It had been days since the ranger known as Vlad had approached Horace. In that time, he had spoken with Callum on what the two should do.
The old knight seemed to reject the idea of joining the rangers. Even if they had promised to help track down Andreas’ killer. Stating that he didn’t believe that Lord Vickery would have ever had dealings with a group such as the rangers.
But what if the old knight was wrong? Was it possible that his father had worked with the rangers in the past? What would he have even needed their help with? That alone was enough to discredit what had been said. Alone, Andreas Vickery was a deadly warrior. Pair him with a battalion of Keep Ankaa trained knights, and there was little that could stop him. Except, somehow someone had stopped him.
“Do you think,” Horace spoke up. Dropping a card and drawing a new one for their game of Sigils. Cursing his luck as he ended up lowering his total. “Is there any chance my father truly did work with the rangers? Maybe he hired them for a job he thought the knights of Ankaa were overqualified to take care of. And they betrayed the family when he failed to uphold his end of the bargain.”
“Doubtful,” the old soldier scoffed. Drawing his fifth card. If his hand was bad, one would find it impossible to tell. Callum did well to hide his feelings behind a mask. “Andreas was a man of his word. If he promised the rangers something, he would pay it out. No matter the cost.”
They laid out their hands. Luck had not smiled upon Callum any more than it had Horace. The old knight taking the win by only three points. Had he kept his original card, Horace would have won by two.
Chuckling, Callum collected the cards and began to shuffle the deck. “That’s your fourth loss in a row. Never seen anyone with this bad of luck.”
Horace reached his hand over the table. “Let me shuffle this time.”
“Don’t trust me?”
“I trust you,” Horace smiled. “But I’d like a turn as dealer.”
With some reluctance, Callum handed over the deck. After a quick shuffle, he dealt out the cards. After they took their turns to fix their hands the cards were revealed. For the first time that night, Horace was the winner. They played another hand. Once more letting Horace shuffle the cards. And again, Horace came up as the winner.
Callum collected the cards again and tucked them away. “Enough games. We need to consider our options here.”
Horace could not agree more. Aside from the offer from the rangers, there was the choice of what to do about Callum and his leg. If it were up to magic to heal him, then they had to choose whether or not the trip to the caldera was worth it. When Horace had tried to bring up the healers earlier in the week, Callum had brushed the topic off. Now that they were faced with the option of joining the rangers, he might take the topic of his healing serious.
“Well,” Horace cleared his throat. “Our options are limited: seek the healers, settle down in some town, or join the rangers.”
“And,” Callum leaned over. Waving his finger in Horace’s face, “We could appeal to King Dante. With you, we could rebuild your family home.”
“There is that option, yes,” Horace relented. Of all the options that had been presented, that was the one he enjoyed the least. While there was a time that becoming the head of his family. But with his family no more, his desires for that position had faded. “Though it will be hard to rebuild my family home with no followers.”
“Hmm,” Callum seemed not to have factored in that part of his plan. “Garnering support. Yes, we’ll need a way to do that.”
“Let’s talk about of that leg of yours,” Horace got up from the table. Gliding over to the window and stared out into the night. “It won’t get any better. Not without magic, but as we know, mages are rare. So, I have to ask. Are you willing to search for a mage to heal you?”
Callum took his walking stick in hand and made his way over to Horace’s side. “Boy, I don’t know. I would love to walk right again. Join you on the battlefield as I did your father. But even if we found a mage, finding one who could heal my leg.”
“Then we can cross that option off our list. Leaving us with the rangers, or settling new roots.”
“I don’t recommend the rangers. Too much risk in joining with them.”
Horace agreed to some degree. Rangers were essentially criminals in the eyes of the crown. And at times they performed task for criminals. Living by any means necessary.
The most famous ranger of all was a man named Hethen who helped with the rebellion two-hundred years prior. It was Hethen who changed the way the rangers operated. For the rangers had once been a private force of the crown.
Joining them would only be admitting that all other options were exhausted. Being honest with himself, Horace would agree that was the case already. Convincing Callum to agree, that was where the difficulty sat. Disdain toward the rangers ran deep in the old knight. Having been raised in a generation who saw them as a blight on the land.
Even Andreas, Lord Vickery himself, had his own troubles with the rangers.
Vlad said he had dealings with my father, Horace wished he could learn more of those accounts. When the old knight finally fell asleep, perhaps he would visit the rangers to try and learn more. Vlad had given Horace instructions for how to meet up. A location and signal to draw the ranger to his side.
Night did little to clear out the streets of Sanghorn. Drunkards staggered between taverns hoping the next bartender wouldn’t cut them off. Women of the night were lined on every street.
Some shops remained open well after the midnight hour. Mostly restaurants but a few general goods store—as well as a handful of specialized stores—remained open. Partly for the bounty hunters or traveling knight.
Mix & Fix. That’s what was painted on the sign of the shop Horace had been told to go to when he wished to speak with Vlad. Inside were rows of shelves filled with various plants and bits and pieces of animals scattered throughout Caembra.
Alchemist would use these ingredients to brew potions and poisons. Brewers could be found in just about any town or city. Allowing the most common of person access to such things. Not that many common folk would need products like that.
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Behind the counter stood an kindly old woman. Dried flowers woven into her silky silver hair; her tanned skin wrinkled, giving her the look of an aged oak. Three cats stood atop the counter, watching the young man as he approached.
“How may I be of service?” the elder spoke in a calm and knowing voice. An aura of delight radiated off her, yet there was something sinister in how friendly she appeared. A scent of lilac, mint, and vanilla clung to her.
“Blood’s bane,” answered Horace. From what Vlad had told him, this keyword was chosen due to how easily it would fool the common shopper. Blood’s bane was not a real herb, but with how many banes there were in Caembra, no one would really question if they heard someone ask for it.
And on the off chance someone overheard the request for blood’s bane and questioned what it was, the pharmacist would lie. Claiming it to be a title given to rosemary.
Upon his request, that sinister air about the woman seemed to come to the forefront of her person. “Come this way.” She led him into the back room where they stored supplies and product waiting for room to open up on the shelves. Pushing aside a table, the elderly woman took hold of a chain attached to stone. The stone rose to reveal stairs descending into the earth.
Torch in hand, Horace began his climb into the earth. Light from above dwindled as the slab fell back into place overhead. What confidence he had when he first arrived began to wilt. It were as though he were being tossed into the lion’s den. A sacrificial lamb to the rangers.
He would need to be cautious when speaking with Vlad now that he was in ranger territory. If his words were found inexcusable, he might be joining his family sooner than he had planned.
At the base of the stairs, he found an iron door marked with the horns all rangers wore. A sanctuary for the rangers hidden beneath Sanghorn. People above would go about their days never knowing the group they scorned had something like this. He wondered if every city had their own ranger hideout underneath. And how the general populace would react if they were ever discovered.
Beyond the door he found a vast chamber from which branched a half dozen tunnels. Chills ran down his spine. In his anticipation, he had not taken note of the falling temperature. His breath now misted before him.
Off in the corner stood what looked to be scarecrows. Each one marked with targets on the torso and head. Three sat in a row pressed against the wall. Fencing stood off to the sides of these scarecrows. Tall as a man, running a length of around ten feet.
Another set of scarecrows had been set up in another section of the chamber. Five placed in a star formation. Each one set roughly five feet apart from each other.
Training dummies, Horace realized.
At the center of the room, the floor fell into a slight indent. Dropping a foot down from the surrounding edge
Many rangers were gathered within this space. Mingling with each other as they sharpened their blades or partook in recreational activity. One ranger was even painting a portrait of two others. None of them seemed to be bothered by the chill in the air. If he joined with them, would he one day grow accustomed to this cold?
“You there,” echoed a growl of a voice. A man large and hairy as a bear approached Horace. “You don’t belong here. State your business.”
“He’s here for me,” someone else answered. Out of one of the tunnels stepped Vlad. “I invited him here.”
“Vlad,” the bear of a man stepped down. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend.”
Looking at the two of them, Horace would have expected their roles to be reversed. Vlad was the least intimidating of the two. There must have been more to it than just size for this case. No one wore anything that could signify rank. Perhaps Vlad was well-known through the ranger circles. Someone who had a history of taking on difficult jobs.
Many others took a step back as Vlad approached the two at the door. Not wanting to be anywhere close to the man.
Falling to his knees, the burly brute had grown pale. Slight quivers pulsed through his body.
Horace cocked his head. Unsure why they had such a violent reaction to Vlad appearing. When he looked back at the man, Horace saw no anger in Vlad’s demeanor or the way he approached. In fact, he looked to be completely calm.
“Ignore them,” instructed Vlad. Without another word, he began making his way back to the tunnel. Only once looking over his shoulder to see if Horace was following.
While others cowered, Horace followed. Surrounding rangers slowly went back to what activities they had been in the middle of before Vlad had shown his face. Others kept their eyes on Horace. As though committing his face to memory. A select few mouthed silent warnings his way.
They were afraid of Vlad. Possibly afraid of Horace now that he had some degree of affiliation with the ranger.
At the mouth of the tunnel, Vlad had stopped to wait for Horace to catch up.
“Why are they so afraid of you?” the Vickery lad couldn’t help but ask. Curiosity ate at him. “You are all rangers.”
“Yes,” Vlad laughed. “But not all rangers are the same. I’m what you might call, a special case.”
Further down the tunnel, the duo passed various doors that seemed to be rooms for the rangers to use. Only barely furnished and each room uniform in appearance. Since none of these rooms belonged any single ranger, no one added their own personality to the rooms in which they used.
All except a single room at the end of the tunnel. Red carpet covered the floor; desk and chest made of wood stained black, a large cushioned chair sat by a fireplace. Upholstered crimson on black wood. Fresh logs had recently been thrown into the fire. Keeping the room comfortably warm in stark contrast to the rest of the ranger’s hideaway.
“Please, sit,” Vlad’s words came out more as a demand than suggestion. On a corner table—also stained black—Vlad had a golden pitcher and cups at the ready. He poured them both a cup of red wine.
When he returned to Horace, the Vickery lad had not taken a seat.
Vlad curled his lips as his eyes fell half-hooded. “You would rather stand?”
“I would,” Horace answered. Graciously taking the offered cup. It tasted of spiced berries and lavender and honey. A unique blend he had never tasted before. “Thank you.”
“Now then,” Vlad made his way to his desk. “I assume you have not yet made a decision on my offer.”
“How can you be so sure?” Horace took another sip of the wine. Finally taking Vlad up on his offer and planting himself in the chair. Letting the warmth of fire wash over him.
“You have come alone,” smiled Vlad. “Had you and your friend come to a decision, he would have accompanied you here. Unless you want me to believe the two of you have parted ways.”
“We have not.”
“Then, I will ask why you have chosen to come here tonight.”
Horace took notice that Vlad had not planted himself in the chair behind the desk. Keeping himself at the ready. As though he were wanting to keep himself from being caught off guard.
Within seconds, Vlad was once more at Horace’s side. Refilling the now empty cup held by the lost heir.
“Thank you.” After a moment of silence, the question was asked. “What dealings did my father have with the rangers? Why would he work along with a group he openly spoke ill of?”
“Why would any have dealings with the rangers?” laughed Vlad. He sipped of his wine. “We are not loyal to any, this is true. But we rangers, we have a code. One ancient as the stones that forge castles.”
“You once had a code,” corrected Horace. “Hethen destroyed that code long ago. Now the rangers only follow the flow of coin.”
“That is what the people are taught,” admitted Vlad. “Though, we rangers would disagree with such claims.” Walking to the other side of his desk, Vlad produced three scrolls. “We rangers have a code. And this code is more than just rules of the job. It is a way of life. A way we internalize.”
“May I read them?”
“Only if you become one of us.” He put the scrolls away. “Our order is an ancient one. It is true, some changes have come about due to certain leaders. But the same can be said about the crown your people follow.”
“Can you answer what my father needed the help of rangers with? Or is it against your code to answer this question?”
“The answer to that question,” once more Vlad laughed. “It is a good thing you are seated. You see, your father hired the rangers for you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. If you wish to know the specifics, it would be due to your birth. Particularly how you were born balancing on death’s scales. Had it not been for the rangers, you would not be alive.”
Horace dropped his cup. Metallic ringing the only sound within the room.