16. Aaron

Chapter 16

Aaron

T ree limbs lashed my face as I ran, threatening to send me tumbling down the mountainside. I could run longer than most, but fear of an arrow in the back spurred me to cover even greater distance. I wound around trees and over fallen logs, desperate not to trip on the rocky ground. The slope steepened, forcing me to slow. I tucked myself behind a large boulder to catch my breath and drink from the small skin I grabbed on the way out the door. My heart still raced from the panic I felt as I heard arrows thudding into the wood of the guard shack.

They really wanted to kill us.

Nothing felt real.

I replayed the scene in my mind, desperate for understanding.

The Kingdom’s men never spoke. They simply shot.

If Bret hadn’t had the Gift of Fire, they would’ve silenced the signal beacon before it ever uttered a cry. Their goal was obvious, but why? Why would the Kingdom attack? That question felt bigger than a boy who barely fit into his cloak could handle.

I missed Bret. Thinking about him made my heart hurt. He wasn’t the gentlest sort, but he took me under his wing as I floundered, desperate to earn my cloak. Without him, I doubt I would’ve made it through my first year.

For some reason thinking of Bret made me think of Declan.

I wished Dec was here.

He would know what to do.

He always did.

It felt like a million years since our time in the Academy, since he’d taken me under his wing. I wasn’t even sure if he knew how much of a brother he’d become in my eyes. I never would have earned my Greens without him.

A bird cawed in the distance, startling me out of my memories. I peered around the stone.

The forest stood still, cloaked in winter’s embrace.

I had to get back to Grove’s Pass and warn my leaders. That was all that mattered now.

I tried to rub a little warmth into my hands through the thick gloves given to every Ranger. Our duty might be miserable at times, but the Rangers knew how to equip a man. As I stared down at the tight black stitching in the green-dyed leather, visions of home and a distant past came unbidden to my mind. I watched as my ma, bent by years of raising children and working the farm, raised an iron kettle to boil over a flame. I smelled her cooking in the background, and my mouth began to water. I never had a knack in the kitchen, but ma could make dirt taste good given an iron pot and a pocketful of spices. I saw steam curling as the stock simmered, sending the scent of garlic, onion, and other herbs to every corner of the cottage.

Ma whirled, long-handled wooden spoon held like a sword in front of her, as two young boys and a teenage girl ran through the front door. I grinned at the scolding I knew would follow as they marked a muddy path with their dingy boots.

Before I knew what was happening, my head rested against the boulder, and my eyes closed. A short time later, the icy cold of the stone jolted me out of my dream. I realized I’d almost made the worst mistake any rookie Ranger could make in the mountains: I’d almost fallen asleep.

No, I had fallen asleep.

Worse, my drifting off had wasted precious time. Melucia was under attack. Bret probably hadn’t made it away from those men alive—and many more of my countrymen, possibly even my own family, would die before all this was over.

I had to get back down this blasted mountain.

I stood quickly and stretched life into my back and legs. How long had I been there?

Winter had taken firm control, blanketing the range with a vengeance over the past couple of days. I brushed the snow off my cloak and chided myself for the delay.

Hours later—I’d lost track of how many—I stopped again to rest and eat. The dried meat and fruit stashed in every Ranger’s pack was usually a last resort. It was tasteless and tough, meant to sustain a man until he could make it home to better fare. In the frigid cold of the mountain’s winter, after trudging for hours, I thought the dried meat a feast from a King’s table. I savored the smoky, tangy flavor, chewing, and chewing, and chewing.

Right , I thought, the texture could use some work, but the flavor . . .

My eyes rolled back as the savory piece lingered in my mouth.

I figured I was about thirty minutes from Grove’s Pass. The sun was already well above the horizon, but the constant snowfall kept visibility low. While the cold hadn’t numbed my fear, it was doing a number on my toes and fingers. I couldn’t wait to get inside Ranger headquarters and spend a solid hour by the roaring fires I knew were always lit. My jaw was sore as I finished the last of the old shoes disguised as meat. A hearty gulp sent the last bite, mostly chewed, into my rumbling gut.

As I stoppered my waterskin, something off to my left rustled.

I snapped my head in that direction and froze.

Two men in Kingdom cloaks hid behind large trees, scanning the forest. Their hoods—I couldn’t see their faces—moved slowly from side to side, never resting in one place. I didn’t think they’d seen me but knew they wouldn’t be alone.

I had to move.

A thought slammed into my head. The archers are several miles inside the Melucian border.

These men weren’t scouts. They were the tip of a deadly spear aimed at Melucia’s now-weakened border.

White-hot fear roared through me, and winter’s bite melted away.

I waited for what felt like an eternity to see if the men would advance, but they remained in place.

They must be guarding a line.

What would Bret call it?

I couldn’t remember the fancy Ranger word. There seemed to be a word for everything. Why couldn’t they just say something like, “Bad guys with bows standing in the woods?” That made more sense.

One of the men turned toward me.

I ducked behind the boulder.

My mindless musing had almost gotten me shot. C’mon, Aaron. Be smart for once!

I sneaked my way around the boulder and a clump of trees. When the men were out of view and others didn’t appear, I got to my feet and ran as fast as I could without making too much noise. Over the next half hour, my head swiveled with every step.

For once, the chattering voice in my skull didn’t talk; it just tried to stay alive.

The trees gave way to open ground, and I saw the outline of the picket wall surrounding the town. There were no enemy archers anywhere in sight. I thanked the Spirits and anyone else who’d listen for getting me to Grove’s Pass without arrows sticking out of my body.

Abandoning stealth, I sprinted toward the gate. It would be guarded by one bored, lonely Ranger. On cue, a hooded head popped up above the gate as I approached, a gloved hand shielding eyes from the morning sun.

When I was a few dozen paces from the gate, the guard recognized my uniform, and wood and hinges began to creek. I stumbled to a halt in the gate’s entrance as the guard blocked the opening, and four other men, bows nocked and pointed at my chest, formed a half circle facing me. There were never more than two men standing guard in the middle of winter. I blinked up in surprise, my eyes racing from one arrow-tip to the next.

“Whoa, Ranger. Name yourself and why you’re running toward my gate.” The man sounded like I had woken him from a good nap.

My thoughts tumbled out between panting breaths. “I’m Aaron . . . from the mountain . . . I’m a Ranger . . . I mean, from the signal tower . . . Oh, Spirits . . . Tower Two! I’m Ranger Aaron Dempsy from Tower Two. Bret Jensen’s dead. They shot him, but he got the signal lit. I need to see the Captain. Now! ”

The guard’s eyes widened as he bolted into action, pulling me through the opening and slamming the heavy gate shut. I jumped as the heavy iron crossbar slammed into place.

“What are you waiting for?” the guard barked, now fully awake. “Go!”

A few moments later, I sat buried under a thick, warm blanket with a cup of steaming tea clutched tightly in both hands. My teeth had finally stopped chattering—at least from the cold. I’d visited my uncle’s office more times than I could count but only as a doting nephew. Sitting before his desk as a Ranger before his Captain was a different experience entirely. His second-in-command stood by the door with his back straight and hands clasped behind.

Nothing like sitting at the desk of the Rangers’ commander to knock off the winter chill.

Whitman listened patiently as I meandered my way through the attack on the station. I choked up when I talked about Bret and his sacrifice. Whitman already knew about the signal being lit, but he leaned forward as I talked about the attack itself. That was news.

“Our relays brought word of your signal fire, but yours was one of only a few lit across the range,” Whitman said. “We thought it might’ve been an accident. That happens occasionally.”

“Wasn’t no accident, sir.”

“I got that, son. I sent a pair of Rangers to check it out a couple of hours ago, but I wouldn’t expect them back for a half day, at least.” The Captain leaned back, hand covering his mouth.

“I doubt they’ll make it back, sir. I saw men in the woods. Looked like they were formed in a line, guarding a perimeter or something.” I described the men and my flight through the woods.

Whitman’s face sobered with every word.

When I finished, Whitman looked past me. “Lieutenant Geros, wake the regiment, all of them. I want every man on battle footing in an hour. Make sure they know this isn’t a drill.” Whitman stood. “And Lieutenant, no Rangers set foot in the inn until this is over. I want them sober and shooting straight.”

“Yes, sir.” The Lieutenant spun on a heel and flew out of the room.

“You did well, Dempsy. Go get something to eat and report back to me in an hour.”

Walking out of the Captain’s office, I was bowled over by the commotion within the compound. When I arrived, there were few Rangers to be seen. Everyone was tucked away in warm beds. Now, I couldn't take two steps before another burly man bumped my shoulder as he raced by.

When the Captain said move, Rangers moved .

The mess hall was half full of men already wrapped in heavy winter coats. Cooks had been roused, and breakfast was flowing from the kitchen as quickly as coffee. I settled for a plate of eggs and bacon; then I saw a pile of steaming biscuits and decided to load up. By the time I made it to a table, my teetering mountain of food threatened to splatter across the floor. I flopped down just in time to save the pile, quickly shoving the top biscuit into my mouth. Before I could swallow, Lieutenant Wiley appeared beside me, an amused look on his face as he noticed my chipmunk cheeks.

“Finish that quick and get back to Cap’s office. You need to leave within the hour.”

“Sir?” I had just sat down and could finally feel the warmth in my toes. The last thing I wanted—

“Hurry up, Ranger. The Captain is waiting.” Wiley glared for only a heartbeat before turning away. I chased the biscuit with a mouthful of coffee as I watched Wiley disappear from the hall.

I was still chewing the last bite as I approached the Captain’s door. I reached up to knock, but the heavy wooden planks flew open before I made contact. Two Rangers looked at me as they hustled out. Whitman sat on the front edge of his desk, deep lines creasing his face. The man looked exhausted.

“Get in here, Dempsy. This won’t take long.”

I shuffled in and snapped to attention.

The Captain reached behind, took a sealed scroll from his desk, and held it toward me.

“Take this to Saltstone. Put it into General Vre’s hand. No one else. Don’t let them put you off or talk you into passing it up the chain. That seal should answer any questions his nosy staff might have. This is for the General’s eyes only. Understand?”

I nodded nervously. “Yessir.”

Whitman rounded his desk and sat, looking up one last time. “My horse is saddled and waiting for you in the stables. It’ll take you more than a week to get there, but you can push him. He’s the best mount we’ve got.”

My mouth dropped open. “Sir?”

“You need him more than I do right now, son. If the Mages ever sent me a Telepath like I requested a dozen times, this wouldn’t be necessary.” He shook his head, and something dark crossed his eyes. I thought it might’ve been resignation, or determination, or both. “There’s no time to waste. Go.”

I bobbed a last salute and practically ran out of Whitman’s office.