Chapter 128


    Back to the Woods


    “Bullshit there’s a ferrax out there this close to the keep,” Rusk, one of Kashin’s rangers, scoffed. He was the Scout Captain, lean as a greyhound, with a wiry frame that looked like it could snap, but Rowan suspected he was all iron underneath. Kashin wouldn’t have put a man in that position unless he could handle himself in the roughest corners of Rubane.


    “Saw it with my own eyes,” piped up another ranger—Scont. He’d been introduced as Scont the Scout, and Rowan had found it ironic as hell. As if flipping a single letter in his name had sealed his fate, stuck him forever wandering the woods with a bow in hand.


    “All red and gold, moving like a giant fuckin’ snake through the trees,” Scont said with a an eager nod.


    Rowan tightened the strap on his horse’s saddle, the shaggy grey mare—a typical Ironmane, sturdy and reliable, known for their endurance in the harsh northern terrains of Rubane—snorting softly. Rowan was standing comfortably for the first time in days, finally shaking the limp he had when he first arrived at Westmark.


    There were seven rangers in total, all seasoned scouts, getting their gear together and prepping for the reconnaissance mission ahead. Rowan had insisted on coming along, despite Yaref’s usual grumbling about letting wounds heal properly.


    "It’s the same one from the rak camp," Rowan threw in. “Followed us here after we freed it. Not sure why, but there it is.”


    Daegan had tried to come along too, but Kashin wasn’t having it, using his authority to plant the prince in the keep for ‘his own protection,’ of course. Tanlor, naturally, had chosen to stay with Daegan. Rowan couldn’t blame him—Tanlor had been Daegan’s shadow since they’d left Rubastre all those months ago.


    "Is it true there were three chiefs in that camp?" Scont asked.


    “Aye,” Rowan nodded, cinching the saddle tighter, “damn mystery how we fought our way out, truth be told.”


    “And there’s really an army of rak?” Scont’s tone shifted, a flicker of worry crossing his face. The lad was young, Rowan could see that now—barely more than twenty. He’s no older than Puck or Tar though, and both of them have faced down more rakmen than half the soldiers in the Duke’s armies.


    “That’s for us to confirm,” Rusk cut in, sharp as ever. “Commander Kashin wants us to verify what these lads are telling us is truth—not that we don’t believe ya none, Sir Shrydan, but you know it goes.”


    "Aye, I know," Rowan said, waving it off. He understood well enough how these things worked. “And Rowan’s fine. No need for titles.”


    Rusk gave a thin smile, eyes scanning the gear strapped to Rowan’s horse. “Healers give you the go-ahead for this?”


    “Not exactly,” Rowan admitted with a half-grin. “But you know how that goes.”


    “We’ll be moving fast,” Rusk warned, his tone shifting back to business. “Might need to ditch the horses and go on foot most of the way. The trails up by the mountains are choked with brush, and we’ll have some steep scrambles.”


    “I’ll keep up,” Rowan promised.


    Once they were all geared up and ready, the group made their way to the main gate of the keep. Both Daegan and Tanlor were already waiting there, along with the ocelix—Baroc, looming large and silent as always.


    “Baroc wants to go with you,” Daegan said, his eyes on Rowan. “He says his home’s further west in the mountains. Wants to travel with your group until he reaches the trails heading up.”


    Rowan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think the rangers will take kindly to that.”


    “Kashin’s already given his permission,” Daegan replied.


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    “Baroc... home,” the ocelix grumbled in that deep, rumbling voice of his. Rowan couldn’t miss the want in his voice. He glanced at the massive beast, then back at Daegan.


    Couldn’t argue with that.


    Rusk came riding up to them, reins in one hand, the other resting on the pommel of his saddle. “Commander says the beastman’s coming with us. We’ve crossed paths with his kind in the high passes before.” He nodded to Baroc, and Rowan noted the respect in the gesture. “Dashin ocelix,” Rusk greeted him, the words smooth in Old Esterin.


    Daegan raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “You speak Old Esterin?”


    Rusk shrugged. “A few phrases. Rangers see plenty of strange things in the wild. The ocelix have a habit of showing up when we’re lost in the mountains. Been more n’a few times they''ve steered us the right way. Figured it’s about time we returned the favour.”


    “So you’ve met ocelix before?” Rowan blinked, more surprised than he''d care to admit.


    Rusk chuckled, clearly catching the tone. “Aye. Not often, mind, but they’re out there. I suppose they’re like any creature of the wilds—show themselves when they want to. You probably just weren’t lucky enough before now.” He smirked, leaning slightly in his saddle. “Or unlucky, depending on your point of view.”


    “I’d heard of sightings,” Rowan admitted, “but never put that much thought to it.”


    “We don’t make a habit of putting that in our reports, Rowan,” Rusk shot him a sly grin. “Lords in the south aren’t too keen on believing stories of mountain lions walking on two legs, guiding lost men out of snowstorms. They prefer their scouts don’t sound like madmen.” He winked, clearly amused by the disbelief most would show.


    The rest of the rangers in the party exchanged glances before nodding their respect to the ocelix. No sideways looks or glances of distrust. Rowan watched as each scout in the party dipped their head or murmured a greeting in passing. Baroc, for his part, gave nothing more than a low, rumbling growl of approval.


    With their preparations complete, the group moved out through the gate, the heavy wooden gates creaking and groaning as they were opened. Rowan’s horse shifted beneath him, eager to follow the rest of the group, but Rowan took a moment to speak with Daegan and Tanlor.


    Daegan was watching Baroc with that calculating look he always had when something piqued his interest. Tanlor, on the other hand, was running a hand through his hair, clearly deep in thought.


    “I didn’t expect the rangers here to know about the ocelix, let alone have so much respect for them,” Rowan admitted.


    Tanlor snorted, a bit of his old dry humour slipping through. “Hard not to respect something that looks like it could rip your throat out with one swipe.”


    “Take care out there, Rowan,” Daegan said earnestly.


    “Just remember, this is recon,” Tanlor added, his eyes flicking to the scouts ahead, then back to Rowan. “You don’t even need to be going on this, both Cru and Puck volunteered to go along.”


    “Puck’s injuries are worse than mine,” Rowan waved off, “and Cru’s better here with the other Twin Garde lads. Honestly, I’m tetchy anyway, you know me, I don’t like staying in towns too long.” He smirked.


    “Aye, I know,” Tanlor grumbled. “But remember, we need proof for Kashin. We don’t need more bodies. The moment you see something, you pull back. Got it?”


    “Understood,” Rowan nodded. It was a rare exchange between them, a brief truce in the ever-present tension. Truth was, they hardly spoke unless Daegan was there to smooth over the cracks. Things had been off between them since that night under the bridge, when Tanlor had told Rowan to leave their little group. Tanlor hadn’t agreed with Rowan sparing that kid—wanted him dead, a loose end tied. It was a line they''d likely never cross together.


    But it wasn’t just that one night. Rowan could feel the gulf between them, widening with every day that passed. They were cut from the same cloth, shaped by the same hands. And yet, they were completely different people.


    In Tanlor''s voice now, there was something Rowan hadn''t heard in a long while—genuine concern. Tanlor had come to Rowan’s rescue at the rak camp, had freed him. But they hadn’t spoken much about it. They’d barely spoken at all really since Rowan had recovered.


    Daegan’s usual lightness was gone. His hand rested on the hilt of the bloodstone dagger at his hip, his fingers twitching with a kind of restless energy. “I’m going to keep working on Kashin while you’re gone. If we can convince him to leave—good. If not, we make sure preparations are in place to move quickly if things go south.”


    “You think you’ll convince him?” Rowan asked, a note of doubt in his voice.


    “Convince him?” Daegan smirked, though it lacked his newfound bravado. “No. But I’ll make sure he’s ready to run when the time comes. Kashin might be too proud to admit it, but surely he knows Westmark won’t hold if the rakmen hit with the kind of force we saw at Twin Garde.”


    Tanlor stepped forward, his expression softening, an unusual expression to see on his brother’s face. “Be smart out there, Rowan. You’ve seen what these rakmen can do. Don’t take them lightly.”


    Rowan looked between the two of them—his brother and the prince who had somehow gotten dragged into this mess. He could see the worry in their faces, but also the trust. They believed in him. It had been a long time since Rowan had people depend on him like this. He’d been taking easier road contracts for so long, he’d almost forgotten what it was like to have important matters depending on him. But he’d also left a lot of that behind on purpose.


    “I’ll make sure the scouts get what they need,” Rowan promised. “And I’ll get back in one piece.”


    “Good,” Daegan said, offering a curt nod. “Because we’re going to need you when the real fight starts.”