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Meralon felt he'd been done a great injustice. The Commandant had assigned a younger Ranger named Gilan to Norgate Fief—his fief—for no valid reason. Meralon was better equipped to manage such a vital fief than a younger, greener Ranger. No matter his protests, Crowley was adamant Gilan could handle it.
The recent rains didn't improve his mood. The further south he went, the wetter it became. Miserably, he pulled his cloak tighter around him, dreading the next two days of travel. The only good thought was the village ahead of him and the prospect of a warm, dry night.
Soon, he saw the lights peeking between the trees as night fell. To his utter relief, there was an inn at the end of the street. He stabled his horse and took a moment to thank the gods for his fortune. Eagerly, he walked inside, unable to help the satisfied smile on his face when he was greeted with a wave of warmth.
The innkeeper noticed him almost immediately. When a Ranger walks into your inn, it's hard to do anything but notice.
“Good evening, sir!” He, like any other peasant, was unnerved by Rangers. Still, he wasn't about to be rude to such an important authority figure. “What can I get you?”
“A room.” Meralon was quick and to the point. He wanted nothing more than to lie down on a comfortable bed and sleep the rest of the night.
“Of course, of course.” The innkeeper hurriedly produced a set of keys for a room and placed them on the bar. Meralon snatched it up.
“How much?”
“It's half a silver crown for one night. Two crowns for an entire day, and an extra crown for any addit—”
“I'll take it.” Meralon fished out a few copper pennigs and tossed it on the bar. “Room number?”
“Four.”
Meralon turned on his heel and walked to the stairs, already feeling sleepy when the innkeeper's hesitant voice called out to him.
“Um, sir?”
Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, he turned a withering look on the innkeeper. “What?”
“Err, well, it's just—you're a Ranger, and we, uh, the village, I mean, has a problem, and I was wondering if you'd be able to fix it?”
Meralon stared at him for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. "What?" It wasn't posed as a question but as a warning not to waste his time.
“Someone's been stealing food!” the innkeeper burst out. “From nearby farms and the village itself. It's become a problem, and farmer's crops have gone missing, and—”
“I'll look into it tomorrow." He started up the stairs, ignoring the innkeeper's relieved proclaims of gratitude behind him. Once in the comfort of his own room, he removed his boots, weapons, and gear, draping his cloak over the single chair. Once he was in bed, he fell asleep in minutes.
By the following day, he was feeling more refreshed and, after dressing, headed downstairs. The innkeeper from last night perked up when he saw him and actually smiled at him. Meralon scowled in return as he handed the key back.
“I'm glad to see you, Ranger! The village is beyond grateful for your help, and—”
“Excuse me?”
“With whoever's been stealing food. Many farmers were relieved to hear—”
As the innkeeper continued babbling, Meralon tried to recall the events of last night. There was a quick interaction with the fool of an innkeeper, and now he remembered. He did agree to help, didn't he? For a moment, he was tempted to tell the innkeeper there was somewhere important he needed to be, but then he remembered his unfair dismissal from Norgate and decided his new fief would be just fine without his presence for a few days.
“Right.” He snatched the room key back from the innkeeper. “I’ll need the names of everyone who was stolen from.” After questioning them, he'd be able to go from there.
The innkeeper rattled off a few names, which Meralon wrote down. He excused himself as politely as he felt possible and went to find the people on the list. The first name was a farmer who grew different grains and would sell them to the markets, mills, and livestock farmers. Nothing much was stolen from him, only small handfuls barely noticeable from the harvest. Meralon dismissed him and moved on.
Second on the list was Denver Hue. He was notably better off than most farmers and owned quite a lot of land, divided into sections for growing different crops. He even employed young men to help work the fields.
Meralon sought him out and found the man working a soy field with two young men.
“I'm Ranger Meralon,” he introduced himself. “And you're Denver Hue?”
Denver, a man in his late forties, nodded. “Aye. Erwan said a Ranger was investigating the thefts.”
Meralon assumed Erwan was the annoying innkeeper and silently cursed the man for his large mouth. “How much has gone missing?”
“More than the others. It's been mostly vegetables, you know, carrots and potatoes. Beans and cabbages from my wife's garden, too.”
“Hmm. Anything else?”
“No, just that.”
“How much goes missing?” Meralon repeated his earlier question.
“I'd say a few vegetables every week or two. Usually happens on Sixday or Sevenday. I've tried everything I can think of to stop it. Added more locks. Got a guard dog. I sometimes have the farmhands watch the fields at night. Nothing ever works. By now, I don't really mind. It's just a few vegetables; they're hardly missed.”
“Is there anything else? Anyone who might do this?”
Denver rubbed his chin, thinking. “I don't rightly know,” he said finally. “But I don't think it's personal. Probably just some sorry old sap trying to get by, ya know?”
“Well, come find me if anything else comes up.” Meralon couldn’t be bothered to invest more of his time here and left the farm, intending to find out more.
Meralon questioned everyone on the list one by one. By late afternoon, he’d finished. There wasn’t much to suggest who might be stealing food, but he noticed one thing—a pattern. From what he could tell, the thief would hit half the farmers one week and the other half the following week, further dividing the halves into two and getting them on the last two days of the week.
If this pattern was correct, Denver's farm would be next. Sixday was in two days. Until then, he would stick around the village and hope for the best.
The next day passed fairly quickly, although Meralon was bored out of his mind. He busied himself by looking over Denver's farm and decided it was the best place to ambush the thief, as it offered more places to conceal himself. He planned it out, and he was ready by nightfall the next day.
%%%
No one came. Meralon waited all night, ghosting from pool of shadows to the next. Nothing. He hated the cramps in his muscles but knew if the thief didn't come, they'd definitely show up the next night.
Another slow, dull day ticked by, with Meralon spending most of it in his room asleep or looking out the window.
As night fell on Sevenday, Meralon was in position. He was, of course, watching the fields from the woods, already irritated at the extra day of waiting. The moon was almost full and shone down on the land, with barely enough light to see through the dark. He hoped it would be enough to catch the thief. No one would be out on the fields, as Meralon had explicitly told Denver not to post any farmhands as acting guards. The fools would only get in his way and make his job more difficult.
Patience had never been his strong suit, but as a Ranger, it was necessary. The minutes became hours, and he spotted movement in the darkest hour of early morning.
A dark figure emerged from the trees at the wheat field’s edge. Meralon spotted it almost instantly. He watched as the figure drew nearer, edging towards the farmhouse. As it passed, he moved closer, positioning himself behind the thief. The vegetable garden lay beside the house, and the thief crept to it.
Just as the figure reached the garden, he stood from his hiding spot, an arrow on the bowstring.
“Don't move!” he called.
For a moment, the figure paused, then slowly turned to face him. The hood didn't hide the thief's youthful face, a young boy in his teens.
“King's Ranger,” Meralon said curtly. “You're under arrest. Throw me your knives and raise your hands.”
He gestured toward the two hunting knives strapped to the boy's waist. Several seconds passed. The boy didn't move and stared back at him.
Meralon threateningly pulled the bowstring back, and the boy stiffened. The air lay heavy with tension, and then the boy moved.
Turning, he bolted across the garden, aiming to disappear into the forest. Without hesitation, Meralon aimed and shot. The arrow leaped from the string and cut through the air, slamming into its target. With a scream of pain, the boy's leg collapsed beneath him, and he landed heavily on the ground.
Meralon was beside him in a flash and restrained the boy's flailing arms. He fished out the daggers, tossing them to the side. His hand clamped down on the boy's arm tightly, and he dragged him to his feet. The boy stumbled and, when he was standing, aimed a fist at Meralon. The blow was deflected easily; thus, Meralon missed the second one, which caught him in the stomach.
He grunted from the impact and grabbed the hand responsible, pinning it behind the boy's back.
“You'll pay for that,” he hissed and walked to the road, the injured boy in tow. He had no sympathy for him. Meralon wouldn't have needed to shoot him if he had simply given up without resistance.
Once at the road, Meralon whistled for his horse, who came trotting up to the Ranger. He bound the boy's wrists with leather cuffs and swung up into the saddle.
Despite Meralon's questions on the way back, the boy remained silent and focused on walking with an injured leg. He didn't seem too bothered by the wound, as a limp was the only indication of a wound.
When he arrived, the village was shrouded in darkness. The inn was one of the few buildings with light shining through the windows. After a moment's thought, Meralon dismounted and hauled the boy inside the inn, ignoring his yelp of pain.
Erwan glanced up when he entered, and a nervous smile crossed his face. “Ranger! You're back! With…” his voice trailed off.
“The thief.” Meralon was already annoyed at the innkeeper. “Is there any room suitable to hold him in?”
The innkeeper nodded. “There's two with no windows and sturdy doors. Only one is available, room six.”
Meralon held out his hand, and the innkeeper gave him the key. “Find someone to treat the leg,” he ordered and went up to the room. He hauled the boy inside and quickly searched the interior, checking the security of the door. Satisfied, he left the boy inside. He highly doubted he'd be able to escape, and he was too tired to bother with anything else.
He grabbed an apple from the inn's pantry and went outside, leading his horse to the stable and relieving her of her burden. The saddle and tack went into the nearby room, and he measured a portion of grain and filled her bucket. Using his saxe knife, he cut the apple into slices and mixed it into the grain. His horse nickered her appreciation and began eating.
Meralon glanced at the stable door, and seeing no one, he stretched out a hand to scratch the spot behind her ear. The horse's head came up and reached for him. He double-checked the entrance once more and then softly rubbed her muzzle. She stood still, then moved away to finish her meal.
He left the stable and returned inside, where the innkeeper introduced him to an older woman named Laila, the village's unofficial healer.
“I couldn't care less if you're a baroness in disguise,” Meralon snapped, giving her the key. “Just make sure he doesn't die. Wake me when you're done.”
He went to his room, grateful to have a bed once more. Once his eyes closed, he drifted off to sleep within minutes.
Nearly half an hour later, he was awakened by knocking at the door. Thoroughly annoyed, he opened the door more violently than needed and glowered at Laila. “What?”
“I've cleaned up the wound and bandaged it. No permanent damage. It should heal in a few weeks.”
“Good. Where's the key?”
She gave it to him, and he grabbed it, briefly turning to toss it on the chair. “Did you lock the door back?”
“Yes, but—”
Meralon started to close the door, but Laila stuck a foot through it and forced it back open.
“I think you should know; he's a she.”
The Ranger paused from trying to close the door forcefully. “What?”
“Your thief is a girl. I thought it best to tell you.” She stepped back, allowing the door to close. Meralon did so. Although this new information was surprising, it didn’t necessarily change anything, and he was still too tired to think. He fell back into bed and went to sleep.
Another day, another morning. Meralon would drop the thief off at the castle and let them deal with her. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and quickly collected his belongings, getting dressed. He unlocked the door the thief was in and opened it to the silence of an empty room.
He paused, sharp eyes sweeping the room. He hadn't bothered to post anyone as a guard, confident she couldn't escape. Not in her state. And yet, she had. The wrist cuffs were discarded on the floor, and the door was locked. How did she do it? He cursed himself and quickly left the inn, surveying the land around it.
The thief left tracks on the muddy ground, clear as the rainfall from the past few days. He quickly saddled his horse, now angry at the damn thief for wasting even more of his time.
He left the village behind him, following her trail. She had taken the road heading deeper into the wilderness, and when she deviated from the path, so did he.
Now, on foot, he pursued her as quickly as possible. She was injured enough to incapacitate her. Meralon knew, without a doubt, that he'd catch up soon. The tracks went southwest, deeper into the forest, and retreated further from civilization.
Meralon paused to make sense of the trail. The tracks were less deep, meaning she had slowed to a walk and then stopped altogether. The thief had met up with a large group of men. Accomplices? He narrowed his eyes angrily at the tracks, knowing he'd have to turn around and retrace his steps, ride to the castle, and give them the details of the large group.
He stood, brushed off his knees, and turned around. An arrow sailed out of the undergrowth, flying past his head too close for comfort. In a flash, he laid an arrow on the bowstring and sent it in the direction the first one came from.
"You're surrounded!" a voice called from behind him. "You best surrender now, Ranger!"
Meralon looked towards the voice, seeing men through the thicket of the underbrush. He breathed out sharply in anger. How could he not have seen a large group of men? Or hear them coming? Two held crossbows aimed at him. They looked like petty criminals, not the type to get the upper hand on a Ranger.
"Drop your weapons," the leader ordered. He was a large man in his late thirties with a balding head and thick eyebrows that gave him a cruel look.
Seething with fury at himself, Meralon complied. He tossed down his bow and knives and, with urging from the leader, his quiver of arrows. One of the men bound his wrists behind him with rope.
"First a girl, now a Ranger. The woods sure are getting popular this time of year." A smile stretched across the leader's face. "Take him back to camp."
Over half an hour of walking brought the bandits and their prisoner to the camp. It was nestled even further into this cursed forest. As ironic as it sounded, a wagon served as a temporary jail for these criminals. A figure was already chained to one of the wagon's front wheels. As Meralon drew closer, he recognized the thief.
One of the men shoved him down beside her and unchained the girl, using it on the Ranger instead. He settled down, seemingly unbothered by his capture. The bandit took out a sturdy rope and bound the girl, tying her back to the wagon.
The leader stood over the two of them, smiling leisurely. "We're certainly going to have fun with the two of you." He laughed, as did the nearby men.
Meralon shot him a withering look and shifted to an upright position, grateful to have a dry place to sit. "You're going to regret this," he spat, eyes ablaze with fury.
The bandits laughed with mirth again.
"Oh?" The leader crouched in front of Meralon and reached out to grab his chin. The Ranger jerked his head away, glaring at him. "What will you do, chained up like a mangy dog?"
Meralon scowled but didn't reply. In truth, he had no idea. He was without his weapons, tied up, and no one around to lend a hand. The odds were stacked against him.
The leader smiled coyly, knowing he had won the conversation. He stood and stepped in front of the girl. She shrank away from him, watching him carefully. The leader regarded her for a moment, then leaped forward without warning. She startled badly and tried to scramble away from him under the wagon.
He roared with laughter and backed off, a delighted grin on his face. A nearby bandit, small with thin arms and a mouse-like face, came forward and drew his sword. He poked the girl with it, grinning. She edged away from him, closer to Meralon. Annoyed, he lashed out at her, making her freeze, caught between two men.
The leader chuckled and turned, walking away. The mousy man retreated, and the group of watching bandits dispersed. The girl reclaimed her original position, far away from Meralon.
Other men watched him curiously from a distance. They'd never come into close contact with a Ranger, and now one was chained up in their camp. If they were any closer, Meralon would've spat on them.
He surveyed the camp, counting the number of men, evaluating who was who, and noting the location of anything important. The girl regarded him silently, wary.
His observation complete, he glared menacingly down at the girl, who stared back. "This is your fault," he growled out in anger. She would already be at the castle if she hadn't bothered to escape, and he'd be well on his way. More than likely, she wouldn't be killed but instead jailed for several weeks and later released to work at the castle for a year or two.
And then she escaped, and not only was she captured, he was too. The girl picked up on his sour mood and turned away, drawing her knees to her chest and leaning against the front wagon wheel. Grumbling, Meralon propped himself on the back wheel, legs sprawled out comfortably.
Several hours later, in the early afternoon, the leader of the ragtag band of criminals returned. He paced in front of his prized prisoner with an ecstatic smile. A Ranger made a sound bargaining chip and held significant value.
"What're you doing so far into these remote woods?" The bandit leader asked, lips twisting into a taunting sneer.
"Chasing a thief," Meralon answered, seeing no reason to keep silent.
"Oh, you mean this pretty little thing?" The man knelt in front of the girl, who backed away. He reached out and grabbed her chin to better look at her. "If I were as lonely as you Rangers are bound to be, I would've done the same!"
As the men laughed, Meralon gritted his teeth and ignored the comment. He was above these damned idiots.
"What do you want from me?" The Ranger scanned the leader's face, trying to read his response.
"Well, the funny thing is," the man stood and scratched his chin, "I don't know yet. After all, we're a rather small family of honest, hardworking folks and don't need anything from a Ranger. 'Course, except for you to stay outta our way, but that's already been taken care of."
More laughter.
"In fact," the leader continued, "I think instead we're gonna have some real fun with the two of you. Especially you," he said, leaning down to ruffle the girl's hair. She jerked back from his hand, looking both scared and threatening.
The bandit leader withdrew and sauntered away, laughing. The men dispersed, casting lustful gazes at the girl and hateful glares at the Ranger. Meralon was glad they were gone but remained tense. Somehow, he doubted that the men's idea of fun correlated with his own.
He observed the bandits the rest of the day, his sharp eyes picking up every detail. He was sure something would happen by nighttime, judging by the constant looks the bandits would shoot their way. Their eyes were more drawn to the girl than him, but he still got his fair share of angry looks.
Sometime later, by evening, one of the men did make a move. It was the same mouse-faced bandit from before. He approached the girl with a hungry look, his motive clear. Meralon and the girl interpreted it well enough as she retreated under the wagon, and when the man moved around it, she shifted closer to the Ranger.
This time, he didn't bother snapping at her, instead settling his glare on the man who ignored the Ranger entirely. The man smiled excitedly and reached under the wagon for the girl. She lunged forward, aiming a blow at him, and simultaneously dodged his attack. Still, the mouse-faced bandit managed to grab her wrist and started to drag her out.
Meralon stiffened and watched the man move, his steely eyes cutting into the bandit. The man tugged the girl out from under the wagon while she struggled. The bandit was small, with thin arms, and keeping her under control was difficult. Fortunately for the girl, the commotion drew the leader’s attention, and he stormed over to yell at the mousy man.
While the leader made it clear that the girl apparently belonged to him, she escaped under the shelter of the wagon and watched the bandits warily as they withdrew back to the center of camp.
Silence fell, and Meralon settled back down, satisfied that nothing had happened. He watched the trees sway in the gentle wind and admired the brilliant orange color of the sunset gleaming between them.
When night fell, he was grateful, as now the wait was over. Waiting for something to happen almost drove him over the edge.
Lanterns flickered in the chilly breeze, casting dim light around the camp. Two men passed the prisoners, grinning like idiots and glancing at the girl. She watched them go, then turned her back on Meralon. He couldn't see what she was doing, and after a moment, she stood on unsteady legs. The rope fell to the ground, and she started to limp away.
Meralon stared after her, stunned. Seconds later, he realized she was escaping, and he was still sitting here chained to a wagon.
"Hey! Wait!" He didn't dare raise his voice too loud, but enough, the girl paused and glanced back at him.
He held up his hand, indicating the chains that bound him. "Do something about this!"
In hindsight, he wasn't sure what she could do about it, but then she turned, completely ignoring him.
"Wait, come back! Please!"
She paused mid-step.
He felt a worm of humiliation in his gut but ignored it and forced the words from his mouth. "Please, I need your help."
The girl stopped and looked back at him.
"I don't know what they plan to do to me, but it won't be pleasant." As he said it, a snake of fear reared its head when it fully registered that if the bandits had no genuine need of him, they would hurt him as much as they possibly could and keep him alive for months to do it.
Ransoming him would be useless. The King would leave him to the wolves to avoid paying the outlaws a large sum of money. And when he thought about it, he knew he wasn't the most popular Ranger. Crowley and the rest of the Corps would ignore the ransom and leave him to his fate. The melancholy thought felt like a knife had been driven through his heart. He ignored the stab of pain and refocused on the girl.
"Please." He absolutely hated how his voice cracked with desperation.
Moments later, she made up her mind. She kneeled beside him, withdrew lockpicks from her ragged boot, and set to work. Seconds later, he was free.
Relieved, he stood, and together they made for the woods, disappearing into the low-lying bushes and small trees. They moved quickly and didn't stop for a long time, heading toward the village.
When they approached the road, not far from where Meralon left his horse, the girl veered away from it. Meralon caught the action in the corner of his eye and lunged, grabbing the girl's arm. She yelped in pain as she was forced to put weight on her injured leg to prevent herself from falling.
She regained her balance, looking up at him. The only sounds in the silent forest were the musical chorus of crickets and a distant owl. Seconds passed. The right thing to do was to bring the girl to the castle and notify the Ranger of the bandits hiding in the forest.
However, when it came down to it, she was no more than a child trying to survive. She could have left him, as he'd been the one to shoot her, and she knew she was risking her own freedom to free him. But she went back for him anyway.
After a moment's pause, Meralon let her go and stepped back. The girl looked at him and then turned, vanishing into the shadows. Meralon sighed, knowing he would have to tell the Ranger about the girl anyway. He walked down the road and soon came upon his horse waiting patiently.
As he swung into the saddle, the horse's ears flicked back in annoyance. Meralon muttered an apology for taking so long and patted the horse's neck, promising her an apple the first chance he got. She forgave him instantly, and he directed her away from the village, pressing on to the fief's castle.
He turned in the saddle, giving the forest one last look, and silently wished the girl luck. They both had a long way to go.