A Dance of Fang and Claw: The Ranger Archives Volume 3, page 26
“What were that?” Doran demanded, forcing himself into the doorway.
Asher looked back, his attention caught by the torchlight reflecting off the bronze orb in the mage’s hand. He had spent every spare moment investigating it. “Easy,” he bade the miner from Snowfell.
“Curious,” Hadavad uttered, revealing the orb all the more. “Earlier today you saw me with this and said nothing. You had no reaction at all…” The mage’s eyes drifted with his words.
“Put it away,” Asher ordered, his arm still across Russell’s chest.
Hadavad slipped the relic into one of the many pouches that weighted his belt. “It would appear that Creed’s thrall over you has its boundaries. The closer you are to the time of the wolf, the more you heed his will.”
Doran cocked an eye up at him. “Fascinatin’,” he said with all the intonation of a rock. “But the moon’s risin’. Best we get on with it, eh?”
Feeling some of the threat reduce in Russell’s posture, Asher removed his arm and stepped back to cast one last inspection over the restraints. It was Russell’s eyes, however, that drew him in. The unnatural amber had returned and was visible without the need of torchlight. The curse was upon him.
Indeed, after filing out, leaving Hadavad and his staff to the final task, Maybury was on his knees with a feral growl in his throat. They heard his bones cracking and reforming and his skin tearing. The mage kept the door open just enough to insert his staff and exact his spell. Soon, the smoke was pushing beyond the room and exploring the hallway. The wolf’s hacking and stuttering now drowned out the last of the transformation.
“Shut it!” Danagarr urged.
The moment Hadavad was clear, the smith stepped in and slid the newly-fitted lock across the doorframe. Next came the various pieces of heavy furniture that, together, they positioned between the door and the adjacent wall.
“Right,” Doran announced, wiping his hands together. “’Ere we go again.”
How the night stretched, as if the dawn was reluctant to return. Neither dwarf nor man found a moment’s rest, each alert and always with a weapon in hand. They patrolled the two floors in silence, pausing frequently to peer out between the boards at the sleeping world. The curfew, enacted in light of the number of bodies showing up, kept the streets bare but for the snow, which fell upon the city without a sound.
More than once, Asher spotted a group of Lirian soldiers, attired in their iron plate and draped in the green and gold of their country. But only once did the ranger sight the legendary Graycoats as they rounded the corner and walked past The Ranch. There were two of them, as there so often were, each a warrior capable of challenging an Arakesh, though that wasn’t the same thing as beating an Arakesh.
Asher had instinctively backed away from the window, despite the deep shadows and boards that concealed him. He didn’t fear the Graycoats, but they were undoubtedly a complication he wanted to avoid.
Turning away from the window, he was faced by Doran Heavybelly, his hands resting atop the flat of his axe as it stood between his feet. Asher had heard him coming—how could he not?—and been content to let the dwarf stand idle for a moment. It never hurt to give a dwarf some time to collect their thoughts.
“Are we really doin’ this?” the son of Dorain asked.
“Doing what?” Asher replied, his voice low.
“Leavin’ the city,” the dwarf specified. “If we survive the night, that is.”
“Hadavad is right,” the ranger insisted. “We need to get ahead of Creed and Merith for a while. Besides, Russell isn’t going to learn our craft stuck in the city. He needs to get out there.”
Doran’s expression pinched upon hearing the latter. “Ye’re stickin’ to that course then?”
Asher gave a slight shrug. “I see no other.”
“The hells ye don’,” Doran countered. “It’s one thing to let ’im live at all—if he could ’ave such a life—but it’s quite another to send ’im out into the realm to do what we do.”
“You already agreed to this course. I’m not having this conversation again,” the ranger warned him.
“Ye’ll not brush me off,” the dwarf told him firmly. “An’ it’s easy to have yer mind changed after seein’ the beast under his skin.” Doran was shaking his head. “Ye’re blinded by yer own need to prove somethin’ abou’ yerself. That’s what this is. If ye don’ see sense it’s goin’ to get us all killed. Hells, if ye take ’im away from that cage ye’re goin’ to get others killed! What if somethin’ happens out there? Hmm? What if he can’ get back in time? I’ll tell ye what will happen: the wolf’ll ’ave ’im an’ then he’ll kill anythin’ that moves! That’ll be on ye.”
Asher was rubbing his eyes, his mind and body all too aware of the many hours he had been awake. “He will require more discipline than you or I,” he conceded.
Doran scoffed. “Ye think it’s jus’ discipline? Ye think discipline can defeat a Werewolf? ’Ave ye heard yerself? Ye’re a ranger damn it! Hells, ye’re supposed to be the damned scourge o’ the monster world! Ye should o’—”
“I know what I should have done!” Asher retorted, cutting the dwarf off. “But I didn’t. He deserves a chance.”
Doran puffed out his chest, rising to the occasion. “He’s cursed, Asher. Curses don’ give chances, they take ’em!”
“We’re not killing him,” Asher seethed, voicing the topic they were circling.
“I’m not sayin’ that!”
“You are!” the ranger told him.
“I’m not!” the son of Dorain fired back. “I’m sayin’ he can’ be allowed to stray from Danagarr’s cage. Takin’ ’im away from ’ere is dangerous for everyone. Himself included!” the dwarf added, thumbing at the door over his shoulder. “If he spills innocent blood he’s goin’ to bring vengeance down upon ’imself. He’ll be hunted by everyone.”
He’ll be hunted by me, Asher thought, but he decided it was a thought that didn’t need sharing.
“We’re training him,” the ranger said flatly. “I’m training him. If you want no part in it, you’re welcome to take your leave, master dwarf.”
“Bah!” Doran spat, hammering the haft of his axe once into the floor. “Ye’ll not cast me aside with words, boy! An’ ye’d be foolish to rid yerself o’ the only true ally ye’ve got! I’m ’ere because…” The dwarf hesitated, his brash tone dampened by emotion. “Hells, ye can’ even see why I’m ’ere.”
Because we’re friends, Asher desperately wanted to say. But the words would not form.
“Come the dawn,” the dwarf continued sombrely, “I’ll still be ’ere. An I’ll go with ye too, if only so I can be there when the truth hits ye. I’ll be there to save yer sorry self.”
Asher turned away from him. “I don’t need saving,” he uttered.
“Do ye really know that?” the son of Dorain asked him.
The unexpected question locked the ranger’s jaw in place. From his tone, it was clear the dwarf hadn’t been referring to his literal life, but his soul, his conscience, those scales that had long been tipped against him thanks to his past deeds.
Asher swallowed, freeing up his jaw. “You don’t owe me anything, Doran,” he said, his anger having passed. “Dragorn is behind us.”
“I know, lad,” the dwarf replied, turning to the stairs. “But is it behind ye?”
The ranger remained where he stood, quiet and still, while he listened to Doran’s steps descend into the basement. When had the dwarf learnt so many words, he wondered? But even that thought could not prevent his mind from conjuring images of death and blood; specifically, the blood he had spilled on that island and the trail of death he had created while hunting Viktor Varga for ten long months. For a time, the Assassin had reigned.
He had welcomed it.
Since then it had felt closer than ever. A dark presence that seeped into his thoughts and taunted him in his sleep. Asher couldn’t help but think of Russell, who now lived with a similar demon. The comparison lent him some conviction, pushing down Doran’s warnings and complaints.
“Master Heavybelly seems in high spirits,” Hadavad remarked, appearing at the top of the stairs, his gaze still cast down to the basement where he had passed the surly dwarf.
“As ever,” Asher replied, returning his sight to the gap in the window boards.
“He disagrees with departing Lirian,” the mage reasoned.
“He disagrees with everything,” the ranger told him, exhaustion in his voice.
Hadavad slowly made his way across the room, staff in hand. “Is there any part of you that agrees with his disagreement?”
Asher sighed. “You certainly talk like a mage.”
The response made no impact on Hadavad, who continued to close the gap between them. “He has a good heart,” he said. “It might be plated in armour and drowning in ale but it is a good one. He voices concern for Russell as much as the people he might hurt. Can you not find common ground?”
The ranger shut his eyes and clamped his jaw. He missed his days alone on the road with naught but Hector for company. People spoke too much and the mage was no exception.
“Like all things,” he eventually replied, “Doran needs action to prove the truth of it. There are no words—in his language or ours—that will convince him otherwise.”
“Then you truly believe it,” Hadavad concluded.
“Believe what?”
“That Russell Maybury can overcome the curse of Iskander, that he can be more than what he has been made to be.”
Gripping the window ledge, Asher’s knuckles paled beneath his fingerless gloves. “Yes,” he breathed, though he was not thinking of Russell when he did.
The mage folded his arms, staff stood upright beside him, while his hot breath clouded the air about him. “I have lived long enough to know that it cannot be done,” he uttered, turning Asher’s frown on him. “At least,” he intoned, “it cannot be done alone. It is the belief and hope of others that give one a strength unlike any other.”
“That… That doesn’t sound like me.”
“Yet—for Russell—it is you. Sometimes who we think we are and who we truly are can be two separate things. Whatever you believe of yourself, Ranger, I would say you are something else entirely.”
Asher was quiet for a time, the mage’s words sinking in through hard layers of doubt and self-loathing.
“And,” Hadavad continued, “you are not alone in your support of Russell. If reluctantly, Master Heavybelly remains at his side. Even Master Stormshield works tirelessly to aid him. And,” he said, drawing out the word, “though my belief might not match your own, Russell certainly has my hope that he can find something of a life to salvage. I will help him wherever I can.”
The ranger maintained his stoical nature, giving nothing away of his thoughts and feelings, both of which were brewing like a storm. Instead, he nodded his head and asked a question that would pivot their conversation. “Have you had any luck with the orb?”
The mage wiped his mouth and ran that same hand through his beard. “If only I had some luck to use,” he said. “The intricacies of Iskander’s little lockbox continue to confound me. It will not open.”
“We leave at dawn,” Asher informed him, and not for the first time. “You will have more time while we’re on the road.”
“I feel,” Hadavad began, “I should stress the point that we will not be rid of Merith and Creed by leaving the city. We might outrun them for a time but they each possess enough ability to track us beyond Lirian. They will know we have left and they will pursue us.”
Again, the ranger nodded his head in silent agreement. “Time is against us. It will always be against Russell,” he lamented. “If the orb remains a mystery by the time we are forced to return to Lirian, you must assume it contains the Skaramangian Stone and hide it.”
“Hmm. Living without the truth of it will haunt me for centuries to come. But yes. You are right. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, eh?”
“I think I’m all out of hope,” Asher muttered, catching the distant howl of the wolf below.
“One step at a time,” Hadavad bade. “Speaking of which; where will we go?”
Asher ceased his leaning against the windowsill and straightened his back, arms folded. “Wherever the monsters are.”
It was only in the light of the dawn that Asher realised how much sleep he had lost. But it was a crisp and clear dawn that brought relief to them all, and much needed after the last three nights of fright. The ranger had stood on The Ranch’s porch and watched the sky brighten, free of the recent snow clouds. He breathed in the cold air, its biting edge enough to stave off some of his fatigue.
He didn’t believe in the gods but damned if it didn’t feel like a miracle to have survived the third night—in fact, any of them. Seeing one of the patrols in the distance, Asher wondered whether the increased security had been enough to keep their foes at bay. Having seen the Vorska and the Werewolves clash, of course, it was also just as likely the fiends of Iskander were too busy fighting each other in the shadows.
The Ranch’s green door opened behind the ranger, turning his attention to Hadavad. “The wolf has had its time,” he reported.
The mage’s words brought a new thought to mind. “Why have Creed and his lot not attacked us? There aren’t enough soldiers in Lirian to keep that many Werewolves back.”
“Had they a mind to they would have,” the mage offered. “But under the full moon they do not boast the minds of men. They are but beasts. They follow their instincts more than anything. I imagine it’s part of the reason why Creed seeks to control his transformations. He could use the wolf as you would a bow and arrow.”
“Aim and release,” Asher finished, the metaphor clear in his mind.
“Aim and unleash,” Hadavad corrected. “Though…” he added, drawing Asher in. “I find myself more concerned with their human counterparts. They could track us as easily as the Vorska. So why haven’t they made their move while the sun is up?”
The thought of it put the ranger to action. Regardless of his need to rest, Russell was forced awake and urged to dress himself as quickly as possible. Doran collected anything and everything that could be strapped to their saddles, though he grumbled incessantly as he did so. Danagarr was left to his work after assurances that both Creed and Merith would waste no time in tracking them beyond Lirian. To be safe, however, they pooled what coin they could and insisted that the smith find somewhere else to sleep for a night or two, leaving The Ranch to any possible investigation.
Without enough coin to purchase a horse, Russell had to walk while the others rode out of the city on their mounts. Asher was astounded by Maybury’s recovery time. They hadn’t put more than a mile between them and Lirian before he appeared his usual self, tall and strong with an unrelenting step.
Despite his vigorous demeanour, he maintained an air of depression about him.
The ranger felt tempted to slow Hector down and speak to the man but he didn’t know what to say. Indeed, none of them did. For their own reasons each of the companions kept mostly to themselves for the short journey. After a day and half the night of travelling in relative silence, they found themselves entering the city of Vangarth, its borders nestled inside the southern trees of The Evermoore. Though not as big as the region’s capital, it still boasted a healthy population and a sprawling selection of taverns and inns.
Much of Vangarth was cut through by numerous streams that fed towards The Unmar River in the east, making it a city of small bridges and with entire streets of buildings propped up on thick stilts. Lanterns and torches brought a gloomy illumination to those streets. It was true warmth and rest that they needed, however, and so the ranger guided them to an inn he had earmarked some time ago but never stayed in. He never slept in the same place twice.
“Get some sleep,” Asher insisted. “We move on again at first light.”
“We’re moving on again?” Russell enquired incredulously.
“We only have a month,” Asher told him while dismounting, “and we’re not nearly far enough from Lirian to continue your training. Tomorrow we forsake the road and take our leave to the east. We’ll cut through the forest and cross The Unmar.”
Maybury’s eyes shifted to the right. “Where will that take us?”
Asher handed the man his pack of belongings and supplies. “To the city of Palios.”
Chapter 21
Palios
Kraken - You likely don’t need to be reading this to know that The Hox is the domain of a beast so terrible no kingdom dare set sail across it. That monster has gone by many names, I don’t doubt, but folk in these parts refer to it as the Kraken or sometimes Leviathan.
We have decided to include it in this edition of the bestiary due to its undeniable nature, but don’t be thinking you can fight it. The last time a sighting was reported—by my grandfather’s generation—it was seen taking down a whole vessel in minutes, dragging it down to the depths.
There were reports of tentacles and a mighty tail but little else. Besides that, we know nothing of the monster. Well, that’s not strictly true, I suppose. We know it won’t let any ships cross that sea.
A Chronicle of Monsters: A Ranger’s Bestiary, 12th Edition, Page 481.
Varys Nad, Ranger.
After spending the very last of their coin on a bed and a hot meal, the four companions reunited with their mounts and weaved through Vangarth’s various districts until they were able to breach the tree wall in the east. As before, Russell seemed content to walk at the back of the group, never to complain about the miles he covered on foot.
Looking back at the man, between the trees, he remained that pillar of sheer will. It only assured Asher all the more that he had the necessary strength to beat his demons.
