Court of Assassins: The Ranger Archives Volume 1, page 45
The relief wasn’t instantaneous. He remained on his front and continued to picture his wounds healing up. It was all accompanied by some degree of pain, though it only lasted as long the wounds required to seal shut. With the effects of the venom dissipating, Asher was able to inhale deep breaths again and his vision returned to its previous sharpness.
His full strength almost recovered, Asher began to pick himself up. His body no longer matched the damage his leathers and cloak had taken, ragged and torn as they were. He straightened his back, something the Basilisk’s claws had prevented him from doing. It felt good. Everything felt good. It was exactly the feeling he had wanted to deny himself as penance. In fact, this had been the place he had intended to die. It didn’t make him feel any better, however, to know that someone else had died here in his place.
Looking down at Everic, he could see the vestiges of life in the northman’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” Asher uttered, surprised for a moment by the power in his voice. “I should have killed you in Wood Vale. That would have been mercy.” The ranger took a breath, elated to feel the air pass so easily through his lungs. “Mercy,” he repeated wistfully. “That’s probably a new concept to you. It was for me. I would say they made monsters of us, but I’ve recently faced a few and come to the conclusion that we are much worse. Monsters are just animals. They’re ruled by eons of nature’s guiding hand. They can be nothing else.
“But an Arakesh… We’re people. We don’t need to kill or maim. But we do. And we enjoy it. Nightfall twists us into demons and we believe there’s no way back. That might be true. I don’t know what I am anymore. But I know what I’m not.” Asher crouched down. “I’m sorry you will never know another way. If there truly is anything beyond the veil of death, I hope it treats you better than life ever did.”
Without warning, Asher removed the dagger from Everic’s belt and pushed it down through his heart. The northman’s eyes bulged momentarily before they took the last image of the ranger into the afterlife.
And, with his death, so ended the court of assassins. It did nothing to improve Asher’s mood.
Chapter 36
Loose Ends
Trakian - There’s nothing in this world more appetising to a Trakian than a dead body, and a human one at that. These fiends haunt graveyards up and down the six realms, disturbing the departed and leaving a ghastly mess in their stead. They might have no interest in the living, but that won’t stop them from defending their feeding ground. Best to hunt them by day since they’re nocturnal by nature. You can find their warren around the graveyard in question; they won’t stray far from it, not even to sleep. Smoke them out and chop down anything that emerges from the den.
A Chronicle of Monsters: A Ranger’s Bestiary, 12th Edition, Page 281.
Varlan Bard, Ranger.
Astride Hector, the ranger left Everic to his snowy grave and began the journey back to Lirian, his sense of purpose drawn to loose ends. Accompanied by his thoughts alone, his mind drifted to violent places. He couldn’t help but wonder how many people he had killed since walking away from Nightfall. The number was staggeringly high, especially considering his actions in Skystead. And though he hadn’t killed Rolan Vask and the other rangers, he certainly felt some responsibility there.
Having spent most of the journey reliving the various fights and brutal encounters, Asher came to one conclusion: he didn’t really care. This conclusion bothered him, believing that so much death by his hands should weigh on his new conscience. But it didn’t. They had all been deserving of their fate and all had entered their criminal life aware of the risks.
Asher couldn’t decide whether this made him wicked or not. Whether it did or not, he knew the answer wasn’t going to come to him there on the road. He had barely begun this new life and it had already surpassed his hopes in ways he couldn’t have imagined. In time, should he live to accumulate such a thing, he would learn more about himself and what kind of a man he was.
For now, being a ranger would suffice. The title came with a sense of identity and a skill set he already possessed, making him ideal for the part. He certainly wasn’t equipped to do much else. Of course, he had no intention of following the path set out by Rolan and Geron. Though he was returning to The Ranch, it wasn’t to establish the kind of enterprise they had envisioned. He didn’t want a base. Being still made him an easy target. No. He needed to be on the move, roaming from place to place in search of work.
Asher also didn’t intend to murder innocent people to drive up his prices. He would forge his own path as a ranger, taking the profession back to its honest roots. This was a path paved with hope, hope that it would give him a chance to atone, hope that he would save more lives than he had taken, and, perhaps, hope that he would uncover the truth of his past and the woman who gave him the black gem.
As he passed between the trees of The Evermoore’s interior, and into the streets of Lirian, Asher looked down at the ring on his finger. Questions had surrounded the gem for as long as he could remember, the original piece being as long as a finger before he had carved a small element off. In Nightfall, there had never been any time to seek the answers. Free to choose his own destinations now, there was nothing to stop him from investigating.
Who had he been before Nasta found him?
Why did he bear markings of the Outlanders?
How did he come to possess such a powerful relic?
These questions were important to him. But even as he voiced them in his mind, a new question arose in him and it burned for an immediate answer.
Did any of it matter?
Where he had come from. Who he had been. The kind of life he could have had if Nasta hadn’t found him. What did any of that matter now? His past was a spiralling nightmare of death, blood, and misery. There was nothing good to be found in such a place. And what use was it to dwell on a life that could have been? All he had was the path ahead of him. There was little choice but to walk it and embrace the future.
This felt right to the ranger, though he knew those questions that had been with him since he was a child would only fade slowly. They had burned in him for too long to just be forgotten. If not forgotten, they could be put aside in favour of the future.
Riding through Lirian now, Asher was aware of the gruelling task that awaited him. In the dead of night, he was to load up Geron’s cart with the dead rangers and bury them all somewhere beyond the city. He could already feel his muscles protesting.
First, however, he paid a familiar undertaker a visit. He had knotted this particular message on the road, using a strip of red cloth taken from Everic’s blindfold. The ranger ordered the rather terrified undertaker to have the string passed on to the relevant couriers, a safeguarded system that would ensure his words got back to hell.
After keeping his head down in Sable’s Tavern all day, Asher left under the cover of darkness and made for The Ranch. As he rounded the corner onto Ruskin Street, the ranger caught sight of a figure standing sentinel on the porch. Without hesitation, he steered Hector in the opposite direction and located a different stable that would take coin in exchange for housing the horse. Free to move on foot, he backtracked to The Ranch and surveyed the porch from the shadows of an alley.
The man guarding the green door didn’t require more than a glancing scrutiny to be identified as a Graycoat. It seemed there had been a change of heart where Asher was concerned. With Geron’s information they now knew where to find him and had sought him out, likely on the Lord Marshal’s orders. Only they wouldn’t have found him when they raided The Ranch.
The bodies must have taken them by surprise. The corpses had probably been seen to by now as well, leaving The Ranch to its blood-stained walls. They had to have pinned the murders on him, an easy conclusion for any Graycoat given their opinion of Arakesh. Besides guarding the scene of the crime, a job any watchman could perform, the Graycoats must be hedging their bets just in case he returned.
Asher pressed his back to the alley wall and tore his gaze from the knight. He had returned to smuggle the bodies out of the city and bury them all in the woods. That option had been taken from him and The Ranch itself had now become a place of great interest to an order of warriors who wished him dead. He wouldn’t be able to return for a while, not until they realised he wasn’t coming back. And they would. The Graycoats were spread too thinly to guard one location for more than a handful of months, if that.
Unfortunately, he needed to get inside one last time.
Taking a long-winded route to the back of The Ranch, Asher scaled a house and followed its roof to the edge, where it overlooked Bail’s courtyard of weapons. Climbing down and into the courtyard, he made for the back door that brought him to the armourer’s room, his destination. Piece by piece, he replaced his leathers, boots, and cloak from the cupboard that housed the newest equipment.
Satisfied with his attire, the ranger moved cautiously across the main foyer and crept down the stairs. Every step was stained with dark blood from when the Graycoats had extracted the corpses. It was nothing, however, compared to the mess in the basement. Healed and well rested, he saw the macabre scene with clarity now. Everic had slaughtered them all and with such glee at that. Asher thought nothing of the Graycoats and their options, but it sickened him to think that anyone could look at this and believe he was responsible.
Entering Rolan’s office, the chair absent his body, Asher began to rifle through the man’s previous belongings. It took some time, but he found what he was looking for: a list of every ranger they had ever recruited. Vask had a small file on them all individually, detailing their past and where they had come from. Most had a separate list for the crimes they had committed as well as towns and cities they should avoid. Asher fingered the tops of the parchments in search of Geron’s information. Nothing. There wasn’t a single scroll with his name on.
There was, however, another name among the others, right at the bottom of the pile. The ranger knew that name.
Asher pressed his finger into the parchment. “I’m coming for you,” he vowed.
Chapter 37
Free to Run
Lumber Dug - I don’t know who named these monsters but lumbering will come to mind if you ever cross one. Hulking beasts of stone they are! At least most of their body is. If you dare face one from the front, and contend with the enormous horn protruding from its face, you could take a swipe at their soft underbelly. I wouldn’t advise it though. What they lack in speed they more than make up for by being able to crush every bone in your body with one meaty fist.
You are better off poisoning their food (a dead deer will do nicely) or using fire depending on the environment.
A Chronicle of Monsters: A Ranger’s Bestiary, 12th Edition, Page 87.
Sedwig The Trapper, Ranger.
Deep within the heart of Nightfall, where complete darkness enveloped The Cradle, Nasta Nal-Aket remained as still as the stone that surrounded him. Before the master assassin were two combatants in the throes of battle, their steel blades cutting and slicing through the air in a desperate bid to taste blood.
The Father observed with all of his senses, as did the rest of the cohort who formed a large circle around them. At eighteen years of age, they were nearing the time of their trials, beginning with the pit. Of the sixteen, at least half were destined for the bowels of some monstrous fiend. That fact weighed on him more with every cohort.
Thankful that his thoughts were his own, Nasta stepped forward, his movement enough to halt the duel. “You’re both listening for the sound of the steel,” he remarked. “Why? Because it is loud and obvious? You should be ready to respond before your opponent’s blade has had a chance to move.” With swift action, the Father raised one hand and rested his knuckles on one of the combatants’ shoulders. “Did you feel that?” he asked. “You must feel as much as you listen. Feel the air move between us. Everything exerts pressure on the world around us. Understand this and you will know where your opponent’s attack is going with only the slightest twitch.”
Nasta had more to say on the matter but he heard the messenger’s light feet running beyond The Cradle’s doors. The Father held out his hand a moment before they entered and weaved between the cohort to reach him. The familiar touch of knotted string graced his palm and he closed his fingers around it. The cohort remained perfectly still, awaiting their master’s command to do anything other than breathe.
As Nasta read the message, he felt numerous figures emerge on the surrounding balcony. Some of the masters were among them, though Master Krain entered The Cradle through the main doors. Four Arakesh arrived with him, their formation suggesting they were some kind of protective detail.
“Father,” Krain began. “Is the message related to the court?”
Nasta felt the ripple wash through those gathered. The court of assassins had been the cause of great intrigue since the chosen few had been sent out into the world. The anticipation had grown with the news of every death. Everyone in The Cradle knew the message could only be one of two things. Since those on the court were required to routinely send a knotted message back to Nightfall, detailing their progress, this particular piece of string was either Everic checking in and potentially reporting Asher’s death or it was something else entirely and equally intriguing.
After inhaling Everic’s scent on the message, Nasta ran his fingers over the sequence of knots. He could hear Asher’s voice in his mind.
“You sent four. I killed five. The court is dead. Send more and I will litter the realm with Arakesh. Let this be done.”
Nasta pondered the five kills and quickly came to the conclusion that the fifth, and non-court member, was Rendal. He had failed to respond to the last two messages sent to Dunwich and neither had he returned.
“The court of assassins has failed,” he announced. “As tradition dictates, Asher is no longer to be hunted.”
Master Krain started forward. “He is free?” he questioned incredulously.
Nasta took a breath before replying. “Free is, perhaps, too broad a word for Asher’s continued existence. Though we will not hunt him down, he is to be killed on sight. He will spend the rest of his days looking over his shoulder.” Alone, the Father added sombrely in his mind.
“Is this your decree, Father?” Krain demanded.
“I speak of our ways,” Nasta told him, “and our ways speak through me.”
Krain’s features creased into a sneer. “You weak old fool.”
Ever composed, the assassins inside The Cradle didn’t stir in the face of the provoking declaration, though Nasta felt several dozen muscles tense. Only Alidyr remained as he was, his relaxed demeanour suggesting a degree of boredom.
“You have a problem, Master Krain,” the Father stated.
“My problem is you,” he spat. “You have done nothing to advance this order. You are content to groom your chosen successor and naught else. A successor, as it stands, who has betrayed us all. His existence threatens Nightfall. This should have nothing to do with traditions. Asher should be eliminated at all costs. But I see your favouritism towards him has clouded your judgement. I will not let that stand.”
“Hmm,” was Nasta’s flat response. “It appears you misheard me, Master Krain. I wasn’t asking a question.” The Father squared his stance and clasped his fingers behind his back. “Kill him,” he said so all could hear his voice, “and the title of master will be yours.”
Krain’s expression contorted into confusion. “I have declared my challenge,” he replied, his arms coming up. “Your commands mean nothing until our contest is resolved.”
Nasta tilted his head. “You insulted me, Master Krain. I heard no such challenge.”
As the distinct difference sank in, Krain’s expression of confusion shifted with the dire revelation. “I challenge for the rite of—” He managed six words before the first attack came his way. Ironically, it was one of the Arakesh who had accompanied him into The Cradle.
Within seconds, every assassin, whether they had completed the trials or not, had descended on Krain. He had been an exquisite Arakesh in his youth, but the master was no match against such numbers. He had lost enough blood to ensure his death by the time Nasta was walking out into the hallway. By the time Krain’s dying sounds faded from his sharp senses, the Father was already moving past the incident. It wasn’t the first challenge to come his way and it wouldn’t be the last. Though he had always hoped Asher would be the last.
His robes gliding about him, his bare feet padding against the stone, Nasta Nal-Aket made his way to the illuminated sleeping quarters. Unobserved, he slipped into the chamber that had belonged to Asher since he was no more than a boy. Locking the door behind him, he sat on the edge of the bed and let his senses absorb everything about him. It wouldn’t be long before there was no trace left of Asher. No scent, no impression.
Then they would both be alone in the world.
He gripped the message tightly, the knots tied by Asher’s own hands. “Live a better life than the one I showed you, my boy,” he uttered, wishing he was still capable of shedding a tear. “Live well…”
Chapter 38
Finishing It
Lewsha - Of all the monsters you might face during your career, I guarantee you will never come across one so beautiful as a Lewsha. Beware these creatures, for they will appear to you as one thing when, in fact, they are something else entirely.
