A Dance of Fang and Claw: The Ranger Archives Volume 3, page 27
“You were up before the dawn today,” the ranger casually remarked after several hours, walking beside the man with Hector’s reins in one hand.
Russell adjusted the strap of his pack across his chest, shifting the position of the pick-axe he carried. “I didn’t get much sleep. Too many new… smells,” he admitted, if shamefully so.
Asher accepted the answer without judgment, instead recalling the snippet of conversation he had heard that morning between Russell and the owner of the inn. Maybury had enquired about the menu of food on offer though, curiously, he had no interest in the food itself but the rotation of food being served.
“Why Palios?” he asked, cutting through the ranger’s thoughts.
“It’s a big city. Big cities have big problems. Even if we find nothing to hunt, just being there will prove a training ground for you.”
“You’ve been there before?”
Asher nodded, though Russell could not see his face for the hood that concealed it. “It’ll take a little over a week to reach, but it’s a damn sight shorter than taking The Selk Road through Whistle Town.”
“You know your way about the wilds of the world,” Russell complimented. “I’ll give you that.”
“And so must you,” the ranger instructed. “You especially,” he felt compelled to add. “You will be tethered to Lirian, so you will have to learn the shortest routes to everywhere. If it takes you two weeks to reach your destination then it will take as much time to return. Find that boundary and never stray beyond it.”
There came no reply from the bigger man, forcing Asher to turn his head to lay eyes on him. He appeared to be absorbing the information, though it did nothing to remove his sullen expression.
“I know it sounds confining,” the ranger began again, before Russell interrupted.
“Confining?” he echoed with half a laugh. “I hadn’t left The Ice Vales until recently. Two weeks out from Lirian—in any direction—is more world than I know what to do with.”
“Then what is it that’s keeping your eyes on your feet?” Asher asked, aware that he was heading into a realm he didn’t know how to navigate.
Russell thought on the question for a moment but, just as he made to speak, Doran spoke up from the front of their modest caravan. “Tracks up ahead!”
“What kind?” Hadavad questioned from atop his white mare.
The dwarf moved on from Pig and crouched to better investigate. “Rabbits maybe,” he guessed. “Whatever it is, I’m o’ a mind to put it on a spit. Me belly ain’ used to skippin’ breakfast an’ it’s informin’ me we’re past lunch now too.” The son of Dorain stood up and looked back at Asher, his eyes finding the ranger’s arrows protruding over his right shoulder. “Ye still any good with that thing?”
Asher retrieved the folded bow from his back and snapped it to life, deciding he would answer the question with skill. He also decided it would be a good training exercise for Russell, who needed to learn the vital skills of hunting and foraging. It soon became clear, however, that the man needed no help in the art of tracking, his nose and ears more than enough to find all the creatures of the forest.
The week that followed was pleasant enough, the four companions slowly but surely becoming more comfortable in each other’s company. Though Asher and Doran possessed a common history, they spoke the least, each lingering on an unsure footing where the other was concerned. They had disagreed one too many times. By the fourth day, the ranger decided that this was actually a good thing, as it forced the dwarf to make more conversation with Russell. It turned out they had an extensive knowledge of the ales, ciders, and beers of the world, and a common love and dislike for the same potations.
By the sixth day, it became quite clear that they had a lot in common; more, in fact, than the dwarf had with him. Their discussions remained light but they always flowed easily and often incorporated Hadavad who, as always, had an opinion on everything. Every now and then Asher would hear Doran imparting some wisdom when it came to hunting monsters. The ranger always made a mental note to speak to Russell afterwards and straighten out some of that wisdom.
By night they would set up a small shelter around a fire. The mage had lived so many lives and in so many places throughout history that he was never short of a tale. Asher welcomed them all, happy to have his own thoughts drowned out for a time. Of course, whenever Hadavad wasn’t recounting he was consumed by Iskander’s relic. He tinkered with the orb almost constantly, turning his curiosity into frustration as the days went on.
On the seventh day they put The Evermoore behind them, leaving those tall trees—if only for a time. They travelled north for three miles, where the waters of The Unmar were shallow enough to be crossed. It was on the eighth day that they saw it, The All-Tower of Palios gleaming in the low midday sun.
Russell stood atop the rise and looked on in wonder, his jaw slack. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he beamed. “I didn’t even know man could build anything so big.”
Asher regarded the tower, a structure he had viewed many times before but had never really seen. There was a beauty to the monolithic sculpture of white stone. Its square base—large enough to swallow villages whole—rose up to a flat top, as if an arrow head had been blunted. Windows, arches, and balconies of greenery decorated the tower. At its base, inside strong walls, was the sprawling city of squat domes and twisting spires that stood dwarfed in the shadow of The All-Tower.
“Our ancestors had nothing to do with this,” Hadavad revealed, his old mind a font of knowledge. “You look upon the work of elves,” he explained, eliciting more wonderment from the humble miner.
“This is not like the ruins,” Russell commented.
“No,” the mage agreed, drawing out the word with a smile beneath his beard. “Though it might have suffered a similar fate had we not adopted it as our own.” Hadavad gestured loosely at the city. “Most of what you see has been built by human hands, including the wall. But, as you can see, for all the centuries that have passed, we still cannot equal the works of our inheritance.”
“Bah!” Doran spat. “Grimwhal’s most junior mason could knock that out before breakfast!”
“What’s inside it?” Russell asked, ignoring the dwarf’s comment.
“Scholars,” Hadavad answered, a note of derision in his voice. “A stuffy breed in my opinion. Too many believe all the answers can be found in scrolls and books. They’d learn the truth if they ever left their precious tower.”
“We aren’t here for the scholars,” Asher spoke up as he directed Hector towards the main gates, in the south.
Following his lead, they trailed the ranger down the slope and round to The Selk Road, where throngs of merchants and the like were selling their wares from carts and makeshift stalls. The exterior market was considerable, though not nearly as large as the lower town that had formed outside of Velia’s gates or at the base of Namdhor. Still, it took some time to move through it and pass under the arch of the great doors.
It was then that Palios engulfed them.
The buildings were taller than anything in Lirian, save for The Tower of Gadavance which would have been taller still were it not so crooked. The stonework of every street appeared stronger, though Asher considered the surrounding trees of The Evermoore likely offered Lirian a softer look. It wasn’t all stone and paving, however, with trees lining almost every block and walls of ivy adding green to the palette of white. So too did the hanging banners and waving flags add colour, displaying the black wolf against a cross pattern of red and blue.
Beside the ranger, Russell was forced to move constantly, pivoting and shifting to get out of the way. “It looked bigger from the outside.”
Asher suppressed his smile. “The streets are narrow here, the buildings closer together.”
“It’s so they can fit more inside the walls,” Hadavad remarked, guiding his horse. “They couldn’t have guessed the population would swell when they built the wall. This is all they have.”
“It reminds me too much o’ Dragorn,” Doran chipped in, elevated atop his Warhog. “Even if it does smell better.”
As the city naturally turned one’s head skyward, Asher’s attention was brought to the tops of the buildings lining the main road that ran through the centre of Palios and ended at the steps of The All-Tower. His assassin’s eye immediately picked out the soldiers that occupied those flat rooftops, attired in the red and blue of Alborn and all armed with bows.
Moving steadily further into the city, Asher looked left and right down the streets and avenues and discovered more soldiers on rooftops. Looking about, he didn’t see a single one amongst the people, nor even a watchman.
“What is it?” the son of Dorain asked him, recognising the expression on his face.
“There’s an unusual number of guards on the rooftops,” the ranger reported.
“Aye, I suppose there is,” Doran agreed. “Probably too crowded down ’ere,” he said, shoving his way past a donkey.
“Watch it, you big lug!”
Asher turned to see the man who had barked at Russell, a large sack of goods slung over one shoulder. He appeared to have already moved on from the abrasive encounter by the time the ranger spotted him moving away. Maybury, however, looked to be on the verge of a violent outburst, his teeth clenched and bared.
“Russell.” The name snapped out of Asher’s mouth. “That might as well be a greeting here. Get used to it.”
Maybury swallowed his anger down and tried to make himself a little smaller—no easy feat. The ranger continued up the road, one hand probing the pouch on his belt for the safida spices. It would certainly be a strange sight—placing the vial under the man’s nose—but if it stopped him from putting someone through a wall he wouldn’t hesitate. It was better than the methods Doran would employ at least.
The son of Dorain climbed down from Pig and made his way to Asher’s side. “That temper’s goin’ to get us all in trouble.”
The ranger made eye contact with the dwarf but said nothing. He was right though. Russell had a lot to learn and it was a necessity that he learn it fast.
“So,” Hadavad began, inserting himself. “What’s to be our next move? What does a ranger do in these circumstances?”
“We’ll start with the notice boards,” Asher told him, gesturing to one in the distance. “Every district has one.”
The mage was nodding along. “And how many districts are there in Palios?”
The ranger spared him a glance. “A lot.”
The first three notice boards, spread over two miles of walking and navigating the busy streets, proved fruitless. Though over-crowded with notices, not one pertained to a monster.
“Do people really leave notices about monsters?” Russell had asked after walking away from the second board.
“More often than not,” Asher had replied, “you’re looking for notices about missing people. Warnings about areas where dead bodies have been found.”
Maybury had seen some sense in that. “Start with the victim,” he had concluded.
“There’s always a victim,” the ranger had intoned.
In the north-east district—standing in front of the seventh board—Asher tore free a single notice that stood out to him.
“Ye found somethin’?” Doran’s voice bore all the hallmarks of a frustrated dwarf, if not a thirsty one.
“Grave robbers,” the ranger said.
Hadavad twitched. “Hmm. Grim business. I’ve dealt with such robbers myself in the past.”
“It says,” Asher continued, “six bodies have been dug up in the last ten months. They were never recovered.”
“What’s that to us?” Doran demanded. “Let the watch deal with it. Hells, they’ve got enough o’ the local garrison here to catch ’em. Besides,” the dwarf went on, “ain’ no one payin’ our rates to deal with a couple o’ grave robbers.”
Russell stepped a little closer to Asher. “You see a monster in this?”
“He sees monsters everywhere,” the dwarf muttered.
“Trakians,” Asher stated while looking down at Doran. “It could be Trakians,” he said again, turning to Russell.
“What are they?” he asked, his expression suggesting he didn’t really want to know.
“Monsters with a taste for dead flesh,” the ranger shared. “They’re attracted to graveyards. They typically nest nearby.”
“Perhaps we should investigate the site,” Hadavad suggested.
“No, no, no,” the son of Dorain protested. “Ye don’ hunt the beasties before gettin’ a contract! First, ye find the one with the coin. Then ye find the monster.”
Asher was shaking his head. “It’s just a note of warning. No seal from the watch. I have no idea who posted this.”
The dwarf sighed, though the sound of it was drowned out by the thunder, brought by the dark clouds that had rolled in with the late afternoon. “Brilliant,” he said, the word as dry as old bark.
“There are other things to be learnt,” Asher pointed out, before turning to Russell. “Tracking monsters. Knowing the signs they leave.”
Doran’s face dropped. “So we’re goin’ out there then? With no promise o’ coin?”
The ranger held up the notice between two fingers. “I have a good feeling about this.”
“Ye know, Asher, the next time ye get a good feelin’, why don’ ye go ahead an’ bury it deep down, where it can’ bother people?”
Asher wiped some of the rain dripping from one of his eyebrows, not even bothering to look down at the dwarf. “I didn’t push you in the hole—you fell.”
Doran, whose appearance was well hidden beneath the wet mud, looked up at the ranger with cold fury in his eyes. “A hole ye say! It was a grave! An’ ye shoved me, ye dolt!”
“I walked past you,” Asher corrected, “and you lost your footing.”
“I know exactly where I’m goin’ to lose me foot!” the dwarf threatened.
“Gentlemen!” The barkeeper’s voice cut through their mounting argument, reminding both that they were standing in a crowded tavern. “Can I help you?” he asked, his inquisitive gaze drifting over the four strange companions.
“Aye,” Doran was quick to respond. “I’ll take a room, a bath, an’ all the Hobgobbers Ale ye’ve got. An’ I mean all.”
The burly man leant over the bar to better see the dwarf. “And erm… You’ve got the coin for all that then?”
Before the son of Dorain could respond with some biting retort, Asher placed a hand on his pauldron and spoke first, though he quickly came to regret touching the mud-coated armour. “We are rangers by trade,” he told the man as he dripped rainwater all over his floor. “We have been investigating the fiends that have been disturbing graves in the west field.”
“Fiends?” The barkeeper scratched his head. “In the west field?”
“The grave robbers,” Asher cajoled. “We saw the notice—”
“Monsters you mean?” The barkeeper’s eyes widened, the beginnings of a great smile on his ruddy face. “You’ve been hunting monsters in the west field?” He began to laugh hard. “Did you hear that?” he called out, gaining the attention of the other patrons. “These fellas have been hunting monsters in the west field!” Now the entire tavern was laughing with him.
Russell leant in to speak in Asher’s ear. “Is the laughing normal?”
The ranger could but give the man a look, his own ire rising to unsteady heights.
“We believe,” Hadavad said, attempting to speak over the ruckus, “your graveyard is plagued by Trakians!”
“By what?” the barkeeper managed through his amusement. “Them robbers were caught,” he told them. “About three months back. That notice you found was old, I’m afraid.”
“Caught?” Doran nearly choked on the word. “It were jus’ a couple o’ men!”
“Having trouble finding monsters are you?” one of the patrons yelled above the din, instigating another wave of laughter from every corner.
“Am I missin’ somethin’?” Doran grumbled, looking about.
The question set the barkeeper off again, his cheeks flushing red with laughter. “Just arrived have you, eh?”
Asher stepped forwards and leant ever so slightly over the bar, drawing the man in with a cold gaze. In the flickering gloom of the various flames, the ranger’s eyes lost their colour, and so he looked upon the barkeeper as a shark might look upon its prey. The amusement drained out of the man and he was filled up with the kind of dread that only instinct could breed, an instinct that told him he faced a predator.
“Speak plainly.” Asher’s words thickened the atmosphere between them.
“Well you see, it’s just…” The barkeeper required an extra moment to collect himself, perhaps to remind himself he was a man and not a lamb. “You’re having trouble hunting a monster down and… well, everyone knows about the monster—the whole kingdom’s talking about it.”
“We have crossed Felgarn’s borders to be here,” Asher told him, maintaining the ice in his voice. “We have not heard such things.”
“Aye,” the man said hesitantly, “but, did you not see it?”
The ranger could feel his patience slipping. “See what?”
“The dragon.”
Chapter 22
This Is What We Do
Trappers - Experience you’ll need, Ranger, if you’re thinking of taking on a contract concerning these beasts. They’ve been known to dwell in both deserts and muddy plains—wherever their prey believes they walk on solid ground.
While underground, these monsters have a unique way of vibrating their bodies and liquifying the hard earth. The next thing you know, you’re sinking into the world and the hungry maw of a Trapper.
A Chronicle of Monsters: A Ranger’s Bestiary, 12th Edition, Page 228.
Balen Stone, Ranger.
Asher craned his neck and narrowed his eyes, but the rain fell in relentless sheets and the night had robbed the world of its details. The All-Tower was all but invisible, seen only in the sporadic flashes of lightning that danced across the sky.
