The Ranger

The Ranger sat alone on the fringe of the forest with only his thoughts keeping him company. Shivering in the winter chill, he turned his hand over, catching the falling snowflakes in his palm. He watched as they dis-solved into ice water on his cracked and broken skin. Before him, the land he’d sworn to protect lay stretched out, cast in a thick blanket of white. He reflected on the events of the past year and how they’d led to the world tilting on the edge of darkness. So much had happened since they’d first set out into the wild. Lost in his memo-ries, they pulled him back to a warmer time, to where it all began…

It was high summer in the year 1136 when Eraden Danage stepped off the southern road and entered the busy fishing town of Silverton. The early evening sky took on a golden hue as the fading sun descended slowly behind the horizon. A warming breeze pushed softly into his face, bringing with it the scent of ale and baking pie.
Silverton was set in the northwest of Eshana and built on the banks of the Silverfish River, so called be-cause of the large, shiny-scaled fish that swim in its cool, clear waters. Their scales would reflect the summer sun to such a degree that, from a height, the river looked like a bright silver vein flowing through the land. Silverton had stood here for hundreds of years, owing its prosper-ity to the much sought after delicacy of the river’s silver-skinned fish. Many of the townsfolk were fishermen who made their living working the Silverfish River and shipping their catch all throughout Eshana.
There was a warm, vibrant, and welcoming atmos-phere when Eraden arrived. Now that work was done for the day, as was their summer custom, most of the residents had gathered in the main square. Lanterns of red, yellow, and gold were strung high across the street, casting the cobbles below in multi colours as the day’s light was beginning to fade. Music filled the air from bards playing their string instruments and townsfolk singing songs to the melody. A few of them were up dancing without a worry in the world, while others sat at long wooden tables on wooden benches laughing and cheering, drinking cold pints of ale as the evening cool began to form about them. He crossed the main square, weaving in and out of the crowds as he went.
Only three days had passed since he completed his training at the Ranger Academy. They’d sent Eraden off with nought but sixty silver in his pouch, light leather armour with hooded cloak, dagger in boot, and his steel long sword by his side. A little weary from the road, his stomach grumbled, and his mouth had dried in the heat of the day. His destination was the Deep Flagon Inn on the south corner of Fisherman Alley, famous for its Silverfish pie, light brown ale, and warm beds. One of the few taverns with lodgings here in Silverton. It’d been eleven years since he was here with his father, and he wondered if she’d be there. Even after all this time, plus the fraction of nerves fluttering in his belly, he looked forward to seeing her face again.
Eraden pushed the inn’s heavy oak door, activating the small welcoming bell atop its frame as he entered. Stepping into the tavern, the air was full of chatter and heavy with pipe weed. It would seem those who had not gathered in the main square had come here instead, no doubt to sample the tavern’s Silverfish pie and fine bev-erages. Raey Wilkinson and his wife, Rachelle, owned and ran the Deep Flagon, having been passed down through Raey’s family across many generations.
“As I live and breathe! It cannot be. Is that you, young Mr. Danage?” cried Raey from behind the bar. He looked a little rounder compared to Eraden’s memory of him. In his late fifties, he still had that welcoming face, even if he had put on a few pounds. He wore an apron that surely used to be white, but now after years of wear, it was stained almost entirely brown from dried ale. Eraden remembered him always smiling, like he was now, so much so, that his blushed face had turned to a river of wrinkles; the years did this too. “My, you have grown,” continued Raey. “You have the look of your father about you, aye! Come here and let me see you!”
Eraden, warmed by Raey’s welcome, smiled and waded his way between the busy tables, over to the bar.
“Well, look at you, a Ranger now, is it? Just like your father, eh. Michel and Marteena must be proud, I’d wa-ger? How is the old man and your mother?”
“They are well, thank you, Raey, and you, I hope all is good?”
“Very good, young Ranger.”
“That’s great to hear, Raey,” Eraden glanced at the busy tavern floor behind him. “Seems business is going well.”
“Oh, I can’t complain, plodding along as usual, it’s been a steady summer! Not much changes round here, lad! But never mind about this old place, tell me, how was your training? I take it you’re finished now, other-wise you wouldn’t be here, eh?”
“Tough, I’ve spent ten years swinging training swords, Raey, day in, day out.”
“Oh, I imagine you must be quite the swordsman by now then, hmm?”
“Yeah, not too bad, I suppose. I’ve seen worse, heh-heh.”
“You’ll do fine, lad, if you’re anything like that father of yours. Now what can I do for you on this fine even-ing?”
Eraden caught the smell of pie being cooked in the kitchens and that thirst was still upon his tongue.
“My stomach would thank you for a helping of pie, a pint of your fine ale, and a soft bed for the night if it pleases you.”
“No problem on all counts, lad!” said Raey, “Take a load off and I’ll bring it over to you.”
“Cheers, Raey,” said Eraden. He turned, and finding the nearest empty table, he took a much-needed seat after being on the road for the best part of three days.
Eraden relaxed into his chair and took stock of the tavern and people around him. For the most part, they were what seemed to be townsfolk enjoying a meal and a quiet drink.
However, his attention was drawn to the far-right-hand corner. Behind the door he just came through, Eraden spied four rough-looking, loud men seated at a round table, swilling ale, one of them eyed him with a cruel look on his face.
“Thieves it’s rumoured they are,” whispered the inn-keeper, he placed Eraden’s cool pint on the table.
“If they’re thieves, why do you let them in here?” asked Eraden.
“I try my best to keep the peace, lad, best that way and less expensive if you take my meaning. The fat one there at the head of the table, they call him Boisten, and the lanky one next to him, his name’s Porter. You best be staying away from ‘em; they ain’t nothing but trouble. Now and again they appear, have a drink or three, and then off they go, robbing in the night – or so I reckon anyway.”
Raey’s tone softened, “You remember Araleen, my daughter?”
“Yes, of course! She’s still here?” replied Eraden, ex-citement in his voice. Truth be known, he was hoping she would be. A day never went by—whilst at the acad-emy—that he hadn’t thought of her.
“Aye lad, she is. Anyway, she’ll bring your pie out in a short while and I’ll have a room prepared for you.”
“Very kind of you Raey, thanks.”
The innkeeper smiled, took his leave and went about his duties. Eraden sipped a long drink from his ale mug, it’s chill brought overdue relief to his dry tongue. He removed his gaze from the thieves, and thought to him-self, ‘Not tonight, I’ll let you off this time…’
A short while later, the doors to the kitchens opened inward; a figure appeared in the doorway carrying a tray in both hands with a steaming pie on top. She made her way over to Eraden. At first glance he thought it was Rachelle, Raey’s wife, but as she grew near and the haze of the tavern gave way, Eraden was greeted by the most beautiful face he’d ever seen. Jade green eyes looked at him under a fringe of coal-black hair, tied at the back in a messy bun. From ear to ear, the warmest smile was painted across her face.
“Evening,” said Araleen. “Pie, is it?” The words stuck in Eraden’s throat as if frozen there from a caster’s spell. She placed the hot food on the table and cheekily took the seat opposite him. “Don’t remember me, do ya?” she asked flashing a smile of pearly whites.
Of course he did, he’d thought about this moment for such a long time, but now that it had finally arrived, nerves consumed him. “No, ah, I mean yea, yes I do,” stumbled Eraden, shyly staring into the top of his ale mug. He glanced up at her, “You have grown a lot since last I saw you is all.”
“As have you!” she replied, still smiling. Araleen was nearly always smiling. “You remember you used to chase me around this place when we were only little? On those times your father would bring you in for an iced lemon water?”
“I remember you were the one doing the chasing!” he laughed, and nervously took another sip of the chilled ale.
“Hmm…!” she said, playfully punching his arm. “Aye, now that you say it, I think I do! How things have changed eh, Mr. Danage?” He glanced up again, his eyes meeting hers. He seemed to fall into a dream within a dream within a dream. The world and everything around her face evaporated, and for the longest moment, his time stood still.
Suddenly, a rough voice came from the far-right cor-ner of the tavern. “Oi!” Eraden snapped his gaze from Araleen and turned to address the rude call. “Aye, you girl!” shouted one of the supposed thieves. “Where’s our ale, huh? Bring it now, or you’ll feel the wrong end of my dagger. My men are parched here!”
Eraden shuffled uneasily in his chair, he placed a palm on the flat of the table and was about to rise when Araleen put a hand lightly to his and whispered, “No. It’s fine, I can handle this lot.” He slid reluctantly back into his seat as Araleen whirled up shouting back, “Four ale was it, gentlemen?” She glanced over her left shoul-der and flashed a wink at Eraden as she made her way behind the bar. He began eating his meal, washing it down with the cool ale all the while keeping a keen eye on Araleen and the group in the corner. She poured the ales, placed them one by one on her tray, and made her way across the tavern floor to serve them. Eraden didn’t like having these kinds of folk in Silverton; sensing dan-ger fuelled the adrenaline within him. Raey appeared from the kitchen a moment later; he paused in his stride, struck by the sudden uneasy silence that had filled the tavern. Araleen reached their table and began laying the drinks out in front of the men.
“Innkeep!” bellowed the fat man at the head of their table. “You do serve a fine ale, and my boys love that pie! But how much for this little dish, huh?!” he grabbed Araleen roughly by the wrist. She resisted and tried pull-ing her arm free. He rose from his seat and pulled her closer, tightening his grip. He spun her round and twist-ed her arm roughly across her back. “Oh, I love it when they fight back!” he and the rest of his mob laughed cruelly.
“Please don’t hurt her!” pleaded Raey, his wife rushed in from the kitchen on hearing the commotion. Eraden, seeing Araleen twisted by the man’s grip, knew he had to act. He slipped his dagger from his boot and got to his feet. Twisting his body at the hip to the left, he reeled the energy up his spine in an internal coil and twisted back to the right. Using the rotation, he shot his arm out, flicked his wrist backhanded and launched the dagger. It flew across the tavern and skimmed just above the thieves head. The dagger took a small tuft of hair before it stuck hard and fast into a wooden beam. Dart-ing swiftly between the tables, Eraden was at them be-fore they knew it.
“Next time you won’t be as fortunate…” he warned, hand on the hilt of his Ranger’s sword. “Let her go. Now…”
“What have we here? A little boy playing a Ranger?” mocked Boisten.
“Ahhh, we ain’t got time for this,” said Porter. “Have you forgotten we have a job tonight? Let her go; this pup will keep for another time.”
Boisten, knowing his lanky friend was correct, groaned in defiance, he let Araleen free and pushed her toward Eraden, who caught her in his arms, saving her a fall. The rest of the mob pushed their chairs back, the sound of wood scraping on the stone floor as they did and rose from the table. “Next time YOU won’t be so lucky, heh, ‘Ranger’… c’mon, lads, let’s go.” Boisten, followed by his mob, pushed past Eraden roughly and made their way to the tavern door.
Rachelle rushed to Araleen, still in Eraden’s arms, “Thank you, Ranger, thank you so much!” She took a clearly shaken Araleen by the hand, “Come now love, let’s get you upstairs. That’s enough excitement for one evening.” Araleen leaned into Eraden, she pressed her face softly to his, and whispered, “Thank you…” then lightly kissed his cheek.
“Come lad, time for an ale,” cried Raey, he glanced around the tavern, and noticed his customers were still on edge. He declared, “Oh why not! And one for the house as well!” He wrapped an arm around Eraden’s shoulder as he led him to the bar. The townsfolk cheered, expelling the tension and uneasy silence from the air. The two reached the bar. Eraden took a stool as Raey made his way around it next to the taps. He pulled out two fresh mugs and poured the ales. “Don’t you worry about no bill, lad; tonight’s on me! Ask and any-thing you want is yours!”
“It was no trouble, honest Raey, we can’t let filth like that have their way. I just need my room and, oh, some directions if it pleases you.” replied Eraden politely.
“Ah, you’re a good lad, Eraden, your folks would be proud of you today. Directions? No problem, where you headed?”
“I’m making for the Jade Woods to meet Firadell, you know of him? I know he lives there, but I fear I do not know the way!”
“Sure do, a day’s walk, give or take, on the western path, lad. That’s where you’ll find him; spends most of his time in that tower of his!”
“Thanks again, Raey.” They had a swift pint and tiredness crept into Eraden, “If you don’t mind, I’ll be wanting that bed now, I have a long trek tomorrow and I feel these eyes of mine getting heavy.”
“Aye, no problem, lad,” he pulled a key from his ale-stained apron and handed it to him. “Up the stairs and down the hallway, you’re the last door on the left.”
“Good night, Raey, oh, please let Araleen know I hope she’s ok.”
“Aye, will do, have yourself a good sleep. Night, lad.”
Eraden finished his pint and took his leave. He made his way across the tavern floor, meandering around the busy tables. His hand slid along the smooth banister as he ascended the creaking stairs. When he reached the top, he made his way down the hall to the last door on the left. Fatigue began setting in. He unlocked the door, and stepped through, catching the scent of fresh sheets in the air. A slight cool breeze blew in from an open window overlooking the street below. He closed it and its slatted shutters, then flopped heavily down on the soft bed and laid his head on an even softer pillow. Tiredness began to overtake him as he dwelled on this evening’s events, ‘It was so nice to see her, I can’t recall her being so beautiful. My first day as a Ranger certainly wasn’t dull, wonder what’s in store tomorrow…’ The muffled voices from the customers below did little to diminish his desire for sleep. Before long, the weight on his eyes took over, they closed and he fell into a deep slumber.