Ranger of Kings (William of Alamore Series Book 1) Read online

  Ranger of Kings

  Book One in the William of Alamore Series

  C. J. R. Isely

  Copyright © 2020 Cateline Isely

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7346674-0-0

  ISBN-10: 1-7346674-0-0

  Printed in the United States of America

  For my parents, Jeter and Nina, who have not only taught us to pursue what we love but supported our crazy dreams along the way.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  PROLOGUE

  The night was cold, a light rain adding to the chill. A man, his black hair damp, stood beneath an outcrop of rock and waited, his thick brown cloak drawn tightly around him for warmth. His black eyes watched, his already tried patience beginning to fray from the tension and lack of sleep.

  He wasn’t used to being kept waiting, especially by the man he was expecting to meet. What could have happened? Shifting, he swallowed bitter worries, his expression remaining calm, almost to the point of cool and uncaring. Then, at last, what he had been waiting for appeared through the darkness.

  The tall hooded figure, a sword hilt glinting at one side, ducked beneath the stony ledge. The new-comer put a hand beneath the black hood long enough to wipe away the water that was dripping from his own hair. Adjusting the hood low again, he straightened to his full height, silent and expecting.

  “Much longer and I’d have left,” the first man snapped. A pang of guilt ran through him almost immediately. He wasn’t used to having the anger and tense feeling he had now and fought to return his voice to a civil tone. The hooded man bent into a clearly grudging bow, and the feeling of guilt intensified.

  “I’m very sorry, my King,” the first man did not miss the slightly arrogant way in which the title was said, “The change in time hadn’t been relayed until I got back to the castle. We are just lucky I crossed paths with Sir Ross before I had finished putting the mare away.”

  The King waved his hand impatiently for the man to straighten. He ran a hand through his hair. “Thornten’s threatening to attack Bronswick if they don’t switch their allegiance from us to them, so I was called to an unexpected council. But that isn’t the point at the moment. I have a task for you. I need information and possibly to act soon, depending on what you find out about this. The suspicions I have could impact more than just myself and I can only hope they’re wrong. I wouldn’t want to be the King to be faced with this decision.”

  “What is it, Revlan?”

  The King managed a small smile at the sound of his own name. It was barely used anymore. He was just King to most, a title that had become a secondary name.

  Shaking away the moment, he hushed to a whisper so low that the hooded man had to lean in closer. The two tall men stood in the shelter as the rain started to fall harder, speaking for hours. The King’s face, pale in the gathering dark, was drawn as they stepped apart.

  “I will see what I can do, King, but I can’t promise anything. It seems the logical thing would be to seal the passage there completely. I can’t know for sure unless I were to enter-” the hooded man started.

  “Don’t,” the King said, his voice a low warning. “You know the laws around this,”

  The hooded man snorted, turning away. “Watch what outdated things you choose to honor, Revlan, they might still come back to haunt us.”

  And, without any further farewell, he ducked out from the stony outcrop and into the dark storm raging beyond.

  The rain sent mud into the air and all over the King’s cloak as he stepped from the safety of the ledge, pulling his own hood low. His body ached from standing still so long and he focused on the uneven ground. It was only as he reached the edge of the outcrop that the hairs on the back of his neck stood. An icy cold feeling that had nothing to do with the raging of the storm ran down his spine.

  The hooded man may have left but he knew he was not alone. His eyes scanned the darkness, seeking any shape that seemed unusual. The advantage to these stones was that there was no easy path for a horseman to follow and the storm had given cover from those on foot…or so he had hoped.

  A noise, faint through the rain and wind, confirmed his fears. The slightest sound of shifting feet behind him and to his left, along a waist-high boulder. Someone had managed to follow him and they too were trying to leave unnoticed.

  He shifted silently to face the rock before he lunged, hand snatching through the air. There was a squeak of fear and surprise as his hand caught the solid feel of a shirt. With an arm made strong from years of battle, he lifted the figure and dropped the small body at his feet.

  His heart seemed to freeze as the boy hit the earth, head striking hard, and lay still. Bending down quickly, the King felt for the pulse in the pale throat. It was there! He breathed again, relief washing over him. This boy couldn’t be any older than the pages at the castle, ten or so. Not old enough to die for being in the wrong place.

  Disgust and faint pity surged through the King as he rolled up the boy’s sleeve and saw the raw and crudely branded T burned into his wrist. This was pathetic. The boy couldn’t be more than ten years old! He wasn’t old enough to be a spy!

  They send a boy to spy, they are growing weaker in numbers. If they attack, we can fight off their numbers even with any advantages they have within our walls. But if they are able to get relief from Thornten…he grimaced, shaking the thought from his mind.

  He hoisted the boy into his arms, his face drawn. He couldn’t kill this child. The barbarism that had sent a child in a man’s place was the same type of leader he had sworn to never be. Reaching the final stones, where they met with the forest, the King whistled a low note and sheltered under heavy branches to wait.

  A blue roan stallion, head held low, ears flattened, came from the far side of the outcrop. The massive animal’s sides filth covered, he skidded to a stop, spraying the King’s cloak wi
th more mud. The stallion turned his mighty head to the King, as if seeking approval, his ears perked.

  “Took longer than last time, Talloe,” the King commented, smirking.

  The horse flicked back its ears and snorted. Chuckling at Talloe’s antics, the King slung the boy over the back of the saddle. As he lifted himself, another sense of dread shot through him. The King’s hand gripped his pocket, an old habit he’d had since his father’s death, since the responsibility of the country and castle had fallen on him. Even through the fabric of his tunic, the prongs of the key stabbed into his palm and his shoulders relaxed slightly. Still, something unsettled him. Even Talloe shifted, suddenly uneasy.

  The boy could not be the only one.

  “Talloe,” he hissed. The horse’s ears flicked back again to catch the words. He didn’t need to say anything else, only tense his heels lightly. The animal sprang forward, the King ducking low to avoid the few branches between them and the open space as he clutched the boy in the saddle. Behind him, he could hear the eerie human cry of frustration.

  It wasn’t until he knew they were not being pursued, that he reined the roan in and spun. At the edge of the trees, he saw the faintest shadow of a horseman, lone and dark, flit back into the woods. “Well, old Talloe,” he said quietly, patting the stallion’s neck, “I would be willing to bet money that that there is not the Ranger.”

  His hand drifted to his pocket again, his mouth turning down. I would stake my claim to the castle that rider isn’t from Alamore or Thornten. It would seem we are too late to stop him reaching Tollien. Turning Talloe once more, away from the rider, he urged the horse forward. They galloped too quickly for the dark terrain, but he couldn’t bring himself to slow. He could only try to outrace what he knew was already happening, the boy in the saddle in front of him bobbing with the movement of the war.

  ***

  The King clattered over the drawbridge and pulled Talloe to a halt in the courtyard. The castle, Alamore, towered overhead, dark in the stormy night, illuminated for a moment as lightning broke the sky. It was a familiar safe haven to the King; stone walls built to withstand armies; towers high enough for archers to see across the valleys surrounding. He had lived here his entire life and yet the size still struck him at times, like now, as impressive. Around him, stable hands rushed to the barns to move horses from their outdoor runs into the shelter of the barns.

  “Vonnic!” the King yelled, his hair plastered to his forehead as he slid off the stallion and pulled off his drenched hood.

  A small man in a brown cloak appeared, lantern held high in one pale hand. His slightly squashed face was lined with freckles and his sandy hair was plastered to his pale cheeks. His features and mannerisms strongly reminded the King of those of a pig as the short man sloshed through mud, wiping his nose on his lantern free sleeve.

  “Yes, King, you called?” his voice even sounded like a squeal as he tried to shelter under the stallion’s neck to hide from the rain.

  “Bring my horse to the barn. Walk him out and give him warm water. I don’t want him getting colic. Mind you blanket him too, he’s soaked.”

  “Yes, my King.”

  He handed the reins to Vonnic, noting how Talloe shifted with unease and arched away from the small man. Before they could start toward the barn, the King used one arm to pull the boy from Talloe’s saddle. He hoisted the still form over his shoulder and strode for the black double doors of the castle.

  He reached his hand out for the elegantly twisted handled but was forced to step back as the doors were flung open. Framed before him was the silhouette of a man. He was broad-shouldered and built like the fighter he was. His brown hair fell forward over his forehead and his dark blue, nearly black eyes, caught the light of the torches that lined the entry hall behind him.

  “King! I had no idea you were back yet. Sir Richard heard and I was going to ride out and find you and the Ranger,” said the knight in his familiar growl. Still, the King caught the edge of strain in the words.

  “Word of what, Ross?” the King stiffened, pulling the boy further into his arms and pushing past Sir Ross, into the shelter of the castle.

  “Sir Don has had to leave for Bronswick castle and he took fifteen mounted soldiers as well. I told him to take more, but he wouldn’t listen. Bronswick’s been ambushed and, you know as well as I, they can’t hold out for any length of time. They don’t have the stomach for a fight,” Sir Ross’s face held barely concealed contempt. “Sir Laster’s betting that they’ll sign over allegiance before the night’s over if we don’t act. And, as much as I don’t like to agree with Laster, I would bet that he’s right.”

  “Don’t go betting anything yet, Sir Ross. Muster fifty more soldiers, I will deal with the knights. We need them on horses and only lightly armored if we plan to get there before dawn. This weather might slow us down but we’ll have to push the animals. They can’t sign over their allegiance that easily,” The King faltered as the boy in his arms moaned. Both men looked down, Ross’s eyebrows raising in surprise.

  “Do I even dare ask?” Ross growled, looking at the King.

  The King held the boy’s arm out for the knight to see the raw brand and Ross’s jaw visibly tightened. “He was waiting to listen to the Ranger and me. But he’s so young and…” he watched the knight’s eyes soften, his expression turning sad for the briefest moment. “Ross, can you take him to the dungeons? At least until I am here to take care of him and…”

  Ross took the boy from the King’s arms. “I’ll be sure he’s taken care of and then I’ll get the soldiers set to ride,” he adjusted the boy in his arms and wheeled round, heading toward one of the doors leading off the entry hall.

  The King watched Ross push his shoulder against the door and listened to the echo of boots fading down stone stairs. He inhaled deeply, looking around the entry hall, his cloak dripped onto the stone floor. Unfastening it, he threw it over his arm. His rich sapphire and silver tunic were also drenched and clung to his chest and arms.

  He walked through the entry hall, passing doorways on either side and the lines of flickering torches. At the end of the hall, the King pulled open another set of double doors that matched the first, letting them thud lightly off the stone walls of the corridor.

  The hall beyond was massive, dimly lit with torches in their brackets and the dying embers in the massive fireplaces along one wall. Large windows were set between the fireplaces, their shutters pulled and locked against the chaos of the storm. More doors, less grand than the one he had entered through, lined the walls. The only other set of double doors was across the hall, at the very back, with a large bolt drawn across them.

  The room felt strangely empty, with only a round table set to his left and, in the center of the room, a heavy built wood table. This larger table was lined with plain wooden chairs, but at the head of the table was a beautifully carved chair, throne-like in its craftsmanship. Gold leaf, though sparingly used, accentuated the engravings. It clearly was the work of a master, strong and still so beautiful. He smiled slightly; memories of his father seated in that chair running through his mind.

  Shaking his head to empty it of such recollections, he continued to the far end of the hall, through the furthest door to the right of the hall. This room was dark, lit only by the occasional candle, set at intervals between lines of beds. He moved quietly down the hall between the two rows, glancing at the sleeping forms of squires and feeling all too aware of the number of empty cots. He considered waking them, telling them to prepare their knights’ horses. They’d have to get up no matter. He hesitated then continued. He could let them get a few more minutes of sleep, of dreaming of being knights, while he told his knights what was needed.

  He walked into the next room, being sure to shut the door silently, and looked around the large circular room. This room, despite the late hour, was full of light, torches flaring to make up for the lack of windows. Knights leaned back in chairs talking quietly, enjoying the squire free time they
had until they needed to go to their own chambers to sleep.

  “Ah King, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” laughed a gangly black-haired man, placing a card carefully on the tower he was building on an empty table. He was slighter built than Sir Ross, his lean muscles giving him the accurate appearance of a fast opponent. But, leaning his chair back on its hind legs, a grin on his open face, it was hard for the King to think of this man as a swift asset on the battlefield.

  “No. It’s news from Sir Ross about Bronswick.”

  “Damn,” the grin slid from his face and the muscles tensed along his jaw. “What kind of news? And why do I feel like I won’t like it?” The King felt the eyes of the other knights turn to him as they fell silent, the room suddenly full of tension.

  “Castle Bronswick has been ambushed by Thornten. Sir Don has taken fifteen mounted soldiers to aid them. We all know that they’ll sign themselves to Thornten if we don’t act. Wake your squires. Have them saddle your horses and help you with your armor. Ride as light as you’re comfortable. I don’t want to break down the horses,” The King hesitated, looking around the room at the stunned faces. His eyes fastened on one of his most trusted knights, a tall, light brown-haired, stubble darkening his jaw, man with an arrogant look of disgust on his handsome face.

  “Sir Laster will hold the castle until our return. Thornten may be using Bronswick as a distraction to mount a second attack on us. I’ll ride with those headed to Bronswick; in case our fair-weathered King there needs consoling.”

  No one moved for a long second then Rockwood sprang to his feet, knocking the table and sending cards flying in all directions. No one bothered with staying quiet anymore as they bolted into the adjacent room, yelling at the resting boys to move. The King and Sir Laster brought up the rear, Sir Laster giving the King a meaningful look.

  “I’m not certain that us defending Bronswick again is going to keep them from changing sides,” Laster’s lip twitched in a sneer. “They haven’t a backbone.”