A Dance of Fang and Claw: The Ranger Archives Volume 3, page 39
“I first heard it said in Snowfell,” the mage answered. “That was nearly two centuries ago. It soon spread across The Ice Vales though.”
The ranger was reminded of more Lord Kernat had imparted during their initial meeting. “I’ve heard of this. The lord of Kelp Town spoke of it; a time when Werewolves plagued the vales. An army he called it.”
“An army?” the mage repeated incredulously. “Perhaps too big a word, though it only takes a dozen wolves to mimic the work of an army. If memory serves, Creed had seventeen wolves under his thrall.”
“Creed?”
“Oh yes. I’ve never known one of his kind live to such an age. From what I’ve observed, he even remains in his Lycan form longer than others. Back in those times, of course, he was young, though his power over those who shared his curse was soon mastered. It was also that power that corrupted him. He built his band in the span of three moons. I never learnt where he was from but, if I was to guess, I would say Snowfell. They suffered the most in those dark days.”
“What did he want?” Asher asked, always keen to understand the motives of others.
The mage shrugged. “Who can say? The simple pleasure of power perhaps. Dominion, control. I doubt he came from much. His ambitions were likely high.”
Asher returned his attention to the moon for a time, recalling more of Lord Kernat’s words. “They abandoned the region,” he stated. “No one knows why.”
Hadavad chuckled quietly to himself. “Would you believe that the people of the west have the Vorska to thank for that?”
The ranger couldn’t help but look back at the mage. “Merith?” he presumed.
“None other,” Hadavad confirmed. “I told you this was a war far older than either of us. Merith has always believed the wolves to be a mistake of his master’s, an experiment that got out of control. Back then, Merith had taken it upon himself to exterminate them all. An outbreak of that scale could not escape his notice. He arrived in The Ice Vales with an army of his own. Their battles were fought in the shadows until Merith’s force tipped the scales. I suppose, to the people, it would seem the wolves simply vanished.”
Asher considered the location, the very same they were all heading towards. “Creed knew nothing of Iskander back then?”
“No. It was his war with Merith that revealed so much to him. Over the years they each captured and tormented the ranks of the other. What Creed gleaned from those prisoners became his new obsession. ’Tis, ultimately, the reason we find ourselves where we are right now.” The mage sighed, as if so much history leant into his fatigue.
“You seem troubled,” Asher commented, garnering curiosity from the mage. “Acutely so,” he added with some amusement.
Hadavad crossed his arms, each hand hooking under the elbow. While the mage hadn’t missed his own words being echoed back to him, he appeared too concerned to find them amusing. “In all this madness,” he voiced gravely, “there is one question we have not asked, and I scarcely dare to give it life.”
“What question?” Asher demanded.
Hadavad licked his lips, his gaze distant. “Why?” he said plainly. “Why would Kargon Iskander leave a key for Merith or one of his ilk to find? And, in all likelihood,” the mage continued, “it’s not just any key. It had his blood on it! It’s highly probable that it will reveal his most secret of labs, a place he never even permitted Merith to see. Why?”
Asher hadn’t given the question much thought, the answer seemingly obvious. “Ego,” he said to which the mage raised his eyebrows in return. “Present company excluded,” he caveated, “it’s been my experience that mages are often ruled by their egos. Surely Kargon believes his work to be the greatest any mage could hope to achieve. In death, he wishes for that work to be appreciated or, perhaps, even continued.”
Hadavad nodded his head to one side in a conceding gesture. “It’s not an unfounded assessment of my colleagues… nor am I immune to bouts of egotism,” he confessed. “And from everything I’ve learnt of Kargon Iskander he was a mage of great ego. Perhaps you’re right. I only wish my gut agreed with you.” Hadavad released some of the tension in his shoulders with a soft laugh. “That might be my ego talking.”
Asher made no comment on that. “Our problem remains the same,” he opined. “We have to assume the spells Merith and Creed require are inside… wherever that key is leading them to. If either of them goes inside, we have to make sure they never come out.”
Hadavad didn’t appear completely convinced that there wasn’t something worse on the horizon, but he still nodded his head in agreement. “I would rest. At this rate we will reach Kelp Town before the final moon.”
Asher didn’t watch him move away but remained where he stood. Merith had returned to the forefront of his mind. The wretch could be out there, watching them. It unsettled the ranger.
Knowing it was the only way he would find rest himself, Asher buried his eyes behind the red blindfold and crouched by the edge of the ruin.
A light but frigid breeze blew his cloak out and ruffled the end of his hair, bringing with it the scents of the world around him. He could hear all the small animals that came alive at night, foraging in the undergrowth or hunting prey of their own. He could feel the feathers of an owl between his fingers as his senses pinpointed the bird to a tree a hundred yards south of his location.
Within seconds, he was aware of every creature, tree, and rock in the area. Besides him and Hadavad, the largest animal was a fox. No Vorska.
Asher removed the blindfold and pinched his eyes. Damned if he wasn’t tired. Since they didn’t have time to sleep in shifts, the ranger took to his bed roll and faced the flames of their small fire. For all his worries, sleep snatched him as the owl out there might snatch up a mouse.
As Hadavad predicted, the companions were not only in sight of Kelp Town by the third moon but at its arching entrance. The old wind chimes and discoloured bunting hung from the wooden structure, there to blow in the icy wind as the last light of the day bid its farewell.
Unlike before, the way was barred.
Asher and Hadavad brought their mounts to a stop in the face of armoured soldiers. Emblazoned on their cuirasses was the head of a roaring bear, the sigil of house Orvish, which ruled from Grey Stone. Dark blue cloaks dragged on the ground behind them as they advanced to keep the newcomers at a distance from the town.
Asher shared a look with the mage beside him but had no time to explain that King Gregorn had sent a complement of his soldiers to oversee the Lycan outbreak. In truth, Asher was surprised to see them still there, since he had reported to Captain Lonan that the second wolf—Russell—was dead.
“Ho!” one barked, a hand coming up to display a gloved palm. “State your business, strangers!”
It wasn’t unusual to hear aggression in a soldier’s voice—especially when that voice was spitting a command—but there was an edge to it that spoke of recent violence, as if the man’s blood was still up. Glancing at those beside him, Asher could see that they each gripped the sword on their hip. It all felt too much for no more than a couple of men on horseback.
“We come as friends to Kelp Town!” Hadavad called back.
Asher allowed the mage to speak for them while he looked beyond the wall of armoured men. Kelp Town was deserted, its usual traffic of miners being carted back and forth to the Demetrium mine notably absent. There were no markets or crowds. The shops were closed. Without children playing and making mischief, the streets seemed dead. Lord Kernat had spoken of a curfew but not as the last light of the day bid its farewell.
Then he saw them.
Claw marks.
Rooftops and walls, the arching entrance itself, scored by claws. A little further up the street, on the left, one building appeared to be missing an entire wall. The ranger was then drawn to the black smoke that rose in the north. Judging the distance, he guessed it to be slightly outside the boundaries of the town, but he also guessed it to be a large bonfire.
The conclusion was gruesome if undeniable: they were burning bodies. Lots of bodies.
“Kelp Town knows no friends in this time,” the soldier replied, suspicion behind his every word. “And I see no wares of a merchant about you. What I do see are weapons.” By this point, the other soldiers had moved from their line and begun to encircle the companions.
Hadavad raised one hand, a gesture of peace. “You have nothing to fear from us. We only mean to resupply before—”
“We’re here for the wolves,” Asher announced, taking the only advantage they had left. “That’s why we have arrived before you so armed.”
“The wolves?” The lead soldier narrowed his eyes a notch, an inch of steel revealed from his scabbard.
“We are hunters,” Asher specified. “Rangers. We come from Lirian, where word has reached of your plight. If we might treat with Captain Lonan, I’m sure he will—”
“No Captain Lonan here,” the soldier interjected. “Nor has a single word of our plight left this town. Get down from your horse.” The command came with the drawing of swords.
“Are you bereft of sense, man?” Hadavad snapped. “Can you not see friend from foe?”
The soldier pointed his sword at the mage, unaware of the power he wielded. “I won’t ask you again.”
Asher made to turn Hector away from the entrance. “Perhaps we should just take our leave,” he suggested.
Another of the king’s men stepped forward and grabbed the ranger’s horse by the reins, while another came up on his side, the tip of his blade angled up into Asher’s hip. It took every ounce of his discipline not to shove his boot into the soldier’s face and knock his helm clean from his head. What followed would be far worse.
“You’re to disarm,” the ranked soldier informed. Asher was quickly relieved of his numerous blades and folded bow. “You can explain yourselves to General Crem.”
Asher made no expression to reveal his surprise at so lofty a title. It seemed The Ice Vales took their Werewolves seriously. Still, the ranger put his hands up and allowed the nearest to unclip his broadsword and take it away. Following his lead, Hadavad climbed down from his mare and allowed one of the soldiers to search him for concealed weapons. “If you take that,” the mage said, eyeing the soldier’s hand on his staff, “you’re going to have to carry me.” A look from the lead soldier was enough to see that hand removed and a curt nod from the mage.
So as to maintain a constant presence at the town’s entrance, the companions were forced to wait in the cold until a new group of soldiers arrived to escort them.
In the absence of activity, the streets were thick with undisturbed snow. Only the footprints of patrolling soldiers gave away signs of life, though Asher caught sight of eyes peering from various windows. Where once there might have been curiosity upon those faces, there was now only fear. Again, the ranger was naturally drawn to the rising smoke in the north.
With empty streets, they were soon walking up the steps of Stormwood Manor, where yet more soldiers wearing the bear upon their chest stood to attention. Asher hardly noticed them, his attention captured by the grim head that had been set upon a pike and driven into the ground beside the steps. The man’s dying expression was contorted and smeared with filth and blood, yet the ranger was still able to recognise him as one of Creed’s band. At least their number had been taken down to six, he thought.
It was with quiet disbelief that Asher craned his head and took in the sight of the old building. Upon his last departure, he had been sure of the years that would pass before he saw the manor again. It was the man beside him who had spoken of fate and coincidence, the latter of which was far more preferable to the ranger. Yet here he was, back where this whole saga had begun, and where Kargon Iskander’s saga had ended.
As if his destination hadn’t been echo enough, he entered Stormwood Manor in exactly the same fashion as he had the first time—under escort. The same faces looked back at him as he waited in the grand entrance, the walls lined with portraits. There was no tantalising scent of cooked chicken, however, the manor now filled with the musk of soldiers.
After a few minutes under guard, a familiar face emerged. “The ranger returns,” Secretary Royce announced, unable to keep the surprise from his expression. “Archer, was it?”
The ranger took a breath. “Asher,” he corrected.
“Ah, yes, Asher.”
“Where is Captain Lonan?” the ranger enquired, giving no care to the high born’s station.
The hint of smugness that motivated so many of the secretary’s facial muscles slipped away, replaced by a tinge of… regret? “I’m afraid he no longer holds the rank of captain. Nor any rank for that matter. Lord Kernat stripped him of title and power. You would have seen as much had you stayed and collected your reward.” If that had been regret upon his face it was now entirely supplanted by suspicion.
“Why was he punished?” Asher demanded, seeing the injustice of it. “There were two Werewolves and both were dealt with. He did his job.”
“That was very hard to prove in the absence of a body—the wolf’s at least. We certainly had more than enough bodies piled up in the beast’s wake, under Lonan’s watch. Of course, it might have been cleared up had you stuck around and explained exactly how you killed that second wolf.”
Asher leant down, putting his face into Royce’s. “There were no more wolves at your door. He did his job.”
“I agree,” he said quietly, eyes averted. “But too many met their end under his watch. He was never going to keep it. Not that it really matters in our current climate,” he added, gaze shifting to the closed doors on his right. “As you can see, Kelp Town is now under the jurisdiction of the king’s men, specifically General Crem.”
The ranger spared a brief glance at the soldiers behind him. “Why are they still here? There were no Werewolves to hunt by the time they arrived.”
“Indeed,” Royce intoned, stepping closer to the ranger. “It is my suspicion that, wolf or no wolf, General Crem was never going to leave.”
“I do love a good suspicion,” Hadavad interjected, bowing his head into their conversation.
The secretary was slightly taken aback, the mage’s appearance that of a true vagabond and worlds apart from Royce. “And you are?”
“Hadavad,” the mage answered happily enough.
“He’s with me,” Asher stated when the secretary looked back at him.
Royce took too long considering the mage, his suspicions never to be voiced before those double doors opened and a squire beckoned them.
The two companions, with Royce in the lead, were shown to the same room where Asher had met Lord Kernat. Where it had appeared cosy and grand at the same time, it now appeared somewhat fortified and smaller. It didn’t help that some of the tapestries had been taken down and replaced by maps of the surrounding region. Adding to that, the table acted as the foundation of a miniature Kelp Town and a portion of the mountains at its rear.
Of course, it was the soldiers therein that reduced the room’s grandeur. Most were around the table, pointing out areas of the town and discussing defences. One among them stood out, his hands resting firmly against the head of the table. Though visibly older than the rest, his age did not diminish him but granted the man an air of experience. He was a warrior, Asher knew. He was also General Crem.
Pale blue eyes flashed from the table and over the companions, taking them in at a glance, before his attention returned to the report in front of him. “You’re here for the wolves, they tell me.” His voice was a deep husk, commanding even. To one side, Secretary Royce had already shrunk away, his presence muted in the absence of his lordship.
“That we are, sir,” Asher answered, keeping himself tall.
“Hunters then,” the general concluded, handing that particular report to his squire.
“Rangers.” Asher felt compelled to make the distinction.
At last, Crem looked up from the table and met Asher’s eyes. “More rangers? Where do you keep coming from?”
Asher couldn’t keep the confusion from his face. “More? There are other rangers in Kelp Town?”
“There you are!” The declaration was exclaimed across the room, turning every head to the newcomer who had entered via a side door. “Your timing couldn’t be better!”
Asher instinctively pressed one hand to his hip, where it should have found his broadsword resting in its scabbard. As it turned out, he was weaponless in the face of the eight-hundred-year-old Vorska.
Chapter 31
Another Monster In A Ranger Suit
Unicorn - I understand that we live in a world of monsters, in a world of things. But Unicorns are just for children.
Move on.
A Chronicle of Monsters: A Ranger’s Bestiary, 12th Edition, Page 464.
Ankar Tor, Ranger.
“Merith,” General Crem acknowledged. “You know these men?”
“Of course,” the Blood Fiend replied with a grin. “I sent for them myself.”
The general’s expression dropped and hardened. “There were to be no communications,” he reiterated.
“Apologies, General,” Merith replied with theatricality, his every step bringing him closer to Asher and Hadavad. “But, if we are to not only survive this night but vanquish our monstrous foes, I will need my fellow rangers by my side.”
Asher quickly reassessed the Vorska, seeing now that he had changed his appearance. Where he had acquired the battle-worn leathers and chainmail was a mystery, but it seemed likely he had gone out of his way to possess a green cloak, and only a shade darker than Asher’s. The wretch had used him to attain the look of a ranger. Even his hair had been styled in the same fashion, the fringe pulled back into a ponytail to sit atop the rest that fell just past his shoulders.
“Asher, Hadavad.” Merith greeted them with a nod an old friend might give. “A skilled fighter and a skilled mage!” The Vorska’s hands gestured to them as if he were putting them on display for a cheering crowd.
