Court of Assassins: The Ranger Archives Volume 1, page 23
Geron rapped his knuckles against the antlers protruding from the Skalagat’s head. “Hanaghan here researches every monster we hunt down. His work adds to the archives.”
Hanaghan stared at Geron for a moment. “Quite,” he said at last, his voice curiously quiet. “Welcome to our little brotherhood, Asher. I hope you survive long enough for me to grow accustomed to your face. Do you know where you’re going next?”
“Velia,” Geron informed, tapping the rolled up parchment tucked into his belt.
Hanaghan nodded. “Ah… The Scudders. Should prove easy enough.”
Geron paused, his mouth twisted into the shape of a possible word, yet he was unable to speak. He clutched the end of the parchment in his belt. “You’ve seen the message from Velia?” he enquired of the small man.
Hanaghan paused before catching up. “Indeed,” he replied casually. “Rolan consulted with me on the potential monster in question. I thought Kalantha was taking the job.”
“The boss wants us to look into it,” Geron corrected.
“What are Scudders?” Asher asked, with suspicion creeping into his bones - though he couldn’t say exactly why.
“Cousins to the Lech,” Hanaghan explained from behind his leathery mask. “Mudslugs to you,” he specified. “Except Scudders are the more aggressive of the species. It’s all in the bestiary.”
Geron clapped Asher on the back. “Looks like you’ve got some reading to do.”
“Here,” Hanaghan called, having moved on to rummage through a set of drawers. “Take this.” He placed a thin vial of yellow fluid onto a tray and pushed it down towards Asher, his eyes always averted. “Drawn from the glands of a female Scudder,” he explained. “The males will be attracted to it but, more importantly, another female Scudder will seek it out - they don’t share territory well.”
“Why do I want to lure the female?” Asher asked, holding the vial up to the torchlight.
His head bowed, Hanaghan answered, “If you’re dealing with a nest, killing the female will be the only way to get on top of it. Otherwise, she’ll just keep spawning more Scudders if the environment is right.”
Geron raised a calming hand. “I don’t think we’re dealing with a nest. If the report is accurate it’s just a few rogue Scudders. Speaking of which, we should get moving - Velia’s not exactly around the corner. Be seeing you, Hanaghan.”
“Good hunting,” the small man called back, disappearing into his work once more.
By the time they loaded up the wagon, including Geron’s new spear, and readied Hector for the journey, a light drizzle of rain had beset the forest kingdom. The big man turned his face to the sky and opened his mouth, a wide grin forming there.
“Every journey should start with rain,” he insisted. “A sign of good luck from Lady Lethia,” he decided, naming the goddess of fortune. “Are you riding up front with me?”
Asher considered the available space on the bench. “I think I would be more comfortable in the wagon. Or on my own horse,” he muttered as he climbed in.
“Horses don’t grow on trees,” Geron grunted over his shoulder. “Get a few contracts under your belt and you can buy one.”
Asher placed his new broadsword next to Geron’s spear and rested his elbows on his knees. “Noted,” he remarked.
Geron paused before guiding Hector down the road. “Contract or no contract, little man, you’re wearing that green cloak now. That means you’re a ranger. That means you’re an assassin no more.”
Asher gave a short sharp nod in response. He raised his hood to keep the rain out and bowed his head, his thoughts chewing over Geron’s words.
Chapter 18
A Tale of the Past
Scudder - Just because you’ve killed yourself a Lech or two, don’t be thinking you can tackle a Scudder. These beasts are faster and far more aggressive than Mudslugs.
And when I say fast, I don’t just mean in the water - they’re equally fast out of it. And when I say they, I do mean they. These buggers do naught but eat and breed, increasing the size of their nest as they go.
Thankfully, they’re prey to a number of other monsters who help to keep their numbers down, but should they encroach on civilisation, they need rooting out as soon as possible.
There’s always a female at the heart of the nest and she’s the one you want if you’re to put a stop to the nightmare. She’s no fiercer than the males, though she is somewhat larger.
Now, there’s nothing special required to kill the wretches. You just need something sharp and a strong swing behind it. (Read on for known sources of natural bait).
A Chronicle of Monsters: A Ranger’s Bestiary, 12th Edition, Page 73.
Handor Grain, Ranger.
The light drizzle that had started in Lirian had followed the rangers on their journey south, and then increased to heavy rain by the time they were turning east, towards The Shining Coast. After nearly two days of it, Asher was thankful to be looking upon Whistle Town, a place no one looked upon with thanks. Yet it provided an opportunity to have something other than a piece of fabric between him and the relentless rain. Perhaps, he dared to dream, even a wall to separate him from Geron’s voice for just a night.
“What do you mean we aren’t staying the night?” Asher questioned as Geron led them into The Green Hag, a tavern that had seen better days, much like the rest of the town that surrounded it.
“We’ve got limited coin until we make good on that contract,” Geron replied as if the answer was obvious. “Who knows what we might need between now and then. We might even need to purchase supplies to help with the hunt. Sleeping in beds is costly, little man. The wilds will do us just fine.” The ranger breathed in as he slid his girth into one side of a booth.
“Then why have we stopped here at all?” Asher demanded, pushing his soaked hood back as he took the bench opposite.
Geron beamed, glad, it seemed, to have been asked that particular question. “Because though the wilds of the world might provide us with ground to sleep on, it does not serve the best Golden Ale in all the realm.” Catching the barmaid’s eye, he raised two stocky fingers in the air before pointing at the table.
Asher noted the staircase at the other end of the tavern. “They likely have rooms, cheap rooms—”
“Of course they do,” Geron chuckled. “And of course they’re cheap - this is Whistle Town! But it changes nothing, little man. I want us over Barden Bridge before we get some shut eye.”
Asher sighed when the two tankards of Golden Ale were placed on their table. Geron was quick to get his lips around the rim of the tankard and consume his first mouthful, all the while lifting one finger to keep the barmaid where she stood. The big man had a look of great satisfaction about him, leading to a repeat order of drinks and a hot meal.
Asher was loath to admit that he enjoyed the taste of the Golden Ale and so he continued to merely sip it while producing the bestiary. He searched for page seventy-three, as he had several times on their trip, and renewed his education on all things Scudder-related.
“You’ve had your head in that thing since we left Lirian,” Geron commented. “I’m not complaining,” he added with his hands in the air. “It’s damn good that you’re getting to grips with it all. You’re just not making for much of an interesting travel companion. In fact, I’d go so far as to say I get more conversation out of Hector, and that bugger’s scared of his own shadow.”
Asher didn’t much care for any of that. “Back in Lirian, you said it was likely just some rogue Scudders—”
“Because it probably is,” Geron interjected, swigging another mouthful.
“According to this,” Asher countered, swivelling the book side on, “that’s very unlikely. This talks of a nest. There’s always a female,” he read aloud. “The males go out and bring back food for it.”
Geron waved a hand through it all. “Can’t a man be optimistic? Hmm? A few rogue Scudders is easily dealt with. If there’s a nest…” He shrugged. “If there’s a nest we’re probably about three rangers too short. But that isn’t the case,” he reaffirmed. “It’s just a few rogue Scudders who wandered too far from the nest. You’ll see.”
Asher closed the book and sat back, unconvinced and unsure how Geron could be so certain. Still, he had to accept the fact that he was the less experienced of the two, not a concept he was familiar with. Nasta Nal-Aket had pushed him to be the best at everything Nightfall put him through and he had never felt arrogant in considering himself one of the best, if not the best, Arakesh of his generation. It was an odd feeling to be on the bottom rung again.
The tavern door opened and the sound of rain filled the room. Asher, as ever, was discreet in his observations, though he needed no more than a second to register the fact that two Graycoats had just entered The Green Hag. As was his habit, the assassin immediately broke the pair down into a list of knowns and unknowns.
The shorter of the two was a young woman, her strong jaw line suggesting she was possibly from the north. Her coat was relatively new, unblemished by the rough lifestyle of their order, indicating that she was either still in training or recently bestowed with the title of Graycoat. Asher was instantly confident that he could kill her in three moves or less.
The taller of the two was growing a little old in the fang, his beard and ponytail traced with grey hair. Crow’s feet ringed his eyes and a crooked nose told of a lifetime of having it broken, reset, and then broken again. Like all those of his order, however, he was still in good shape, his strength displayed in his walk alone. Five moves, Asher decided. Perhaps six.
“Are you still with me, little man?”
Geron’s question broke the spell of Asher’s conditioning and summoned his conscious mind to the present. He blinked hard, turning his face towards the inner booth as he did so. Will I ever stop thinking like an assassin? he wondered. He was a ranger now. That meant very little, however, when the deeds of his new life were put side by side with those of his previous life.
“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?” he asked as he leaned his head against one hand, concealing his face from the rest of the tavern.
“I don’t know,” Geron mused. “Are you planning on getting any bigger?”
“There’s no correlation between size and skill,” Asher quipped, much to Geron’s amusement.
“That’s what all little men say,” the big man countered with an obnoxiously loud bout of laughter, attracting more attention than Asher would have liked, though he did enjoy their moment of camaraderie. He buried that thought when he realised the Graycoats were among those who had turned to look at them. “If we’re to make it beyond Barden Bridge before nightfall then we should be off,” he suggested.
Geron scowled. “First you want to stay. Now you want to go. Which is it?”
Asher was about to insist they leave immediately when the barmaid placed two steaming meals down on their table. There would be no moving the big man now.
Another hour went by before they finally returned to Hector and the cart, and another two hours before Barden Bridge and Whistle Town were put behind them. The entire time they were inside The Green Hag, Asher had been convinced that it could only end in violence, as it so often did with the knights of West Fellion. The whole affair had, ultimately, been rather normal - another concept he wasn’t familiar with.
Using a rare break in the rain, the two rangers took the opportunity to set up camp under the shelter of an ancient oak tree. Long after the fire had been lit and Geron’s constant chatter had died down to singing and then humming, Asher found himself with a question for his companion, though its personal nature kept his mouth shut for some time beyond the birth of his curiosity.
“You don’t say much,” Geron remarked. “But you’ve got a look about you now that suggests you’ve got something to say. Spill it, Ranger.”
Asher disliked being read, and so accurately at that, but he shrugged it off and asked his question. “How did you get into this life?”
Geron stared at him for a brief moment before his laughter broke the tension. “How much time have we spent together, side by side? You’ve asked me what? One question perhaps? Is that wall starting to come down between us?”
“Forget I said anything,” Asher was quick to retort, happy to busy himself with cleaning the cogs of his bow.
“You say so few words it’s hard to forget any of them,” Geron jested. “And it’s a perfectly good question. Just a little late I’d say.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Asher said without looking at the man.
“But you want to know and I want to tell you,” Geron reassured. “Though, I must warn you, mine is not an easy tale to hear.”
Asher was confident there were worse things in just one of his nightmares than whatever Geron was about to confide, but he didn’t say as much. Instead, he put his bow down and turned his attention on the big man, content to listen to the hardships of another for a change.
“Before this life,” the large ranger began, “I was a bounty hunter, and a damn good one. My father didn’t approve, of course; he wanted me to plough the fields, as he had done, for the rest of my life. But look at me! Do you think a farm could contain me? I needed the world. The life of a bounty hunter suited me, rewarded me even. I found a good wife, Lavinia.” He said her name wistfully and with a warm smile. “We bought a good home in Longdale and… well, the gods never blessed us with children. But Lavinia and I were happy. Then, one day, a new bounty comes my way - a big one. The kingdoms of both Alborn and Felgarn wanted a man named Kradamir Damakas.”
The name meant nothing to Asher. “Who was he?”
“A slaver,” Geron said with clear disdain, “and a wicked one at that, which is saying something for his ilk. As you know, slavery down in the south is a way of life: they exchange people down there like coins. But Kradamir specialised in procuring slaves from outside The Arid Lands. He would come to the northern kingdoms and take all manner of folk, snatching them from their lives and selling them to the lords of the desert - to those who fancied a more exotic slave.”
“Sounds like a piece of work,” Asher opined. “You took the bounty then?”
“Aye. I thought he was scum, and I enjoyed hunting down scum. The bounty was mighty big too. So large, in fact, that it would change our lives. So I accepted the job, kissed Lavinia goodbye for what I knew would be some time, and made Kradamir Damakas my life.” Geron tapped his leg, his thoughts navigating a memory he clearly found hard to put into words.
“I started in Karath,” he continued. “I figured the capital would have the largest slave trade. I picked up a few leads, ended up in Ameeraska, knocked a few heads together - that led me to Calmardra - and then I got my first glimpse of him. He had a number of men on his payroll so he was rarely alone. I watched how he operated for weeks, even followed him across the desert, back to Tregaran - which is where he was based as it turned out.”
“That must have taken some time,” Asher surmised.
“Months, near on a year in fact.” Geron was shaking his head at the thought of it. “But there was no way I could get to him. He was a cautious man and always surrounded by thugs.” The ranger leaned forward. “Until he came north that is. To avoid suspicion in places like Velia and Lirian, he would only be accompanied by two lieutenants. I tracked him across The Moonlit Plains, all the way to Vangarth.” He sighed. “That’s where things got messy. I bungled the grab, killed one of his men, and was left half dead in the gutter, lucky to be alive at all. But three poor souls were still put in Kradamir’s cart and condemned to slavery.”
Geron paused, perhaps considering whether he really wanted to go on with his tale.
“It all got very personal after that,” he said, at last. “I eventually recovered and renewed my hunt, but this time I had some fury in my veins. Upon my return to Tregaran, I started to set Kradamir’s life on fire. It became a crusade of sorts. I spent over a year in those hot lands, my every waking moment devoted to making Kradamir’s life a miserable hell. I freed slaves, gutted his men - I couldn’t even guess at the number of men I left in my wake - and worst of all, I cut deep into his pockets. He was losing coin with my every breath.” Geron laughed softly to himself. “There were entire months where I forgot about the bounty. The reward was to simply leave him naked in the streets with nothing but the skin on his back.”
“What happened?” Asher pressed, genuinely curious.
“Exactly that, in time. He got into debt trying to keep me off his back and he was already dealing with some serious debt. Then there were the various high borns of The Arid Lands who held grudges against him - I’m talking about the worst humanity has to offer,” he added gravely, “and they never forget. But his little empire had kept him safe for years. Once it all started to come down, he was prey to them all. As it turned out though, without a single coin to his name and nowhere to call his own, the slippery bugger disappeared on the streets - another faceless beggar.”
Asher knew from experience how easy it was to disappear in plain view when you could blend in with the filth of the streets. “So what did you do?” he asked.
“The only thing I could do,” Geron replied. “I went home, to Lavinia. She had every right to be less than impressed with my return, empty handed as I was. But, gods bless her, she was just happy to have me back.” The big man sat in that moment for a while, his memory transporting him back to another life.
“But that’s not how it ended,” Asher assumed, his voice low.
“No,” Geron uttered. “That is not the end of my tale. I never forgot about Kradamir. I just thought he was a world away. I never thought… I never thought he would come looking for me. But, of course, he wasn’t the same man I had been tasked with hunting down. No. After I was done with him, Kradamir was a broken and desperate man. And I mean desperate. He had nothing, Asher. Nothing. He had been living like a rat, scurrying from town to town, city to city, surviving on scraps and sleeping in the dirt. He was fuelled by revenge.”
