The Ranger (Book 1) (7 page)

Vincent’s movements became more fluid as he used the techniques he had practiced so many times. He was now in full control of the battle as Mayberry struggled to defend.

Once again, Vincent knocked Mayberry’s blade wide, but this time he turned his blade, striking at his opponent. His blade cut nothing but a cloud of sparks. Mayberry had disappeared again.

Confused, Vincent looked around to locate his foe, only to find three balls of fire hurtling towards him.

He narrowly dodged the first two, but the third hit him cleanly in the chest. The force of the blow knocked the wind from him, but did little else as his fiery armor quickly absorbed the blow.

Before Vincent had a chance to catch his breath, another volley flew at him. This time all three hit their mark. Vincent cried in pain as they blasted through his armour, burning great holes in his tunic, melting his chain mail, and hitting the flesh below.

Vincent closed his eyes, hoping to find the balls as they flew at him. To his relief, they appeared as little white lights as they flew at him. He quickly grabbed them with his token and sent them flying wide; smashing into the magical barrier.

A steady stream of balls followed. Vincent had to use all his concentration to knock them aside as he had the others. Exhaustion was setting in; he wasn’t used to using his token this much.

Suddenly, at the source of the flying lights, a small red light appeared that started to grow slowly. Vincent focused on this new light, trying to eliminate it before it too flew at him.

The light was growing steadily, but it seemed just out of his reach. Vincent struggled, frantically trying to grasp at this new threat with his token. More balls flew at him, but he dodged them, focusing his token on the new light; which was still growing.

It was huge now, almost as big as Vincent. Fear was taking over again. Desperately, he reached for it. To his relief, this time he felt it fall into the control of his token.

Surprisingly, as soon as he took hold of the new light, all the other lights vanished. He opened his eyes. In the place of the red light, was Mayberry, standing rigidly with his arms pressed tightly to his side; a look of pure satisfaction on his face.

Vincent stared for a moment, trying to understand what was happening. A smile slid across his face as it dawned on him.

“Bow to me,” Vincent commanded quietly. In a very stiff movement, the elemental complied.

“I acknowledge your strength,” Mayberry said, his voice trembling.

“You may release him,” called the voice of Abbot Markov. “The challenge is over.”

Vincent released his hold on Mayberry before sending the flames surrounding him back to their torches and releasing his token. Mayberry moved in the blink of an eye to stand behind Vincent.

“I would like to meet you again,” Mayberry whispered in Vincent’s ear as he placed his hand over Vincent’s token, “perhaps when the Lord Abbot has removed his limitations on my powers.”

Vincent cried out in pain as Mayberry pressed down on the token, the flames of his hands burning into Vincent’s back through both tunic and chain mail.

“I see great things in store for you, Chosen One. You may yet be the hope of many.” Mayberry whispered as he moved away from Vincent.

“You are dismissed,” the Abbot called, “Return to your Lady.”

Mayberry bowed once more to the Abbot. He disappeared into a pillar of fire and was gone. The crowd was deathly silent.

“We have our winner,” the Abbot said softly.

Slowly, the crowd started cheering until it was a deafening roar. Vincent basked in the glory. The other knights formed a line on either side of Vincent. Thomas was once again on his feet and full of energy. He smiled excitedly at Vincent as he took his place in line next to him.

Abbot Markov rose to his feet, silencing the excited crowd. A broad smile graced his face. “Congratulations, all of you,” he exclaimed. “Hence forth, you are no longer initiates, but full brothers with the Knights of the Order of Sandora. Tomorrow you will all go your separate ways to fulfill your assignments at the placements you will receive shortly. I hope that you will all remember fondly your time here in the academy. So, without further ado, I shall give you your assignments.”

Vincent stiffened with a wince. The adrenaline was wearing off and the cuts and burns covering his body, along with the large gash in his shoulder, were all taking their toll. Exhaustion was taking over. He couldn’t even focus as the Abbot read out the assignments of the others.

“Thomas Honson…,” The abbot called, catching Vincent’s attention. He could see Thomas straighten as his name was called. “You have been assigned to the Abbey of Spacco under Abbot Foster.” Thomas deflated as the assignment was announced, clearly disappointed.

“Looks like there’s only you left to get the post here,” Thomas whispered to Vincent.

“That leaves us only with our champion remaining to be assigned.” The abbot paused, smiling. “I would gladly take you into my garrison here Vincent. Unfortunately for me, there is the matter of the special placement that needs filling; and you have earned the right to fill it. I will allow Master Jason Silva to explain it.” The Abbot indicated the man with the black tunic.

Master Silva rose and walked over to stand next to Vincent. He put his hand on Vincent’s uninjured shoulder. His face was just as expressionless as ever.

“As Lord Abbot Markov has already said, I am Jason Silva. It has been a pleasure to assist in the presentation this year. It has been a long time since I’ve had this opportunity. It seems only fitting that I attend this year, given the nature of this new assignment. For you see, I am the Master of the Rangers.”

Vincent’s heart leapt, not daring to believe what was happening.

“Your assignment, Vincent, is with me. Starting tomorrow, you will be a Ranger. When you return to your chamber your new uniform will be waiting for you.” With that, Master Silva walked away. “Be ready to leave at first light,” he called over his shoulder as he left.

“Well,” Abbot Markov said, breaking the awed silence, “We’ve had an exciting evening. Congratulations once again to all of you. However, the hour is late, and tomorrow many of us must start the long road home. I recommend that we all find our beds quickly. May Sandora smile upon you all.”

The Abbot waved to the crowd. He then returned to the abbey followed by the other abbots, their Valkyrie escorts and Master Auna. The crowd slowly filed after.

“I knew you’d get the best post,” Thomas said with a smile as he clapped Vincent on the back. The smile seemed forced. “I’ll see you later tonight,” he muttered as he slowly walked off, following the crowd.

The other knights swarmed him, all congratulating him, but Vincent didn’t even notice. He was completely lost as he tried to grasp what had just happened. His greatest dream had just been handed to him. He was a Ranger.

By the time the events of the evening had finally sunk in, he was standing alone on the field. Fortunately, one of the priests had seen fit to heal him before returning to the abbey. A cool wind was blowing and he was getting cold. He started walking back to the abbey as quickly as his remaining strength would allow. He walked through the gate and followed the path that led to the main entrance.

“Hey!”

Startled, Vincent looked up. Thomas was walking toward him from the training field.

“You forgot this,” he said, handing Vincent his second sword, which he had dropped during the fight with Mayberry.

“Thank you,” Vincent said. “We’ve got an early morning tomorrow, we should get to bed.”

The two walked silently through the empty halls of the abbey to the dormitories. All the lights had been dimmed, casting odd shadows over everything. As they entered their room, Thomas broke the silence.

“I don’t know how I’m going to survive Spacco,” he sighed. “Nothing exciting ever happens there. The Eresians do everything. I’ll never get noticed enough to become a Ranger. I’ll just sit there and get fat.” He sat down on his bed, thoroughly depressed.

“I’m sure you’ll find something interesting to occupy your time,” Vincent said as he pulled off what was left of his tunic, “you always do. Besides, you’ve got an insider with the Rangers now who will be doing his best to get you in there as soon as he can.”

“I appreciate that, but it still doesn’t help my situation for the time being.” Thomas gave a weak smile from his bed.

“It’s a good thing they gave me a new tunic,” Vincent said, looking at the new black tunic, which lay folded neatly on his bed. “I think the old one has seen its last day.” He pointed at the pile of rags on the floor that used to be his tunic. Thomas laughed half-heartedly.

Thomas sighed again before he got up and started disarming. He surveyed himself in the small mirror in the corner as he pulled his shirt off. His back and arms were riddled with small scars.

“Mortensen was ruthless,” Thomas muttered as he looked at the bigger scars. “The healers weren’t even able to fully heal most of them. I guess even tokens have their limits.”

“Who?” Vincent asked.

“Oh, Mortensen was the lightning elemental,” Thomas replied. “I almost had him too; then he split into three and they all came at me at once.” He went back to inspecting his newly acquired collection of scars.

Vincent finally had the melted remnant of his armour off and moved next to Thomas at the mirror to inspect the damage he had received. To his surprise, the only scar he could see was the large one on his shoulder. It was thick and stretched from the top of his shoulder to his armpit. However, most of the hair on his arms and chest had been signed away.

Vincent shrugged and turned to his bed.

“What is that?” Thomas exclaimed.

“What?” Vincent turned quickly to see what Thomas was looking at.

“On your back. Turn around.” Thomas grabbed Vincent by the shoulder and turned him.

A giant black hand print had been burned into Vincent’s back around his token. The edge of the token just barely touched the edge of the hand.

“After the final challenge, Mayberry congratulated me by digging his hand into my back,” Vincent replied, trying to see the hand in the mirror.

“Wow,” Thomas muttered. “All the exciting things really do happen to you.”

“Well, I’m going to bed now,” Vincent yawned, trying to ignore the obvious envy in his friend’s voice. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

They both crawled into their beds and were soon fast asleep.

Chapter 4: Things That May Be

Vincent’s eyes shot open. Something had woken him, but he didn’t know what. He looked at the enchanted hourglass on the table between the two beds. It indicated that four hours had passed since sunrise. Thomas’ bed was empty. For some reason this seemed normal. There was a surreal feeling to what he was seeing.

Springing from bed, Vincent pulled on his chainmail. He pulled his new tunic on and grabbed his swords before leaving the room. The halls of the dormitories were deserted.  Normally by this hour the halls were bustling with activity as knights went about their business. Today there was nothing.

He cautiously started moving toward the stairs leading up to the abbey, moving slowly at first but soon he was running.

As he approached the stairs, a strange crackling sound started echoing through the halls, growing louder the closer he got to the stairs.

He ran up the stairs and the sound intensified. Vincent threw open the door and froze in horror.

Fire and smoke billowed out of the broken windows that lined the cloister. There were bodies everywhere, knights, priests, monks, children; some still moaning as they waited for death. None had been spared. What had happened?

He started picking his way through the debris, carefully checking bodies as he went. Every motionless child he passed stung at him. The bodies of Jan and Mark were side by side among the fallen. Vincent paused at the bodies of his friends. A lump was growing in his throat as the grief started to well up. Many of the priests had been his friends.

“Vincent,” a faint voice whimpered close by. He looked around, frantic to find the source. A few paces away, half covered by the body of one of the orphanage monks, was Jace, a large gash bleeding heavily on the side of his head. “I knew you’d come for me.”

Vincent pulled the little five year-old free and held him in his arms.

“Everything will be alright,” Vincent said, trying to comfort the child.

“No, it won’t,” Jace whimpered, “nothing will be alright.” Jace was crying now, great sobs that shook his whole body.

Vincent wanted to cry too. Everything he loved, his friends, the abbey, they were all gone.

“Don’t leave me,” Jace cried, softly. “I don’t want to be alone. It’s so cold.” Jace was hardly breathing now, hardly moving.

“I won’t leave you,” Vincent said, hugging the child tighter to him.

“I’m so tired,” Jace said softly. He closed his eyes, and he was gone.

Tears streamed down Vincent’s face as he laid the lifeless body on the ground; bitter tears, tears of anger, of rage. He didn’t know who, or what, had caused this, but he didn’t care. Revenge was all that occupied Vincent’s mind.

An ear splitting roar sent chills down Vincent’s spine. He turned from the small body to see a great beast, half man, with the head and legs of a bull, burst through one of the burning windows to Vincent’s left.

A minotaur. Vincent had heard of them, mostly in children’s stories, and until now he had never believed that they actually existed. The creature was huge, standing almost three spans taller than Vincent. The only clothing it wore was a ragged animal skin about its loins. It carried a huge mace.

Vincent stood, transfixed, staring in disbelief at the monster. It charged at him suddenly, bellowing its fearsome roar once again and swinging its huge mace.

Vincent ducked out of the way and barely managed not to get trampled. The beast turned quickly and charged again. This time it hit Vincent with its mace in his undefended chest, sending Vincent flying and knocking the swords from his hands.

The minotaur advanced quickly to where Vincent laid gasping for breath and struggling to get to his feet. Several broken ribs impeded the process. The beast raised its mace high above its head and let it fall in a chopping motion.