A Dance of Fang and Claw: The Ranger Archives Volume 3, page 13
Russell remained seated, head bowed in silent contemplation. “I’m just a miner from Snowfell. What if I can’t do that?”
Asher lay down on his roll, a blanket added to the cloak he had draped over him. “The day you give any less… will be the day I come for you.”
Chapter 11
Where It All Began
Skab - Once referred to as the children of the forest, Skabs are impish creatures that move about the forests via burrows. It has been pointed out to me by my fellow rangers that the latter is merely a theory. Though burrows have been found near Skab sightings, they have never been seen to use them.
There are few reports of these little beasts harming folk. More often than not, travellers complain of belongings being stolen and farmers report missing livestock. Having seen Skabs up close, I am thankful they do not require the blade, for they bear an uncanny resemblance to human children.
A Chronicle of Monsters: A Ranger’s Bestiary, 12th Edition, Page 371.
Delken Phen, Ranger.
How history repeated itself, Asher dwelled.
For near on a week he had travelled with Russell Maybury, traversing the cold and dull moorlands of The Ice Vales, and quietly so. Russell was a man of few words, just as he had been when making this same journey alongside Geron Thorbear, years earlier. Maybury offered up as much information as Asher had, though Geron’s questioning and general chatter had been incessant, a tumultuous barrage of words compared to the few he had voiced since departing Kelp Town.
Still, he was intrigued by the miner from Snowfell and asking questions was the only way to forge ahead. There was every chance, of course, that there wasn’t much to learn about him. In any case, Asher had decided early on that it would be better to leave the past where it was and keep their interactions concerned with the future. It was also a good way to avoid any questions regarding his own past.
The days were short by winter’s accounting, but each one felt an eternity beside the man, his silence a noticeable void. And he never stopped nor asked for a break or a turn in the saddle. He just kept walking.
Russell should have been the perfect travelling companion as far as Asher was concerned, yet the ranger found himself uncomfortable in the midst of it. He didn’t mind the silence when journeying on his own, but an equally stoical companion was hard going it seemed.
More than once Asher found himself wondering if he would have preferred Doran Heavybelly and his testy Warhog.
How the dwarf would bawl with laughter if he knew of such a thing!
And the ranger felt all the more the fool for even pondering it.
Every night, by the fire, the ranger attempted to continue Russell’s learning in the art of meditation. Progress was slow, unlike the man’s anger, which bubbled up more often than not. Asher had hoped to see better results as they approached civilisation but, as usual, his hope was good for naught.
“How long have you been a ranger then?” Russell asked, breaking the hours of quietude, as they hugged the tall trees of The Evermoore’s western edge.
It took Asher an extra moment to register the question. He had been taking in the colour of the great forest and soft moss that clung to their trunks, the tone not unlike his cloak. There was still a world of snow about them, but the realm was truly a different place outside of The Ice Vales and its cursed lands of never-ending cold. The rest of Illian experienced the turning of the seasons, seeing and feeling nature’s transitions as they were meant to be. Having spent numerous months in The Ice Vales, entering Felgarn’s winter was most welcome.
Russell seemed not to have noticed, a telling thing in itself. Considering he had never left Illian’s western lands, Asher had expected him to have some reaction to The Evermoore, a forest that dominated the view from north to south. Or the patches of grass here and there, with shades of green so full of life compared to that which survived The Ice Vales’ snows. How deep his mind must dwell to miss the differences.
The wolf was ever-present.
“A ranger?” he echoed, giving himself some time to consider the simple question. “Six years or thereabouts,” he estimated.
Russell made a face. “Doesn’t seem so long,” he remarked.
Asher laughed quietly to himself. “In years perhaps. But the life expectancy of a ranger is half that.”
The response actually turned Maybury’s gaze up to him. “It sounds like a hanging might be the more peaceful way out,” he muttered.
In Asher’s experience, there was no peaceful way out, but he kept his pessimistic opinion to himself. “You need to brace yourself for Lirian,” he warned, changing the subject.
“How’s that?”
The ranger nodded at the road ahead, the worn ground cutting in from the west and intruding on The Evermoore. “It’s not like Kelp Town, or Snowfell for that matter. Lirian’s a city, a capital city in these parts. There’s going to be people everywhere, all the time. Your senses are going to be overwhelmed.” Asher thought of the scene Elias had spoken of, when Russell had tried to eat the butcher’s raw steak. “Right now,” he continued, “the wolf is close to you. We don’t know what might set you off.”
Maybury shrugged those rounded shoulders. “What am I supposed to do? Stick corks up my nose and in my ears?”
Asher would have given that some consideration if it wouldn’t make Russell stand out. “Just stay close to me,” he instructed.
“Where exactly are we going in the city?” Maybury asked.
“The quietest place I know,” the ranger replied.
Another day was required to follow the winding road through The Evermoore, bringing the companions to Felgarn’s capital well into the night. It wasn’t quiet. Taverns were plentiful in Lirian and provided the city with almost as much activity as it experienced during the day.
Still, winter as it was, this activity was confined to the taverns themselves, packing them out wall to wall with only a few spilling out into the streets. Asher hadn’t planned this for their arrival but was certainly thankful for it. He had envisioned arriving during the day and Russell being pulled in every direction by the scent of food or disorientated by the sheer noise of it all.
As it was, a few drunkards invited the duo to drink with them while a couple of others took deliberate offence to their mere existence. There were no fights to be had, nor drinks for that matter, as both Asher and Russell boasted a gaze few could withstand, even the inebriated aggressors.
Walking beside Hector, reins in hand, Asher spared a glance at Russell as they entered the eastern district. His composure was commendable, better than anything the ranger could have hoped for. Perhaps, he considered, he shouldn’t be so quick to underestimate others, but the man had a lot more to prove. Tomorrow would be a very different day.
“What is this?” Maybury asked, his tone relaying just how unimpressed he was.
Asher thrust his chin at the tired door, its green paint in need of a new coat. “Somewhere quiet,” he said, taking to the steps that led up to the long porch.
With two hands, he yanked the three boards that had been nailed across the threshold and tossed them aside. The door was locked, likely done so by the notaries—the only people with a spare key. The original key belonged to none other than Asher. Using it now, the ranger opened the door and pushed his way through the cobwebs.
“You have a key?” Russell enquired, following him inside. “Is this yours?” Now he sounded impressed.
“I suppose it is,” Asher answered, his eyes cast low to the dark patch that had stained the floorboards for six years.
The ranger waited for Russell to move past him before closing the front door and locking it. Through the dusty square glass, fixed at eye-level in the door, he looked at the stables across the street, where Hector had been secured for the night. Asher had paid the stable master twice the fee by way of an apology for the late hour as well as his discretion.
“What was this place?” Maybury asked, exploring the open area that spread to the right. “It’s enormous. You could fit four of my homes in here.”
Thinking of the basement and the courtyard out the back, Asher felt that four was a low number. Realistically, they could have fitted double that, if not more, inside. Asher made no comment about this. Historically, his only interest in property regarded his ability to break in and out of it—he couldn’t care less about owning it. In this instance, however, it had its uses.
“We can stay here while we wait. It won’t cost us anything and there’s a fireplace downstairs we can use to stay warm.” The ranger gave Russell a second look. “So I can stay warm,” he specified.
“There’s a downstairs?” Maybury began to pivot, searching for access. He moved for the first door he found, his steps too quick for Asher to halt him. Paused in the open doorway, Russell took in the smaller room that sat behind the main area.
Asher knew what he had discovered.
“What is all this?” came the inevitable question.
Asher trailed him into the room, pausing himself to survey the untouched armour, gear, and cloaks, all layered in dust and cobwebs. Without waiting for an answer, Russell picked up one of the vambraces, stretching the cobwebs beyond their limits.
“It’s exactly what it looks like,” the ranger said wearily. “It’s a store room for armour and such.”
He had half turned back to the main area when Russell dropped the vambrace on the table and made for the door on the other side of the room. Asher tried to tell him it would likely be locked but Maybury’s new-found strength forced the door open, breaking the lock in the process.
The larger man looked back over his shoulder, an apology etched into his expression. The damage done, he walked out into the open-top courtyard with its surrounding roof that extended from the main building. Again, he was taken aback by the size of it, his arms opening wide to take it all in under a starry night.
“You own a damned palace!” he exclaimed, hot breath pluming into the cold air.
Asher hadn’t known what to expect, but the empty courtyard had surprised him as much as it had Russell. The last time he had seen these walls they had been lined with all manner of weaponry. Now they were bare, leaving naught but a neglected forge. The ranger chalked it up to the Graycoats, who had overseen the investigation at the time. They had likely decided that a great number of idle weapons were best not left unattended. Who could say what they had done with them?
“Come on,” he bade, returning to the interior.
The walls of the staircase were just wide enough to accommodate Russell’s wide shoulders. The basement was even grubbier than the main floor and the odour that had taken to the place was nearing on foul. Again, Asher was first drawn to the dark stains that could be found almost everywhere, including the ceilings. That foul stench was old death.
“This is incredible,” Maybury complimented, continuing his streak of awe.
He moved out from the stairs to walk among the armchairs and tables that spread out in disarray from the fireplace. It was illuminated by the pale gloom that spilled in through the high and narrow windows on the left-hand wall. A small number of the tables and chairs were broken; simply left where the wood had splintered under the duress of battle and all just as filthy as everything else.
“We can move these,” Asher suggested. “Lay our rolls out by the fire.”
“What’s down there?”
The ranger didn’t need to look to know that Maybury was gesturing at the lone corridor off the seating area. It was dark down there, an abyss of death and bad memories where the light of the moon could not tread.
“More rooms,” Asher said, his interest diverting to the fireplace.
“More rooms?” Russell let his satchel and roll fall to the floor, his sharp eyes taken by that corridor.
Asher wondered if he could see through that thick shadow. Then he saw the man’s nose crinkle and knew what his next question would be.
“Is that blood?”
The ranger was amazed it had taken him that long to get the scent. It seemed the miner from Snowfell was completely absorbed by the place. It was also good to know his senses could be distracted.
“It used to be known as The Ranch,” Asher began, seeing now how naive he had been to believe the topic could ever be avoided. “It belonged to the rangers.” He stopped there, suddenly aware that such a tale would require an explanation as to why the rangers no longer inhabited the place. That road led to Nightfall and to the Arakesh who had seen to their demise.
“It feels like there’s more to it than that,” Russell remarked, glancing at one of the many blood stains.
Asher tossed his bed roll onto the floor. “It’s mine now. That’s all that matters. Let’s get the fire going. You need to work on your meditation before we sleep.”
Eventually, the smell of the smoke overpowered the general, and repugnant, odour of the basement and the crackling of the flames offered some ambience to the deathly silence. To Asher, that stillness had felt like the deafening quiet after an execution, and he was all the more thankful for the fire.
“You said wait,” Russell pondered, delaying the start of his meditation techniques—deliberately so perhaps. “What are we waiting for? I thought we came here to get away from The Ice Vales for a time.”
“Not for a time,” Asher corrected, picking up on his wording. “It would be best if you never returned to that part of the world.”
“Never?” he repeated, clearly dismayed.
“Trust me,” Asher said. “There’s more to Illian than The Ice Vales. In time, you won’t want to return.”
Maybury didn’t appear convinced. “The Vales have always been home,” he breathed.
“Home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling.” No sooner had the words left Asher’s mouth than he surprised himself. He didn’t know where that reply had come from, though it was obviously a reflex, a reflection of his true feelings.
Russell was quiet for a time, his thoughts his own as usual. “What are we waiting for?” he asked again, recalling the question Asher had sidestepped.
The ranger gave his response some thought, though not because he didn’t have an answer, but because he was unsure how to categorise those they were waiting for. “Allies…” he led with, before rephrasing with, “…friends.” It felt the more uncomfortable of the two words, but the latter would work better on Russell’s nerves.
“Why don’t you strike me as a man with friends?”
“They’re fellow rangers,” Asher explained, navigating the question and its obvious answer. “We can trust them.”
Maybury’s eyes narrowed on him. “Trust them to do what?”
Asher licked his lips and decided to keep some of the truth behind them. “You need more training than the average ranger, more than I alone can give. They will provide other… perspectives.” Whether one or both of those perspectives was that Russell Maybury should be slain on the spot remained to be seen.
“More training? I thought you said I was well suited to the job.”
“You are, but those natural talents need honing. You can’t just throw yourself at a monster and hope your strength and speed will prevail.”
Russell retreated again as he chewed over his forming future. He definitely possessed that spark to live and, perhaps, more. He had been a different man walking into The Ranch, more animated and intrigued where before he had displayed all the characteristics of a cart being towed. It was a little easier to see now why he had accompanied Asher in the first place. He wanted something more from life, more than a miner’s humble life.
“These allies, friends… rangers. They’re in Lirian?”
Asher removed his fingerless gloves and placed them in front of the fire, where the light of the flames was absorbed by the black gem revealed on his finger. “They will be soon.”
Some shadow of alarm crossed Russell’s face. “Soon?”
Asher didn’t have to ask to know the man was already thinking ahead to the next trio of full moons, three weeks hence. “We agreed to meet in Lirian every second week of Dunfold,” he went on, naming the second month of Illian’s winter.
“What are we to do in the meantime?”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Asher told him. “Tonight there is meditation and sleep. Tomorrow will come in its own time.” The ranger assumed the familiar position, legs crossed, opposite Russell.
Asher awoke to glowing embers, alone in the basement. Alarmed by Russell’s absence, the ranger forced aside any grogginess and rose quickly to his feet, one hand reaching out and smoothly collecting the silvyr short-sword as he did so. It was only then that he realised how close to his thoughts the creatures were, those who sought the bronze sphere and would kill for it.
Those who even a Werewolf feared.
Noise from the ceiling led Asher up the stairs and into The Ranch’s ground floor. His sense of rising dread was immediately dispelled at the sight of Russell Maybury sweeping the dusty floor with a broom. He had even taken down the boards from the windows and cleaned the glass with what was now a black cloth draped over one large shoulder.
“Morning,” he said cheerily enough. “I couldn’t sleep,” he added with a shrug of the broom.
Asher was impressed by the transformation of the long room, though he would have preferred the man to have taken the time to work on his meditation, which was still severely lacking. “Put the broom down. I want to show you something.”
After returning to the basement, the ranger claimed one of the long-abandoned candlesticks and lit it using what remained of the burning embers. With Russell in tow, he entered the dark corridor in which there were numerous doors to choose from. The first on his left he walked past, disinterested by the room and its bunk beds. The next had belonged to Rolan Vask, a ranger twisted by his own vision for what their order of monster hunters could amount to. The third door opened into a room he had been more acquainted with. In fact, the ropes that had kept him bound to the wall were still there to be seen in the candlelight. That and the large black stain, the remains of Dunkan the ranger.
