The Godswords: The Grey Blade

By Aaron Ward

Ranger Captain Savek is one of many tasked with protecting the northern border of his homeland, Eireth, and life is tough enough fighting ruthless invaders and losing friends in the unofficial border war. When the highest-ranking commander in the army and larger-than-life hero General Torn arrives unexpectedly, he commands Savek and his squad to guide him on a deadly mission into hostile territory. Savek cannot help but face the fact that this is a suicide mission, but with the power of the Shadow Crescent, a mystical sword reportedly made by a god, General Torn is certain of success. On the journey Savek discovers that General Torn's mission will incite a new war between Eireth and neighboring Korance and bring even more hardship on his people. Struggling between his duty and his conscience, Savek loses his squad and his future in Eireth, becoming an outcast hunted on all sides. With his allies few and his enemies closing in, only the power of the Grey Blade can save Savek.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781682896129

Book preview

Prologue

Luna’s Peace

Clouds smeared the autumn night sky, reflecting a bright ring around the full moon, and stars twinkled in secret patterns between the stringy grey. Following a narrow weathered path lit only by the celestial light, two men rode sturdy chestnut horses up a jagged cliff overgrown with moss and weeds. The cliff tipped a long plateau surrounded by an endless crashing sea, and the trip to the remote path had taken them through steep canyons and stone-ridged summits. To their right and far below was a wide beach strewn with dull shapes of pitted boulders, and the sound of the salt water breaking across the sand beat a chaotic rhythm against the ringing of hooves on stone. A steady breeze blew in to push them against the rock wall to their left, and the first man sucked in a lungful of salty air, content in his journey.

Far past his prime, his hair was a fringe of grey around his age-spotted scalp, but he still had enough strength to sit straight in his leather saddle. Permanent crinkles surrounded faded blue eyes that watched the dark of night without concern, and his grey stubbled cheeks were lined but firm. From his broad shoulders, a dark blue cloak crafted of fine wool and clasped with a gold crescent moon with four stars attached to its inside curve billowed in the wind. The clasp meant little to him. He was who he was, but it informed the ignorant of his rank of general, the highest command in Eireth, the land of the moon god, Rone. Beneath the cloak he wore his stained, repaired under-armor padding and thick leather boots. Finery would gain him nothing where he was going. Officially Eireth’s border stretched all the way to these forsaken shores, but they were far from any civilization.

A curved sword hung from his left hip, but to call it a sword was like calling the nearby Golan Sea a pool of water. The scabbard was black enamel capped with bright ornate silver, and ancient script ran its length in gold spelling its name, the Shadow Crescent. The grip on the handle was a thick soft material, and the silver cross guard curved one way then the other, decorated with diamonds set into the stages of the moon with the crescent at the center. Forged by the moon god and delivered into his hand, the Shadow Crescent made him Rone’s champion.

The voice of his aide, Lieutenant Glassen, called from behind, Can you see anything up ahead, General Torn? Perhaps this is the wrong cliff. If you would allow me, I could go ahead and see if we are on the right path.

He could hear the tension as a high whine in the man’s voice.

Torn glanced to his right and the empty sky that waited for any that lost their footing. As if on cue, his horse slipped on an overgrown part of the trail, and the old man felt terror strike him. Long years of training and experience told him not to panic and yank on the reins, letting the animal find its own way. It was only a stumble, and the horse continued on without complaint. The relief of his near fall rushed through his body, a feeling he often felt on the battlefield, and he lamented it passing too quickly. A grim smile creased his face as he saw the end of the path ahead. He looked back over his shoulder and raised his deep voice to be heard over the wind.

You insisted on following me on this journey, Lieutenant, so keep following.

His aide was quick to regain any lost favor. I meant no disrespect.

The general scoffed as he faced the path again, not caring if Glassen could hear him, Of course not. You would not dream of insulting me. You really are concerned that I am going to tumble off this cliff and break my head open. If you live long enough, Lieutenant, you will learn that when men half your age worry too much about your safety, it can cut deeper than mockery.

The gusting wind kept most insects at bay, but he slapped a hand to his neck to crush a persistent pest to a wet pulp as he crested the cliff. This time he smiled in delight as he saw standing stones surrounding a small clearing of bare rock. From the way the stones were arranged, they blocked all view of what lay beyond, and although there was enough space to walk between them, the dark recesses were not inviting. The general reined in his horse and felt awe as he looked upon their ancient, weathered faces.

The Stones of First Night put here by the moon god himself, Torn said as a childlike thrill rushed through him that made him eager to see them closer, to touch them. First he had to get off the horse with his pride intact. Preparing himself mentally, he dismounted, grunting and gripping tight on his saddle to keep his knees from collapsing under him. He had not bothered to count how many battles these legs had borne him to, how many opponents he had stood over. Now they began to fail him, along with the rest of his aged body. When he was certain he would not humiliate himself, Torn straightened and took a few steps. He adjusted the Shadow Crescent and let his hand rest lightly on the hilt, soothed by the touch of the mystical weapon. On the other side of his belt was a matching dagger, but that was human made.

Glassen dismounted with hardly an effort and scurried to his side with the wind whipping his full head of brown hair, his plain face a mask of concern. He kept his eyes narrowed as though studying everything, and brown stubble darkened his cheeks, giving him a disreputable appearance. His cloak was identical to Torn’s, but his clasp was a smaller gold moon without stars. He wore a long-sleeved tabard and wool pants closely matching the color of his uniform, although Torn had forbidden wearing those.

The lieutenant continued to scour the night with his eyes as he whispered, No one has travelled to Luna’s Peace since before the Purging Day. The last three priests that searched for it never returned. Priest Varles told me that the church doubted that Luna still lived.

Torn clenched his jaw at his companion’s whining tone and entertained a brief fantasy of pushing him off the cliff. Instead he held out the reins of his horse as he said, That is why it’s called Luna’s Peace, not Luna’s Tavern. She is the wife and oracle of the moon god. She is not supposed to have visitors pop in just to say hello. His eyes returned to the stones. Seeking Luna is asking for answers directly from Rone, not a trial for glory. To take such a quest we must have his blessing, or we risk his wrath, as the fools that preceded us no doubt discovered.

Glassen looked over the stones, and Torn noted the lack of reverence in his gaze.

There’s nothing to tie the horses to, the younger man said.

He watched him from the corner of his eye. You are staying with them.

Glassen turned to him with a concerned look. Is that wise, General?

Resisting a flash of anger, he used his command voice. I know that you are loyal to Rone and Eireth, which is why I allowed you to follow me, but my patience is at an end. Do not question me again.

He left the insufferable man with the horses and walked to the Stones of First Night, running his hands over the rough surface of the first massive one he came to. Speckled with moss across the dark surface, he found no carvings or marks, nothing that would set this apart from any other rock, except the legend he learned as a child: On this plateau is a cave where the moon god first woke when the world was new. He was eager to take to the sky, but he had to wait until his sister, the sun god Antol, passed by. While he waited, he set these stones here, supposedly in a message only Antol could read.

Glassen sniffed and tightened his grip on the reins. The First Night Stones were not discussed much when I was at the academy. I do know no one ever deciphered the message. What do you think it is?

Torn shook his head, deciding that it was a mistake to bring the lieutenant with him. His reactions and questions were born from idle curiosity, not respect and honor.

It was a note from one god to another when the world was not even a day old. Our minds were not meant to know such things.

The nervous man nodded stiffly and glanced to the edge of the cliff. What now?

Torn took a step back from the stones and crossed his arms over his chest, wishing he was alone to enjoy the moment. The Journal of Ekthem, the last man to visit the shrine and return said that a guide will appear for the faithful. We wait.

After a few moments of listening to the wind, Glassen said, I do not doubt your ability, General, quite the opposite. Eireth is at a critical time. King Valance is the puppet of the High Castigan, and the church has become a glorified brothel. Our only leadership comes from you, and if you should die—

Torn interrupted, Eireth has been at a critical time since we gained our independence from Korance, and the last sixty years have given us no respite. The Koranthians pressure us from the east, and Horusk barbarians attack with impunity in the north, but despite all that, we have built a land for Rone’s people. The moon god gave me the Shadow Crescent to lead us to victory for his glory, but there is a piece of this puzzle I am missing, something I am hoping his oracle will show me. If I make the wrong move, I could squander what Rone has provided, and I cannot allow that. This is a journey of discovery. It is not supposed to be pleasant. Have faith, Lieutenant, and do not falter. The moon god is watching you. He gazed up at the pale yellow orb and could make out a face on the surface shadows.

A light shone between the Stones of First Night, flashing and fading as it moved. A girl with long black hair stepped into view holding a staff topped with a bright glowing crystal. Her round innocent face was flawless with a small nose and dark eyes. She wore a black long-sleeved silk robe with a crescent moon in silver thread on her breast, and he could see her white toes poking out under the silver trim.

General Torn, the torch wielder addressed him with a pleasant high voice, welcome. Follow me please.

Torn strode forward confidently, and the girl led him back the way she had come. The many stones were set close together, and he had to turn sideways to fit through some of the openings. The girl had no trouble and did not doubt her steps or turn to check on him as she quickly wove her path while he struggled to keep up. Finally he wedged his body between two of the tall rocks and felt a surge of panic.

He held out a hand to her. Wait, this path is too tight, wait for me! Helpless, he watched the girl and her light disappear in the maze. Grunting from the effort, he pushed himself free and looked around frantically for any sign of her. The stones were too close together for him to move quickly, and he struggled and gasped in the darkness. Slowly he controlled his breathing and looked up to see the stars and at the top of the stones, moonlight. He drew the Shadow Crescent and held the curved length up as far as he could. The Sword took the light into its pale crystal blade and glowed softly, enough to allow him to see. With growing confidence, he picked his way through the Stones of First Night using the stars to keep himself moving in the same direction. After a few turns the space between the rocks began to widen, and he breathed easier.

Dark shapes moved among the boulders on all sides, but he remained calm. He had nothing to fear from Rone’s guardians. Men stepped out from the shadows into the light of the Sword, crowded together so that he could not count them, and he paused, standing tall under their scrutiny. Their uncut, unkempt hair hung like ropes from their scalps, thick dark beards covered their cheeks, and only their eyes and nose were visible. Their bare skin was coated in a white dust, and they wore supple black vests over plain linen pants with their feet bare like his absent guide. Their arms were hairy and muscled with the lines of thick veins visible in the dark. Belted at their waists were rows of curved daggers, and he suspected that the long vests concealed more. The general appraised the daggers with his experienced eyes, useful for cutting foes in the close quarters of the stones and would also be effective for throwing. The men glanced at him curiously but stared at the Shadow Crescent in adoration. Sensing their faith, the general held the Sword overhead. The blade picked up more of the moonlight and shone brilliantly. A gasp of awe went up from them, and he bowed his head in respect to these devoted acolytes.

May Father Rone protect you in the days ahead, Torn said softly.

The guardians bowed their heads in unison, and none stopped him as he continued holding the Sword in front of him. He rounded a last stone and paused at the edge of a wide chasm. To his right the edge of the fissure continued beyond his sight, and to his left a narrow stone bridge spanned the divide. Beyond the bridge the edges of the chasm disappeared into the night. At the far end of the bridge he could see the outline of a cave, but on this side stood the girl, her staff still bright.

His temper flared, and he sheathed the Shadow Crescent. Are you playing games? I thought you were my guide.

She cocked her head. I did guide you. You did not keep up.

He ground his teeth at her insolence. What is your name, child?

Luna.

The general reminded himself he was the guest here and chuckled. I see. You will be Rone’s wife when you are older, but that does not mean you can treat me without dignity.

The child grew petulant. I am Rone’s wife, and since I do not have to guide you anywhere, you should be grateful for whatever help I give.

Torn looked into her eyes and saw more than a child’s intelligence. Every part of this place was a test and so too his guide. I apologize.

She smiled in a way that let him know she was not done mocking him. What happened? Did the Iowin Gardeners frighten you?

The Iowin Gardeners? He looked back at the stones as though the bearded men might appear. That is not a fitting name for warriors.

Her young face turned indignant. I named them that. I suppose you would have called them something ugly like the Dark Destroyers. They did not always carry those knives. I named them for the Iowin orchid that they grow for me on this plateau. It only blooms at night, and it is the most beautiful flower in the world. Their grandfathers were peaceful gardeners and their fathers and their fathers for generations, but one day men with the sun on their clothes came through the Stones of First Night. All of my Iowin Gardeners were killed with their wives, and only a few children managed to cross this bridge and hide in the caves. She looked at the bridge before turning a grim smile back on him. The murderers tried to follow, but none of them made it across.

The general glanced back at the Stones of First Night and imagined terrified children running along the same path chased by merciless sun worshippers. The Purging Day. My father was also killed while my mother fled with my sister and me. I have been paying the Koranthians back ever since.

He hoped for some semblance of a bond from their similar stories, but she seemed unmoved as she nodded her head to the long bridge. Are you afraid to cross?

Torn scowled at the curved span. Fear has no place here. He stepped up to continue his journey, but she stopped him with a raised hand.

Take off your boots and leave your weapon here.

He glared at her and grasped the hilt of the Shadow Crescent. This is the sacred Sword of Rone. It does not leave my side.

The girl remained unfazed by his ire. Of course. I meant the knife.

He glanced down to his belt and the matched dagger there. It was a gift from King Valance, along with the scabbard, and had nothing to do with the Shadow Crescent. He sheepishly unbuckled the weapon and handed it to Luna. I apologize. With effort he sat on the ground and pulled off his leather boots. Glancing at the bridge, he removed his socks too and stuffed them in each boot. He struggled to rise, rolled onto one knee, and gasped as pain shot through his body. He grasped at the rock and tried to find enough of a hold to pull up. Failing at that, he unbuckled the Shadow Crescent.

It is no shame to ask for help, General. Despite her words, she offered neither her hand nor her long staff to aid him, and he saw childish amusement dancing in her eyes. He grunted as he used the Sword to stand, pausing to catch his breath, and buckled the Sword back to his belt.

Don’t look down, the girl warned as he started across the bridge, which he discovered was subtly rounded.

He worried about the wind, but the breeze blew over him with barely enough strength to ruffle his hair. Keeping his eyes on the cave ahead of him, he slowly, safely made it across. Looking back with a triumphal grin, he found Luna had vanished. The darkness of the cave looked ominous, and he drew the Shadow Crescent to light his way again as he strode into the cool interior. A subtle light began to glow ahead, and he cautiously stalked towards it. The narrow cave opened to a chamber exposed to the night sky. In the center of the narrow cavern, a large walled pool of liquid glowed with a pulsating light. Standing placidly next to the pool was an old woman in a dark hooded robe, and Torn sheathed the Sword as he approached, picking out more details in the feeble light. Deep wrinkles creased her pale face, and her long hair hung limp and white from under her tattered hood. Her crooked back kept her almost bent over double, and she leaned on a simple wooden staff. Everything about her looked old and worn, but her eyes still shone with cunning.

What do you seek, General? Her voice was high-pitched and decrepit but clear.

He preferred this crone to the mocking girl and kept his tone respectful. I seek the oracle Luna.

She showed him a gap-toothed smile. I am Luna.

Torn glanced around but saw only the rough walls of the cave with no other path but the way he came.

You are the wife of Rone?

She chuckled and nodded.

I have never heard that Rone has two wives.

She laughed harder. No, no, only one wife for the moon god. How soon you little ones forget.

Impatience began to quicken his pulse, but he kept calm. Please, Luna, I have a question only you can answer.

Her withered face grew serious. Ask your question, but Rone will answer you.

Torn collected his thoughts and contemplated his quest. Should I pass the Shadow Crescent on to another or continue to serve as Rone’s champion?

She beckoned him forward, and Torn approached the edge of the walled pool. Something long and sinuous moved under the cloudy water. Faster than he would have guessed, she darted her hand into the pool and pulled out a long wriggling black fish. Holding the creature against the stone rim, she sliced its head off with a knife that he did not see her draw, her staff kept in the crook of her arm. After deftly cutting off a portion of flesh, she tossed the corpse back in the pool. The liquid splashed and churned as other fish tore the body to pieces. Luna held out her dripping hand and the piece of flesh.

Eat, she commanded with a broad smile of crooked yellow teeth and a disturbing gleam in her eye. Torn did not look at the meat as he grabbed it and stuffed the raw piece of fish in his mouth, resisting the urge to spit out the slimy cold mush. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and looked to Luna for what came next. Still smiling, she beckoned, and he followed her to the wall and a deep shadow that obscured another tunnel. She vanished into the dark cave, and once again Torn pulled the Shadow Crescent to walk by its light. He found himself alone but was not surprised. A strange sensation spread over his body as he continued along the tunnel, and the Shadow Crescent left curious trails of light in the air. He did not feel ill, and his steps remained sure. He turned a corner and approached a rectangular wood door with a round white marble handle in the center. Crooked, hand carved symbols marred the rough wood surface, and he leaned closer to identify them. Shocked, he realized they were names and recognized Ekthem’s along some of the priests’ that never returned from this journey. He reached to open the door but changed his mind and knocked on the wood instead.

From the other side a woman’s voice said, Come in, faithful of Rone.

Torn opened the door into a round room lined with red and purple curtains with thick pillows of the same colors that covered the floor. Four ornate sconces spaced evenly on the walls held bright crystals, and he marveled as the colors seemed to swirl and blend together. In the center of the small room was a plain wood stand with a red cloth that covered a round object, and reclining on the pillows next to the stand was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had smooth, flawless cheeks, full scarlet lips against her white skin, piercing eyes, and a straight nose. Her supple black hair reached to her waist, gleaming in the light, and a thin purple cloth covered her from chest to ankles. He sheathed the Shadow Crescent and fell to his knees, captivated by her beauty.

Luna?

She smiled. Of course, Torn.

He gazed at her face, memorizing every perfect line and feature. As a child I sang of your beauty, but that was before the rebellion, before my father was killed. He used to tell me that he would bring me here one day to see you. I never thought I would see you like this.

She sighed and pushed her black hair off one bare shoulder. I used to have many more visitors before the Purging Day. I was beginning to think I was forgotten.

A sudden weariness overtook him, and a few errant tears slid down his weathered cheeks. Our people are losing their way. The church has fallen into the decadence that we once rebelled against, and our enemies hound us at every opportunity. So many look to me to lead us, but after a lifetime of service, my body is old and broken. I was trusted with the Shadow Crescent, but should I pass it on to another?

She looked into his eyes intently. Is that what you want?

I want what Rone wants.

We shall see. Her smile was encouraging.

Tentatively he reached a hand towards her, and she grasped it with firm fingers, coaxing a broad grin from him.

He said, I did not know if you were real. I feel so strange. What kind of fish was that the old woman gave me?

She laughed and the sound filled his heart. That was a moon eel, a boring name, but I did not get to pick that one. I gave it to you to prepare your mind for what you would see.

He blinked and looked around at the small room. What will I see?

She reached slowly with her free hand, grabbing the red cloth over the round object, and he stared at it, waiting for what it would reveal. With a quick tug, she yanked the cloth away, and a bright flash blinded him.

The light faded, and Torn saw a grassy meadow surrounded by forest next to a road of tan bricks. On a patch of churned ground he saw his body with the Shadow Crescent in his grip. He wore a mottled brown and green tunic, and blood spread out from under him though he could see no wounds. He lay there alone without enemies or allies. A shadow loomed over his corpse, and for a moment he could make out the silhouette of a man before the image faded. The vision shifted, and he could see himself standing on a hill overlooking a city with the Shadow Crescent held high. He wore his black-and-silver battle armor without his helmet, and blood dripped from the Sword to his open mouth. The city below him was a majestic mass of tall stone and glass towers and high, thick stone walls surrounded by squalid hovels and slums. The enormous city was wrapped around a narrow curved bay like a parasite, and he recognized the city-state of Huorn. He had visited Huorn, the largest city of old Korance, to guard the king as he signed the treaty that would end the war of rebellion.

The vision faded to a view of a rough rock wall—no, not a wall, the ceiling of the cave. He blinked and saw that his head was resting on Luna’s lap in the red-and-violet room. Gently she helped him sit up, and he took a moment to silently check his body but felt no pain. The red cloth was back on the round thing on the stand.

She stroked his cheek in a motherly way. What did you see?

Torn found his mouth was dry as he answered, I saw my body and, after that, Huorn. I think I was attacking it.

What did you see that answered your question?

He thought for a moment. In both parts of my vision I still held the Shadow Crescent. Yes, that is my answer. He silently stared at his weathered hands.

What else troubles you?

Torn looked into her eyes. Why did Rone wait so long? Why did he make me his champion in this broken old body?

In one fluid motion, she reached to his waist, drew the Shadow Crescent, and held it up to his face before he even had time to flinch. The Sword pulsed with power, and for a moment he feared she would end his life.

She said in a fervent whisper, The Shadow Crescent carries you, not the other way around. Have faith in Rone, General. If it becomes necessary, he will remake you. Now you must go. You have much to do.

She took his hand and wrapped it around the hilt of the Sword. Feeling chastised, he rose shakily to his feet and went to the door.

Turning back to her, he asked, Will you become the old woman and little girl again?

She stretched as she lay back on the pillows, and the cloth came close to sliding down and exposing her breasts though she did not seem to notice.

I was hoping you would see yourself out. You will find the Stones of First Night much less intimidating going back.

Still he hesitated and found one more question. May I return one day?

She sighed, and for a moment he saw sadness in her expression before her smile whisked it away. We will meet again in Rone’s hall, but not in this world.

Torn felt a terrific urge to stay with her, curl up at her feet, and cast his troubles aside. Instead he told her, Good-bye. She waved, and he closed the door and walked back through the cave, passing by the eel pool without looking at it. His steps were quicker over the bridge, and he found his boots and dagger where he left them. He took the time to tug his socks and boots on, but after contemplating the dagger, he set it back on the ground. A gift. You may need it in the days ahead. He did not know if she heard him but did not wait for an answer as he made his way through the Stones of First Night. He hoped the Iowin Gardeners would visit him again, but he did not see them. As Luna promised, he found his way back to the clearing with little trouble and found Glassen alert with the horses.

How long was I gone? Torn asked.

The lieutenant looked at the sky, but his expression was not confident. I cannot give you an accurate time, but over an hour, I’m sure.

Torn waved it off and allowed his aide to help him mount his horse.

Did you have a vision? Glassen asked when he was settled in his saddle.

Yes, we go north.

Lieutenant Glassen scrambled to his horse. North? To where?

Fort Terrace. The general turned his horse and spurred the animal to begin the walk down the cliff.

The ranger headquarters? I will send a message ahead at the next town so that they will know to expect us.

He felt his temper flare again, and he realized he had not missed Glassen at all during his time with Luna. Tell no one! Do not do anything unless I order it. I do not want anyone to know we are coming. He decided that if his aide said one more thing on the ride down, he would send him back to Ronel, but Glassen finally kept his silence. The general brooded and mentally planned out the next part of his journey, but the memory of looking down at his own fresh corpse troubled him.

Chapter 1

The Greenleaf Forest

From: A Brief History of Eirethian Border Rangers

The realm of Eireth is new but bloody. Divided by rebellion from long sustained and cultured Korance, Eirethians are pledged to Rone, the moon god. The call went out from the moon clergy one fateful night sixty years past, year 1735 of Korance. Rone had given his blessing to rise up and form a new land, one dedicated to him and not the sun god Antol, his sister. For over seventeen hundred years, Korance was a single realm, withstanding invasions and nature’s disasters, ruled by the line of queens blessed by Antol and guided by the sun clergy. Yet on that night, called the Purging Night, millions of Koranthians renounced Antol and declared all lands west of the Velsium River the new realm of Eireth ruled by a new king Valance. Korance was now cut in half. For generations the moon worshippers quietly acquired land west of the Velsium and had long prepared defenses for the coming war. The rebellion lasted nine years, killing over a hundred thousand from both sides. The rebels won and praised the promises of Rone and his chosen leader of the conflict, King Valance. Despite his influence and popularity, the king and his nobles were merely vassals. The high castigan of Rone truly ruled Eireth.

Attacks and counterattacks followed with the bitter enemies, and it was said that the Velsium River ran with blood. The fighting was so disastrous for both sides that the largest city in old Korance, Huorn, was able to break free of control from sun or moon. Declaring his own rule of law, the lord of Huorn, Abajon Malker, brokered a peace treaty to return trade and some semblance of normal life to the battle-weary people.

Peace would not last for Eireth, and the Koranthians were not the only enemy. From over the Zegret Mountains in the north, savage Horusk raiders came, attacking new settlers fleeing from the war-torn, tax-ridden south to the pristine expanse of Greenleaf Forest at the feet of the mountains. In the previous centuries the power of Korance held back the savages, but that strength was gone. The barbarians worship the earth god Ulin, and they ravaged to prove their worth through violence.

With his armies still camped along the border with Korance, King Valance was unwilling to commit any forces to fight back this new threat. The settlers found their survival in the surrounding trees. The bark is useless, and the wood is adequate, but the greatest value of the expansive forest is the four-tipped leaves, typically as large as a man’s hand. In skilled hands, the thin durable fibers that the leaves yield can be used to make many things from paper to clothing. Harvesting the leaves and clearing the thick trees provided some measure of prosperity for the beleaguered northerners, and many travelled the long roads to begin life over at the foothills of the Zegret Mountains.

Weapons and armor began to flow north with tool shipments, but as the resistance increased, so too did the attacks. Defense became no longer adequate, and with the king’s blessing the settlers formed squads of rangers to patrol the heavily forested foothills of the mountains, protecting their own homes and families. Vastly outnumbered, the rangers used tactics of stealth and cunning to keep the invaders back, quickly gaining fame for bravery and skill. May Rone continue to bless them.

Archivist Priestess Caella Ankar, Year 58

Hunting in the forest was a dangerous life, and Savek had been doing it for six years. Beneath the soaring branches of a tall, straight Greenleaf tree, the ranger captain squatted in the mud between two gnarled roots as rain sprinkled down through the thick verdant canopy. What caught his experienced eye was a small depression in the otherwise smooth earth. Savek held one hand up as a signal for the rest of his squad to stop as he used his other to push his hood back from his straight black hair and moderate features. Leaning down, his black eyes, piercing and attentive, took in the broken edges of the small dent, and he recognized it as a boot print. He studied the area around him but saw no other marks among the damp twigs and fallen green leaves quickly decaying to useless brown. That concerned him. Any hunter or leaf picker out in this area would leave an obvious path without worrying about who might come after.

The steady drizzle gave the forest around him a constant buzz, and nothing stirred among the surrounding trunks except his squad of nineteen other rangers watching every angle with alert eyes. Their skin was pale from living in the shadows of trees, and their hair was a mixture of browns, blonds, and reds. Their uniforms helped them blend in with the forest, mottled green and brown deer-hide tunics, hoods up to keep the rain off their necks. A symbol of a sword crossed against a bow in black thread on their chests was their only insignia, and Savek’s rank as squad captain was marked with a circle around it. Hanging from their belts were short swords in leather sheathes, and steady hands kept their bows ready if needed. Full quivers were strapped to their backs next to supply packs carrying everything they required for their sparse lifestyle.

Savek yanked his hood forward as he rose to his average height of five foot ten inches, but the crown of his head did not even reach the shoulder of his fair-haired tracker standing next to him. The tallest man Savek had ever seen, Jeuf had an easy smile, cheerful green eyes, bushy eyebrows, and curly blond beard. He and Jeuf grew up friends in the village of Fallinswell by Kedderly Lake, a few hours’ walk from where they now patrolled. They had long since moved on from swimming the Ked and daring each other to climb the tallest trees to hunting down murderers rain or shine.

See if you can find any more. We’ll hold here, Savek ordered softly, and Jeuf nodded before silently stalking through the forest with a fluid grace.

Far from the polite society and religious politics of places like the capital Ronel, rangers lived and died on knowing where their enemy was before being discovered themselves. All too quickly the quiet forest could fill