” Ester almost choked from his side, staring upwards while they approached the outskirts at a quick pace.
As it did with most townships that had sprung up along its length over the centuries, the High Road cut straight through the body of Ranheln, dividing the city proper into two distinct sectors. To their left, along the north side of the causeway and boarding the lake, the buildings tended to be humble, squat things, only a few examples of clay and timber structures rising a story or two here and there over the rest. These were the port and industry districts, the working quarters of the city, where its fishermen and woodcutters practiced their trades without end and often into the limits of any night and season that was allowed them. It carried its own sort of beauty, in its unassuming sprawl, tendrils of grey-white smoke trailing skyward from a hundred different chimneys and stacks over the plain roofs of slatted wood and folded clay.
All the same, the area didn’t have so much as a prayer of stealing Ester’s attention away from its counterpart.
Where Ranheln showed its wealth was in the southern portion of the city, on the other side of the High Road, demonstrating its success as a trading hub and exporter of goods in great demand beyond the heavy woodlands of the western and northern forests. Whereas the working quarters were low and blockish, along the right side of the road the buildings were almost uniformly no less than three stories tall, and often as much as twice that. The walls of the structures were bright, stucco-colored with paints and murals in shades of red and gold and green and blue, enunciating a festive air that lingered over the town year-round, tempting travelers within with an implied promise equal parts excitement and entertainment. The roofs were most commonly slate, and typically high and pointed, in the style of the northern valley towns despite the fact that Ranheln likely only ever saw two or three snow storms of any commendable strength over the course of its winters. It granted the entire southern half of the city a castle-like quality. Had there been banners of the nobilities’ colors streaming over the district, Declan would have been strongly reminded of Aletha’s tournament stadiums when the joust was on.
“Any recommendations on where we might stay the night?”
Declan turned at the sound of Bonner’s voice. Ryn and the mage had caught up to them in good time, the latter having taken to the former’s back, the dragon’s hoofbeats swallowed by the dull clatter of the other carts trundling by and the more distant din of Ranheln itself. The man rode with the comfort of a practiced horseman despite his wrinkled hands having nothing more to purchase on than Ryn’s inky mane. Behind the pair, Declan could make out the last line of the sun, a sliver of white haloed by rays of gold overtop the trees. It would be dark within the half-hour.
Declan, considering Bonner’s question, exchanged a quick look with Ryn. “Will the outpost have us, you think?”
I don’t see why we wouldn’t be welcome, the dragon answered with a snort, trotting to a halt within arm’s reach. It hasn’t been so long since we left that you won’t be known, and we’ll need access to your accounts regardless. Unless you plan on bartering for swords with warm water and wild onions?
Declan chuckled, then nodded. “The Iron Wind has offices here,” he explained to Bonner, who was looking between them curiously. “It’s a small detachment, mostly just used to house company couriers and keep tabs on the local goings-on. Still, if they happen to have the rooms to spare we shouldn’t have any issue claiming them. We’d have to go in the morning either way, to draw funds from the guild vault.” He patted the empty loop of his belt sadly, where his coin purse had once hung. “Had almost ten levers and a handful of silver with me, payment for the kidnapping job, but it’s gone with everything else.”
Bonner grimaced, tossing a leg off Ryn’s back and sliding to the damp dust of the road with a grace that continued to speak nothing of his age. “Had enough hoarded away myself to buy half the city, but I didn’t even think to look for it in the aftermath.” He patted Ryn’s neck absently, approaching Declan. “Sure your funds will be sufficient? Good steel wasn’t cheap, even in my day, and I doubt prices have dropped since I grew tired of the world…”
We’ll have enough, Ryn answered with a note of pride, clomping forward in an indication that they should keep moving as the shadows of the trees began climbing up the painted faces of the buildings ahead of them. Declan’s services were of premium value by the time we resigned the commission.
“The Wind pays well,” Declan attempted to temper the claim with as much humility as he could muster, waving away the question Ester looked as though she wanted to voice. Ryn’s statement had finally managed to draw her attention away from the city, if only fleetingly. “We shouldn’t have any trouble, and if we happen to overspend, I’ll have a letter sent to the guildmaster explaining the situation.”
It’ll give Cassandra the happy excuse to tear you a new one the next time we see her, Ryn said with a low whinny that could only have been a laugh at Declan’s expense.
“I think she’d tell you she has enough reasons backlogged as is to last her through this life and the next,” he muttered in response, internally wincing at the image of the woman seething over any missive from him that essentially begged forgiveness for emptying the Ranheln office’s coffers.
Getting into the city was a little more tedious than anticipated. Six Vigil soldiers in the red and black uniforms of the King’s army flanked either side of the High Road in split groups of three. They stood at rigid attention with left hands on the guards of sheathed swords as their commanding officers—a lieutenant and sub-lieutenant, judging by the gold insignias which adorned their shoulders—alternately stopped traffic coming and going from Ranheln. The line wasn’t tediously long, but it was still more than Declan had anticipated, given the season. There were five carts and some dozen peddlers on foot in front of their group of four, and the officer’s questions were heard to be pointed and stern, further slowing things down even with the sun setting rapidly to the west. It took some twenty minutes before they reached the front of the line, at which point the lieutenant—a tall, hard-faced woman with short-cropped red hair—motioned the four of them forward with an impatient wave.
“Purpose of your visit?” she asked, so brusquely it took Declan a moment to realize the words had formed a question.
Fortunately, Bonner was quicker on his feet. “We’re in need of provisions and supplies, before making for Aletha,” he answered with a polite, giving bob of his head.
Despite his manners, the officer’s eyes narrowed.
“Where are you staying? Do you plan on trading for your goods, or paying in coin?”
This last question she asked with a disdainful look over the four of them, which Declan found irritating, if not-altogether without warrant. Bonner taking the lead had been a good idea, given how far and above the old man looked the cleanest of the lot. Declan himself was in the same tattered clothes he’d left the yr’Essel’s clearing in—not to mention the odd scars left by the drey’s blood not even he was near getting used to yet—and Ester wasn’t all that much better off. What’s more, neither of them had had any chance to bathe properly in days, and he had no doubt the grime and sweat of the week-long journey was prominent in their presentation.
Ryn, meanwhile, was… well… no more than a horse, to the lieutenant’s blind eyes.
“One of our number is a member of the Iron Wind,” Bonner said, allowing himself the small bend of truth as he motioned to Declan. “We intend to find housing in their outpost, where he’ll also have access to his company wages.”
The lieutenant’s gaze moved smartly to Declan, taking him in more critically. He knew what she saw, in his relative youth, and almost sighed in exasperation. The suspicion had been the same in Brohn’s case at The Woodsman’s Rest, along with that of dozens of men and women in the time since he and Ryn had left the guild.
Still, Declan waited for the request, not wanting to seem overeager.
“Your mark, if you please, sir.”
Despite the woman’s stiff countenance, there was a note of hesitation in her voice now, and a bit more allowance. He thought slightly better of her for it, and as instructed reached up to tug back the collar of his vest, revealing the partially-blanched ink of the winged sword.
As soon as he was confirmed, the officer relaxed visibly, her voice softening significantly. “Looks like you’ve seen some action, judging by the state of that tattoo.” She spoke of the Wing’s mark to be considerate, but her gaze was on the discoloration of his arms. “Anything recent?”
The question wasn’t modeled as an intrusion, but rather like the woman was deliberately seeking news, which piqued Declan’s curiosity. The Vigil and mercenary companies were—contrary to what many outsiders might think—typically on amicable terms, each keeping their noses out of the other’s business, the latter often handling jobs the former was too spread thin to address. It made for an affable sort of relationship, not infrequently to the benefit of either or both parties.
“Not so recent,” Declan said, bending his own truth. He needed none of the sharp looks Bonner was surreptitiously giving him to understand the implication of telling a lower officer of the Vigil the details of the drey’s or the draugr’s attacks. “And elsewhere? We heard of Estwyn’s fall…”
The lieutenant looked weary at the mention of the town. “Aye, but that was two weeks ago. Sevyll was razed not eight days later. Scouts say the bulk of the horde might be holding there for the time being, but we’ve contrary reports of wereyn sightings as far west as Therest, of late. Sometimes in large groups.”
“Therest?” Declan demanded, stunned. He suspected Sevyll of being a major blow—the place was a sizable mining town almost due south of Estwyn, largely responsible for much of the country’s gem trade—but it was the second bit of news that alarmed him far, far more. Therest was a small settlement, a farming commune he knew only because it had been founded successfully in his own lifetime, some four or five years prior. It wasn’t anything of a kingdom keystone, but for there to be sightings even within a day or two of the place…
“Where is Therest, Declan?” Bonner asked him.
Of course… Neither he nor Ester were likely to have ever heard of the place.
“It’s not even a week’s ride north of here. Half that, if you go as the crow flies over the lake.”
“What?” It was the half-elf’s turn to hiss, taken as aback as he was. “That’s not possible!”
“Not if they were part of the force that came through the pass, no…” her father agreed thoughtfully, exchanging a solemn look with Ryn, who looked equally pensive.
Declan had to agree. The pass—Karn’s Gullet, as it had once been called—was a month’s travel from Ranheln even in ideal conditions. The northern forests of Viridian were older, denser woods that would have taken the wereyn time to conquer. It wasn’t feasible for even smaller packs to have made it this far in only two weeks…
Before them, the officer was clearly of like mind, nodding and eyeing the caravan that came rumbling up at their backs like she knew she couldn’t delay with conversation longer. “We haven’t even had time to get word back to Aletha that they’re not just coming through the pass. It’s not good news for us. The King’s called most swords to bear in the flatlands north of the capital, trying to gather the Vigil before the snows come to mount a defense if the horde moves south. There’s hardly a hundred of us left here, and I’ll bet the Mother’s favor it's the same in every township across the kingdom. If the bastards are coming over the Tears themselves…”
“It’ll be trouble for all.” Bonner too, was looking over his shoulder. “Mathaleus will find himself having to scramble to put out fires across Viridian.” He grimaced. “But we won’t keep you from your duties any longer, lieutenant. If you’ll allow us to, we would thank you for the news and be on our way.”
“Of course.” The woman stepped aside to wave them through at once, signaling for the caravan behind them to advance. The four pressed into Ranheln a full block, the raptures of the rising buildings to their right temporarily wasted on them, before Ryn spoke up.
They’re coming off the mountains themselves. That doesn’t bode well for anyone, least of all us…
“Maybe the Vigil will rout the greater horde before winter?” Ester offered tentatively, her nerves betrayed by the hand playing with the pommel of her knife, her boot’s leather soles clicking against the road that had shifted from wet dirt and grass to puddle-splashed cobblestone within the city limits. “There’s a chance the wereyn will have to push early for Aletha, isn’t there? I can’t imagine a host tens of thousands strong could feed itself easily for any extended period of time…”
You’d be surprised, Ryn said darkly, side-stepping a dirty pool that had lingered after the previous day’s storm. The wereyn can eat almost anything, putrefied meat included, and winter descends much faster in the lands north of here. With Estywn and Sevyll both overrun, now…
He didn’t press the point, and no one requested explanation. Declan could see in his mind’s eye the innumerable corpses scattered about the ruins of the broken towns, soldiers and citizens alike, stiff and kept fresh by the cold.
Horribly, the creatures wouldn’t be going hungry anytime soon…
“We can’t ignore the fact that there’s more than one reason the wereyn could be so close by, aside from a coordinated invasion,” Bonner grumbled from the dragon’s other side as Declan took them right, deeper into the southern district. “Not a few among them having something and more to do with us…”
Another silence, each of them contemplating the implication. First ghouls, then drey, and now packs of feral beastmen being put to their trail…
At his side, Declan saw Ester shiver, then get ahold of herself. “Nothing to do about it right now,” she told the group, taking a deep breath before almost forcing herself to once again stare up and around while they moved, absorbing the striking sights of the city from the inside.
In the fifteen minutes it took Declan and Ryn working together to navigate their way through Ranheln, the sun’s last true light finally set. It wasn’t an unpleasant time to be out and about, however. Workers and citizens of the city were busy making their way home, giving the street a buzzing, bustling life that made it easy to ignore the occasional disapproving looks Declan caught thrown in Ester’s direction. Lamp-lighters were about their labor, sparking the wicks of oil lanterns strung over the cobblestone from delicately hammered iron hangings. The flames illuminated their colorful surroundings with a different, calmer cheer than the day’s light. By the time the party reached the Iron Wind’s offices—a narrow, three-story building pinned between a quiet residence and a tavern that was so raucously audible they heard the shouting and bustle from half-a-block away—the four of them were in slightly better spirits.
I’ll wait out here, Ryn told them, promptly making for a nearby watering trough over which a number of other company horses were already bent. The other three motioned their acknowledgment, then Declan led the way in through an already-open door, its archway crowned with a hefty wooden plaque emblazed with the winged sword and the Iron Wind maxim: “Victory In All. Victory For All.”. He was pleased to find the inside of the outpost warm and well lit, but a little dismayed that the place was hardly any more subdued than its boisterous neighbor. He looked around, taken aback to find so many people gathered within the limited confines of the common area, most seated about a line of small, rectangular tables set in ordered pacing at their wall, with many more standing about or leaning against the room walls. A scattered few had even gone so far as to sit on the floor in small groups. Conversation was abound, and hardly anyone paid them any mind whatsoever as Declan excused his, Ester’s, and Bonner’s way towards the back of the building, angling for a wide, covered counter where he knew they would find the office-master.
He was nearly there when a drawling, hearty voice boomed out over the thrum of gathered voices.
“Grace’s good love!” A man heaved himself to his feet with some difficulty from where he’d been lounging in a high wooden chair behind the kiosk. “Declan Idrys! Is tha’ you, boy?”
