A Ranger From Adamnar

Adamnar was one of the oldest Ranger strongholds on Ranwar. It sat on a low rise in the foothills of the Taminus mountain range in the Great Forest of Ranwar. It had been standing even before the Dragon Lords came, some thousand years before. Some say the stronghold was built by the Novadi themselves and indeed, the main building of Adamnar strongly resembled the main building in the Novadi stronghold. Over the millennia numerous other structures had been added, until now Adamnar was a compact city. The barracks for the trainees were clustered right in the center of the stronghold, to provide them the most protection. Housing for Rangers varied in size from the large home reserved for the lord of the stronghold, to the buildings that housed a hundred Rangers, two to a room. The enormous dining hall, which dominated the north-eastern quadrant, was surrounded by small clusters of servant’s quarters. Sparring and riding arenas were spread throughout the grounds. A small temple of Asaeria was nestled in a quiet garden spot in the farthest northern corner. Thirty-foot high, ten foot thick stone walls surrounded the stronghold. The two entrances, the small gate on the north side and the twenty foot high gate in the south wall, were guarded day and night—two Rangers on the north gate, four Rangers on the south.

More than eight hundred Rangers called Adamnar home, and on this night, four of them stood on the battlements over the Southern gate. It had been unusually quiet lately. Most of the forest denizens that normally attacked at night were a bit more hesitant recently since Lord Berol himself had gone out with his second and a few higher order Rangers and brought down a band of marauding Scepoli.

Tomar, the senior Ranger on the South gate watch, paced silently as he scanned the forest for any signs of trouble. A small sound, like the whispering of a light breeze, drew his attention to the road that led to the gate. He frowned, puzzled because there was nothing there. As he moved to turn away, a faint flash of light caught his eye. His hand went to his hilt when a wavering portal began coalesce in front of the gate. He drew his sword and raised the alarm. His three companions joined him in time to see a pair of hooded and cloaked riders come through the portal, which closed behind them. Two of the Rangers trained their bows on the strangers, who soon found themselves flanked by half a dozen Rangers on horseback.

The taller of the two riders carefully drew back his hood and put up his empty hands. “Hail Rangers of Adamnar. We come in peace. I have business with Lord Berol.”

One of the Rangers on horseback rode forward, sword drawn. “Who are you and what business could you possibly have with Lord Berol at this hour?”

The man turned to face his questioner. “I am Iliard Candril, and Lord Berol is expecting me.”

The Ranger straightened in his saddle and his eyes widened. Before he could respond, however, a voice came from the top of the wall. “Stand down, Ranger Hadrigan. Let them pass.”

The four Rangers on top of the wall nearly jumped out of their skins. “Lord Berol,” Tomar said, “we didn’t hear you.”

Lord Berol’s smile was just a shade mischievous. “I know. Please open the gate.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Down on the ground, Ranger Hadrigan bowed his head and said, “It is an honor to meet you Master Candril. Please forgive my rudeness.”

“Protecting your stronghold isn’t rude, Ranger Hadrigan,” Iliard replied, “There’s nothing to forgive.”

Lord Berol met the pair as they rode through the gate. “Welcome back to Adamnar, Master Candril. If you would please follow me, Sareth will stable your horses.” After dismounting, they followed Lord Berol to his office in the main building. It was only when they were inside Lord’s Berol’s spacious office with the door closed that Iliard said, “You can take down your hood now, Alana.”

Lord Berol tried not to show his surprise when he saw how young she looked. He extended his hand and said, “I’m glad to meet you, Alana. Master Candril has told me quite a lot about you.”

Lord Berol wasn’t as tall as Iliard, nor as broad shouldered. He was spare and muscular, with short dark hair, a neatly trimmed beard and a warm, welcoming smile. Alana blushed and took his hand. “I am honored to meet you, Lord Berol.”

“Please sit,” he said, indicating a trio of comfortable looking chairs arranged in front of the blazing hearth. Once they had all taken their seats, Lord Berol leaned forward and looked directly at Alana. “Master Candril tells me you want to train as a Ranger.”

“Yes, my lord,” she replied. “I’ve wanted it for as long as I can remember.”

He nodded. “He also told me that you are here tonight to avoid being forced to marry the son of Baron Galiblent.”

Alana’s throat constricted and tears came unexpectedly to her eyes. “Yes, my lord,” she said softly. She bowed her head and quickly blinked away her tears.

Lord Berol leaned back in his chair and steepled is fingers, frowning thoughtfully. Finally, he let out a long, slow breath and said, “Knowing what I know about your lineage, I am certain you will make an exceptional Ranger. However, there are two things that concern me.” Iliard straightened up in his seat, but remained silent. Lord Berol continued, “The first is your age. In all the years I have been lord of this stronghold, I have never accepted a Ranger candidate younger than fifteen.”

“But I have so many years of experience adventuring,” Alana blurted out.

Lord Berol held her gaze steadily as he continued, “I find candidates younger than that lack the self-control and patience required for Ranger training.” Alana turned bright red and sat back in her seat. “Second,” he went on, “I am concerned that you have come here to escape unpleasant circumstances. Ranger training is not to be entered into lightly. It is difficult and takes years of commitment to complete.”

Alana’s lip quivered slightly when she spoke. “So, are you saying I cannot stay here?”

Lord Berol looked over at Iliard, who met his gaze impassively. “I am saying,” he replied, “I will allow you to stay on one condition. You must spend at least one year here working in service to the stronghold.”

“In service,” Alana repeated slowly. “You mean you want me to spend a year as a servant?”

Lord Berol nodded. “At least a year. That is my condition.”

Alana’s eyes went wide and filled with tears. She turned to Iliard. “Uncle…”

He silenced her with a sharp shake of his head, then said to Lord Berol, “May we have a few moments alone?”

“Of course,” Lord Berol replied, as he stood. “I’ll be outside.”

Iliard remained silent until the door closed. Then he looked at his niece and said, “Now you may speak.”

Alana blinked in surprise at the change in his tone. She hesitated before she asked, “How can he do that? I came here to train as a Ranger, not wash floors. Didn’t you tell him about my experience adventuring with you?”

“I told him everything about you,” he replied. “We spoke for quite some time. He warned me that he had strong reservations about bringing you in as a candidate.”

“But he wants me to be a servant!”

“It’s his stronghold. He must run as he sees fit.”

“But you can command him,” Alana retorted, “I know you can. You commanded Lord Lof Vonas after the battle in Narsacalius.”

“It’s true,” Iliard replied, “and Lord Berol reminded me of that when we spoke.” His voice became stern. “However, I will not use my authority in such a way. I will not question how he chooses to run his stronghold. Adamnar is one of the best strongholds on Ranwar. Many great Rangers have come from here—Lord Lof Vonas, Lord Geron, and Lord Berol, as well as myself. It would be an honor for you be accepted as a candidate here. However, if you are not willing to accept Lord Berol’s terms, I can take you to the Novadi stronghold. But I must warn you, if you do not accept his terms now, you will not be welcome to return.”

It was more than Alana could take. She burst into tears. Iliard’s heart broke as he watched her weep. He desperately wanted to gather her in his arms like he had when she was a little girl and assure her that everything was going to be all right. Instead, he waited a few moments in silence, then put his hand gently on her shoulder. “Alana, look at me.” When he had her attention, he handed her a handkerchief and said, “Dry your eyes.” When she was finished he said, “I know this is hard for you. You’ve had a very difficult time these past two weeks. But this is what I meant when I told you Ranger training was difficult. It isn’t only about the fighting skills you will learn or even about communicating with the forest and its inhabitants. It’s about patience and self-control, like Lord Berol said, but it’s more than that. There’s a certain quality that a warrior possesses that transforms her from being just a sword swinger to being a Ranger. You would learn that here. If you cannot make the small sacrifice required of you now, how will you make the larger sacrifices that will be required of you as a Ranger?”

Alana looked down at her hands, unable to meet her uncle’s gaze. It was all happening too fast and she couldn’t take it all in. What was she supposed to do? For years she had dreamed of becoming a Ranger. Now her opportunity was here—so close and yet still out of reach. What could she possibly do to prove to Lord Berol that she was worthy to be a Ranger candidate? Of course she already knew the answer—do what he demanded—spend a year or more as a servant in the stronghold. It was so unfair. She knew she was ready. Surely Uncle Iliard knew she was ready.

But was she really? She fought to slow her racing thoughts. Uncle Iliard had indeed warned her—more than once—that the life of a Ranger was difficult and required sacrifices. Their trip to Narsacalius had shown her that in no uncertain terms. The Rangers there had sacrificed their lives to protect those unable to fight for themselves—including her. Now she had been asked to make a sacrifice of her own and she had balked at it. A year spent as a servant. She had not been asked to give her life, just herself in service. Her shoulders slumped. Of all things, she wanted most for Uncle Iliard to be proud of her. No one else in the world mattered to her as much as he did.

She lifted her head and met his gaze. There was no anger there, only concern and compassion—and love. Her bottom lip started to quiver and she pulled it between her teeth to make it stop. After taking a deep, uneven breath, she said, “I’ll do what he asks, Uncle Iliard. I want you to be proud of me.”

Iliard put his hand over hers. “I have always been proud of you and I always will be, no matter what.” He touched her cheek. “I know this will be hard for you, but believe me, it will be worth the sacrifice. I cannot think of a better stronghold for you than Adamnar.” Alana nodded, not trusting herself to speak just yet. He stood up. “Are you ready to talk to Lord Berol?” Alana nodded again. Iliard went to the door, opened it, and spoke briefly to someone standing outside. A short time later, Lord Berol came back into his office.

Alana stood up to face the lord of the stronghold. She swallowed hard before she spoke. “Lord Berol,” her voice came out soft and a little hoarse, “I accept your condition. I want to stay here at Adamnar.”

After a brief pause, Lord Berol nodded. “I’m certain the stronghold will benefit from having you.”

“Thank you,” Alana said quietly.

Iliard put his arm around her shoulders. “I think it would be a good idea for Alana to get some sleep. She’s had a very long night.”

“Agreed,” Lord Berol replied. “Alana, you can stay in one of the guest bedrooms in my quarters and in the morning I’ll have someone bring you to Lord Vistor so he can assign you to your duties.”

Alana bowed her head slightly. “Thank you, my lord.”

Lord Berol escorted them to his quarters and had his servants prepare a room for Alana. While she was getting herself settled, Iliard pulled Lord Berol aside. “There are a few things I’d like to tell you before I leave. Can we talk privately here?”

Lord Berol nodded. “I’ll be in my library.”

Iliard went back into the spare bedroom. Alana was sitting on the bed staring down at her hands. He sat down next to her. “Are you all right?” Alana just shrugged, but didn’t look at him. He let out a soft sigh. “I’m sorry things worked out this way. I was hoping to have more time with you.”

“But why does it have to be this way?” she asked plaintively. “Why can’t I stay with you? We could adventure together and Father would still never find us.”

Iliard shook his head. “You cannot travel with me anymore. It isn’t safe.” He raised a hand to cut off her protest. “Do you remember the Plague Warrior in Narsacalius?” She nodded. “He was agent of the High Priest of Arnitath. I have been marked for death by Ventinimas himself. Anywhere I go now, minions of Arnitath will try to follow. If they found out you were with me, they would try to hurt you to get to me. I cannot allow that.”

“I don’t understand, “ Alana said. “How could the Plague Warrior do that? He never even touched you.”

“Plague Warriors of Arnitath have some priestly abilities, just like Paladins of Asaeria. One of those abilities is to use the power of Arnitath to mark someone as an enemy. High order Plague Warriors don’t need to touch their target to mark them, they just need to see them. The mark can only be seen by other Priests.”

“Can’t the mark be removed?”

“We’ve been trying,” Iliard replied. “So far none of our Priests has been able. That’s why we think it was Ventinimas himself who trained this Plague Warrior.”

Alana looked down at her hands again. “I understand,” she said softly.

“Do you remember what I told you about your name,” he asked.

“If anyone asks my full name, I’m Alana Nadran.”

Iliard nodded in approval, “Good.” He drew a small wooden box out of his tunic. “Alana I want you to take this.”

She looked over at him and at the box in his hand. “What is it?”

He opened the box and took out the emerald amulet that Terin Novar Arianna had given him more than fourteen years before. Her mouth dropped open. “I want you to wear this at all times,” he said. “This is a messenger. All you have to do is hold onto the pendant and call out to me in your mind. I will hear you no matter where I am.” Handing to her he added, “But only use it if you’re in danger.”

Alana nodded, “All right.” She took the amulet and slipped the chain over her head then tucked it inside her shirt so it rested on top of the symbol of Asaeria. “But what about my dagger?” she asked.

“What about it?” Iliard asked.

“Galiblent’s son took it away from me.”

Iliard clenched his jaw and his right hand curled into a fist. “How did that happen?”

Alana told him about Galiblent’s attack on Lily and everything that happened afterward. By the time she finished, she was near to tears again. “I tried to get Father to listen to me, but he wouldn’t. He kept saying it was already done.”

Iliard took a moment to collect himself before he spoke. He put his arm around Alana’s shoulders and pulled her close. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I’m sorry I was careless and let the temple of Arnitath mark me.” He sighed and closed his eyes. After a few moments he stood up, unbuckled his sword belt, and pulled off his sheathed dagger. “I want you to have this. You need to protect yourself even still.”

Alana stood and took the dagger with something akin to reverence. “Are you sure?” she asked, “You’ve had this dagger forever.”

Iliard chuckled, “More like forty-five years,” he said as he buckled his sword belt again. “This dagger has served me well. Keep it safe and use it only when absolutely necessary. It is a very powerful weapon.”

“I’ll take good care of it,” she replied, “I promise.”

“I’m sure you will,” he said and then pulled her into his arms. He kissed her on the forehead and said, “Goodbye for now, small one. I don’t know when I’ll see you again. Be patient and be strong.”

Alana hugged him tightly and tried not to cry. “I will. Goodbye Uncle Illy.”

Iliard tightened his arms around her one more time, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

The Lord’s Library hadn’t changed much in the decades since Iliard had trained at Adamnar. Floor to ceiling bookcases took up two walls. Six foot high windows allowed plenty of light in the daytime, and magically illuminated lamps lit the large room at night. Dark wood paneling gave the library a cozy feel that was aided by warmth of the fire in the hearth.

Lord Berol was drinking a goblet of wine when Iliard joined him. He stood and silently offered Iliard a second, already full goblet, which Iliard gratefully accepted. “Please sit, Master Candril,” he said.

“Van, you know you can call me Iliard,” the Novadi master replied.

Lord Berol smiled and shook his head. “Not likely to happen I’m afraid.”

Iliard let out a quiet sigh as he took the proffered chair. “Suit yourself.”

“How is she?” Lord Berol asked.

“Sad, disappointed, frustrated, and probably a little frightened,” Iliard replied.

“I’m sorry…” Lord Berol began.

Iliard put up his hand. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told her—it’s your stronghold and you must run as you see fit.”

Lord Berol bowed his head. “You honor me with your trust.”

“I wouldn’t have brought her here if I didn’t trust you,” Iliard replied. “Grand Master Philip invited you to be a Novadi apprentice. That’s enough for me.”

Lord Berol cleared his throat. “That invitation was an unexpected honor, to be sure.”

“And one that still stands,” Iliard added.

“As does my answer,” Van replied.

Iliard smiled, “As you wish. Now,” he continued, “as I said, there are a few things I need to tell you.” He stood up and drew the Jade Dragon. Holding it point-upward, he spoke a few soft words. The sword began to glow with a soft green light that quickly filled every corner of the room. Iliard carefully laid the sword on a small table beside his chair. Responding to Van’s curious stare he said, “To safeguard us from unwanted eyes and ears.” The Ranger lord nodded. Iliard sat back down. “I have told Alana to use the name Nadran if anyone asks her full name. There are two reasons for this. Baron Galiblent is intent on having his son marry Alana as a way to get hold of the Candril fortune. No doubt he’ll be searching for her with everything his money can buy. It would be best for Alana to remain as anonymous as possible to avoid having his army show up here at the stronghold.”

Lord Berol snorted. “I doubt his army would pose much of a threat to Adamnar.”

Iliard nodded. “True, but there is another, much more urgent reason for secrecy. I know you’ve heard about the battle in Narsacalius.”

“Yes,” he replied. “Twelve Ranger Lords were lost in that battle.”

Iliard frowned. “Yes. The temple of Arnitath has marked me for death. Alana was with me that day. An agent of Ventinimas saw her there. If they find out who she is, they will come after her as a way to get to me.”

“I see,” Van replied. “That does present a greater danger. I will have to tell Aidan since he is my second.”

Iliard nodded. “Understandable.” He leaned forward and said, “Do you recall what I told you about the prophecy?”

“Yes,” Van replied. “You believe that Alana may be the one mentioned in the prophecy.”

“Yes,” Iliard responded. “But I have since learned more. The Sages are saying a war is coming. The signs are all there. You may have even noticed it yourself. The forest grows restless and the evil creatures have become bolder.”

Lord Berol nodded his head slowly. “I have noticed. You think this all has something to do with Alana?”

“I cannot say for sure,” Iliard replied, “prophecies are never clear. If she is the one referred to in the prophecy, then things are going to get worse. It may be that the war comes to Adamnar first.”

The stronghold lord was silent for a short while. Finally he said, “Adamnar will be ready to defend against any who try to assault it.”

“I know it will,” Iliard replied. “That’s why she is here.”