Knots formed in Horace’s gut: tears welled in the corner of his eyes. Phoenix insignias fluttered in the wind, stone walls stood tall, and the welcoming gates of Ankaa stood open. Just as he remembered. He was home. Even if it was not truly his home anymore.
Vlad and his rangers had offered to ride out with him. Horace refused. Letting Vlad know that this was something he needed to do on his own. Respecting his choice, Vlad had wished him luck. Offering him a ranger’s pendant as a precaution. ‘Keep this visible at all times’ he had warned. ‘Some of our brothers are not as honorable as us, but this will keep you safe.’
Heeding the warning, Horace had worn the pendant as a necklace. Having been informed it did not matter where he wore it, so long as the antlers remained visible. Wearing it this way also kept it from appearing to be a ranger’s pendant to the common man. Allowing him freedom within town to roam without questionable gazes.
Uncertainty danced in the back of Horace’s mind. He’d resolved to return home. To search for anything that might help him understand the letter his father had sent to Vlad. What would I even begin to search for? Until now, he had been focused only on returning to Keep Ankaa. Disregarding the fact, he was lost on what he should be searching for.
Stepping through the gates, he saw the town that was once under the protection of his father. One that shared its name with the Keep which surrounded it. If you were to tell him the town had never been raided, and instead just abandoned, he would have a hard time denying that claim. Houses and shops still stood. No visible damage to the surrounding walls. Peace loomed over Ankaa. Eerie in nature, but peace all the same.
He walked through the empty streets. No matter where he placed, there were memories to be had. Fighting boys his own age, as well as knights, in the courtyard. Sweets from the baker, the old blacksmith letting him help work the forge on occasion. Always telling him that one was not a true warrior until they carried a blade they made on their own. Sadly, with the fall of Ankaa that opportunity never came for Horace.
Passing into the market, Horace passed by the old bookshop Vincent had liked to frequent. Back in those days Horace had urged his brother to hurry with his selection. Complained that there was nothing useful about old pieces of paper, and that Vincent would be better off spending his time fighting since that held some use. Now, he would give anything to sit around for his brother to enjoy the things he loved. Perhaps even he would find something entertaining hidden away on one of the shelves.
Stopping where he stood, Horace drew his blade. Following the faint sound of hurried footfalls. There were at least five men approaching. Closing in from different sides.
“Halt!” bellowed the gruff and weathered voice of a man. “He wears the prongs.”
Out of the shadows stepped seven cloaked figures. Each one wore the same pendant that Vlad had given Horace. Among them stood a single woman. It was only a brief glance beneath her hood, but Horace recognized the figure. Saphyr. Just as he thought he would never see her again, it turned out she had been a ranger all along. It made him wonder if Vlad had put her up to joining her on purpose to eliminate Callum
Sheathing his blade, Horace stared into the shadows of an open door to one of the nearby houses. “Come out,” he commanded.
With a laugh appeared an eighth ranger. He was an older man, about in his fifties, with shaggy peppered hair. He was missing his right arm, and his left ear was nothing but a nub. It was him who had ordered the others not to attack. “What business do you have here? Clearly, you are not a ranger. Yet you wear our antlers.”
“I should be asking what you’re doing here. As for why I am here, this is my home. I am Horace Vickery, eldest son of Andreas Vickery and heir to Keep Ankaa and all within its walls.”
That caused the old ranger to laugh. “Is that what this place is? Well, what it was. Now this is the ranger base for this region. If you wanted to keep your birthright, you should have claimed it when your daddy died.”
“Captain,” one of the other rangers called out. Arrow nocked and drawn. “Give the order, and he dies.”
“Stand down,” barked the captain. “He still wears the ranger’s mark, and this is his home. Show some respect.” Once his soldier listened, the captain turned back to Horace. “You may call me Ishtar. If you are who you say, then it’s a pleasure to meet you. You know, I met Andreas once. And I do see a resemblance between the two of you.”
“You knew my father?” He should have been surprised. What this man said should have been earth shattering. Given that he had just experienced the same truth back in Sanghorn, this reveal was not as strong as it might have been days ago.
“I wish I had known my father knew so many rangers,” Horace continued. “You’re the second one I’ve met to tell me such a tale. Have you ever worked with a ranger named Vlad?”
“Aye,” nodded Ishtar. “He joined me and your father on a mission once. Though I was not sure the nature of why we hunted unicorns and rare flowers.”
What Ishtar described sounded like magic to Horace. Not that he really knew how magic was done. His mother had performed small bits of magic when he was little, but that was as far as his knowledge went.
“You must be here for the vault.”
“Vault?” Horace was not sure what the old ranger was talking about.
“Come. I’ll show you.”
Horace followed the procession of rangers through the rest of town. Many others had gathered within the walls of Ankaa. Much like the base hidden beneath Sanghorn, the rangers here went about as casually as any man, woman, or child. In fact, there were some children roaming through town. Causing him to feel stronger nostalgic pulls than before.
“I never thought this place would have life again,” he admitted. Feeling more guilt over his lack of desire to restore his family. Did Callum know about the rangers who took refuge here? Is that why he wished for me to appeal to the king first? To gather a force to fight back?
As they entered into the actual Keep built on the far end of Ankaa, it was not home that greeted Horace, but soul-crushing emptiness.
The vases that held the flowers his mother grew, the paintings of his ancestors: even the crimson carpet that led from the foyer up the stairs had been removed.
“Not long after your family fell,” Ishtar explained, “this place was ransacked. Long before we ever got here. Everything from books to cutlery, it is all gone.
“Everything?”
“Everything. That is, everything your father did not hide within the vault.”
Horace wished to ask more about the vault, but the ranger once more began to make his way through the keep. They passed by the servant quarters, around the courtyard, and finally reached the stairwell leading down to the armory.
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Like the rest of Keep Ankaa, the armory had been stripped clean of anything of value. Armor and weapon alike, gone. A door in the back of the armory then led to the treasury. Once filled with coin and gem alike, the room was barren.
“Not much of a vault,” Horace noted.
“This is not the vault I speak of,” Ishtar pointed to the earth.
Horace followed with his gaze. Noticing the myriad of tiles forming the family crest on which they stood. “A mural of my family crest? This is what you wanted to show me?”
“It’s the door to the vault,” corrected Ishtar. “Only the most valuable of treasure was ever stored within the depths of this vault. And only one with Vickery blood can get in.”
“How do you know this? Even I never learned of this.”
“Your father showed it to me and Vlad. If there’s anything your father wanted you to have, it will be down there.” Ishtar then went on to explain how one would open the vault. Of all the tiles that formed the phoenix crest, only one was not locked into place. The eye of the great fire bird. If one were to move it from place, they would find a strange red stone. Smearing the living blood of a Vickery onto the stone would trigger the mechanism to open the vault. The door was forged centuries ago through the combination of science and magic.
Doing just as the ranger explained, Horace was shocked to see the outer ring of the treasury collapse in on itself. Stone ground against stone as each piece slid into place to form a spiraling stairwell that went under the Keep. Stones embedded into the walls illuminated the path in crimson light.
“Come now,” Ishtar urged. The captain began his trek into the earth. Followed closely by the other rangers who accompanied him. Trailing at the back were Saphyr and Horace.
“You could have told me you were a ranger,” he whispered to her. When she remained silent, he continued on. “Is this why you asked me to join you on that bandit hunt? The rangers trying to get to me?” He then produced his father’s letter. “Another ranger showed me this. My father had wanted the rangers to take me and my brothers in years ago. That’s why you sought me out.”
Keeping in rhythm with those ahead, Saphyr never once turned to face Horace. Nor did she pay the letter any mind. “My actions were my own. I did not even know you were a Vickery at the time. Believe me if you want, don’t if it makes you feel better.” With that, she cut off the conversation. Whenever Horace asked anything else of her, she gave no reply. Until he gave up on speaking to her.
At the base of the stairs was a level to control the stairs. Once one was inside the vault, they only needed to use that switch to open or close the pathway.
When Horace had hear the word vault, he had expected a large room lined with weapons and armor. Instead, what he found was a large library. At least as big as the town. Hundreds, maybe thousands of bookshelves on each of the four floors. Glass display cases lined the center of the first floor. Six rows of five. And even more displays had been wedged between bookshelves.
Without even checking the other floors, Horace was sure they would find just as many displays. “Vincent would lose his fucking mind if he knew about this as a child.”
Horace stepped up to the closest display. Gawking at what he found within. Fireblood, the legendary blade passed down through the generations. A great sword forged in the flames of an actual phoenix, the blood of his family progenitor infused within the steel itself. Like the fire bird that marked his family, the blade and its edge would never die.
“I thought it was lost,” Horace spoke just above a whisper. Hands pressed against the glass casing. “My father used to tell me stories of this blade. My great grandfather used it during the Barrier Conflict.”
“There must be thousands of years of history here,” Saphyr spoke. “And your focus is on a sword?”
“This sword is history,” Horace said. Unclasping the lock, he opened the display and took up the sword. Despite its size, it felt light as a feather in his hands. “I could get used to this.”
“Yes, well, I’m glad you have a new play thing.”
Ishtar approached Horace. “You came back home seeking something. I doubt it was that sword, but you have found something to make this trip worth it. Is there anything else you might want to find? My men and I will gladly help you search.”
“Right,” Horace put the blade back into its resting place. Taking note that the sheath was not in the same case. He would have to search for that later. He then showed the letter his father penned to Vlad. “My father wanted the rangers to take me and my brothers. There must have been a reason for this. So, I guess I’m looking for a journal, or maybe letters. Something to explain why he wanted us to be put into your care.”
“Very well,” Ishtar smiled. Having overheard what Horace said, the rangers that accompanied them spread out in search of what the young Vickery wanted.
“I’ll stay with Horace,” Saphyr said. Ishtar seemed not to have a problem with that and went on his way. When the two were alone, she turned to Horace. “Do you really think you can find what you’re looking for here?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Horace as he looked over the armor on display near Fireblood. “But if I can’t find anything, then I’ll just have to make my choice on my own.”
“What choice could you possibly have to make?”
“Well, my father wanted the rangers to raise me. I was not raised by the rangers. And if I may be blunt, I don’t exactly trust the rangers. So, I have to choose whether I want to seek out the king’s aide. Maybe join the royal army, or if I’ll take Vlad on his offer and join the rangers. He did offer to help me find those responsible for killing my family, but I might not want to take the revenge route.”
“If your father wished for you to join the rangers, then why not just do as he wished?”
“I need to know why,” Horace answered. Keeping to himself that he was not completely trusting that the letter was actually his father’s. While it had been written in his hand, there was a chance that someone had masterfully forged this letter. “And how do I know that this was not sent before he realized the rangers had chosen to betray him?”
Disgruntled, Saphyr stormed off to join the others in their search.
I should help look, Horace decided. As he turned to face the expanse of books. Overwhelmed by the sheer number of places he had to choose for a starting point. I wish Vincent were here. Instead of searching the shelves themselves, he decided it would be better to examine the displays scattered about. Most of what he found within these cases tended to be bits of armor and weapons. An occasional piece of art from some far-off land. Many with imagery of dragons.
Making his way to the second floor, he found less weapons on display. Instead, the displays housed jewelry worn through the ages. Some pieces shared their case with paintings of those who had worn them. Many of them adorned with the crest of his family.
Floor three put most of the display on mechanical things and science he was unable to comprehend. Recognizing nothing he saw.
“Horace, I found something,” Saphyr called from the fourth floor. Baffling Horace on how she had gotten there so quickly.
Rushing up the stairs, he was greeted by a small chest filled with letters and journals. “I’m not sure if there’s anything useful,” she said. “I can help you read through some of these.”
The pair found a nearby table and divided the collection between themselves. Saphyr taking a majority of them. Claiming herself to be a fast reader. Which would be useful seeing as he was the farthest thing from quick when he read.
Some of the letters dated back hundreds of years. Faded ink written in archaic script that was lost on Horace. Saphyr seemed to have no issue reading those strange letters.
“Rangers sometimes use they symbols to cipher our letters. In case someone we don’t want reading them stumbled upon them.”
All his life, Horace had thought rangers to be nothing but assassins who held no allegiances. Now he was discovering there was more to them. Scholars and spies as well as ruthless killers. Though, it seemed being killers was the primary job of the rangers.
As the pair poured over each letter and journal, hope dwindled within Horace more and more. None of what they read had anything to do with his father. Let alone why his father would abandon his children to the rangers.
A low rumble echoed from the second floor. With great haste, the pair descended the stairs to check on anyone who might have been caught in whatever had caused that noise.
They found a collapsed wall. A ranger feet away from the pile of scattered brick with his hand gripping his chest. “I didn’t …”
While Saphyr went to see if the man was not injured, Horace peaked inside the opening caused by the wall giving out.
Hidden within the hidden library, was a personal study. A leather-bound journal lay on a white ash wood desk. He’d seen that journal before. His eyes grew wide. Horace had found it. His father’s journal, the book that would reveal to him all the secrets he sought.