Page 87 of An Archer's Reckoning

A trio of young boys splashed in the unending waves.

“Damn blockade’s keepin’ our boys tied up here.” My escort noticed me staring at the ships. “Who would’ve thought we’d need military ships?”

I grunted in agreement.

Melucia barely had a standing army. We didn’t own a single ship with more firepower than archers against a railing. Some would argue the Triad’s vision had been dim, at best, in failing to prepare for every eventuality. But who would build and maintain a navy when war was more myth than memory?

“Here ya be,” the man said as we approached a two-story building that looked more like a woodland lodging house than a government center. There were no signs or markings beyond the two green-cloaked Rangers who stood guard on either side of a large wooden door.

I reached into a pocket and retrieved a silver mark. “Thank you for your guidance.”

The man eyed the coin as if debating the propriety of accepting it, then reached out and took it from my hand. He touched the bill of his cap in a sloppy salute, then ambled away. “I’ll leave ya to it, then.”

Unsure how to proceed, I stepped up to the guards and offered a fist to my heart. The pair returned the salute.

“I need to see Lieutenant . . .”Shit, I didn’t get his name.“Your lieutenant.”

One guard cocked a brow. “Lieutenant Briary?”

“Uh, yes, Briary. I mean, Lieutenant Briary.”

The guards exchanged glances, then the one who’d spoken turned and held the door open for me.

“Last door on your right. His clerk should be sitting at a desk outside his door.”

“Thank you.” I bobbed my head in the fashion of a Saltstone nobleman, then stepped into the building.

There were only three doors on the right and only one desk with one lone Ranger seated behind it. The bustle I was used to from the Ranger headquarters in Grove’s Pass was absent. In fact, everyone, save the lone clerk, appeared to be absent.

The clerk watched me approach. His eyes showed either boredom or wariness—I couldn’t be sure which.

“Ranger Ayden Byrne to see the Lieutenant,” I said formally.

“Is he expecting you?” Boredom mixed with disdain. Not wariness.

I kept my tone carefully neutral. “Captain-Commander Whitman sent me from Grove’s Pass.”

“Grove’s Pass?” The man’s eyes narrowed. “When did he send you? How long ago?”

“I left nineteen days ago, rode with all the speed my horse could muster.”

“Wait here.” He rose and vanished into the Lieutenant’s office, returning a moment later.

“The Lieutenant will see you, sir.”

The man’s tone had shifted to one of respect. What in the Spirits had the Lieutenant said to him?

By the time I stepped around his desk and entered the office, a man wearing the Lieutenant’s chevron on his shoulder had risen and made it across his office. I snapped to attention.

“Sir—”

“Lord Byrne, be welcome,” he interrupted.

“Ranger Byrne, if you will, sir. Lord Byrne is my father.”

“Of course.” He scowled over my shoulder, and his nosey clerk clicked the door shut. “Stand at ease, Ranger. Sit, if you will.”

At the Lieutenant’s gesture, I sat in a chair near his desk. He dropped into the one next to me.

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