The Ranger (Book 1) by E.A. Whitehead Page A

hesitated in front of the gate, unsure of what to do.
    The scream cut the silence again; it was high pitched, a woman’s voice. Vincent threw caution to the wind, drew his swords and rushed through the gate in the direction of the scream. He crashed blindly through the brush, occasionally hearing the scream again and adjusting his path to follow it.
    The forest ended suddenly, giving way to the road. Vincent had no idea where he was. He looked around cautiously. His eyes quickly fell on the form of a woman, collapsed in the road. He quickly rushed over to the motionless form. There was something strange about the body on the ground. The feeling continued to grow as Vincent got closer.
    Vincent knelt next to the body and carefully rolled it over. To his horror, he found that it was not a woman, but a dummy dressed in woman’s clothing. He dropped the dummy as the blood chilling blast of a horn cut the air as it had that morning. It was very close now.
    He had just scrambled to his feet when a giant creature burst from the forest on the other side of the road. It had the body of a horse with the torso of a man: a centaur. It was completely black with long dread locks. A long white horn hung across his chest and a silver bracer adorned his left arm.
    “At last I’ve found you, Hope of Sandora,” he spat with distain. “Jason thought he could hide you from me, but he forgot that Frost never loses his prey.” His voice was deep and dark.
    “What do you want from me?” Vincent asked, mustering his courage.
    “Me? I want nothing from you,” Frost replied. “It’s my master who wants you; dead that is.” He laughed a deep cruel laugh. “Any last words before I plunge you into the abyss to meet the Dark Lady?”
    Vincent tightened his grip on his sword, taking a defensive stance.
    “Good,” growled his foe. “I can have some fun after all.” Frost reared with a yell and charged at Vincent, who barely managed to jump out of the way to avoid being trampled.
    Vincent embraced his token and felt the welcome warmth fill him. He was unable to do anything else as Frost charged again.
    Vincent stepped aside once again, but this time he brought his blade up and slashed at his advancing foe. His sword was met with Frost’s mace and was knocked out of his hand. He didn’t have time to retrieve it as the mace swung again. Vincent held his remaining sword firmly with both hands.
    A barrage of blows followed. Vincent managed to block them all, but each one sent a shock down his arm. A shower of sparks flew from the weapons as they collided. Vincent was becoming desperate. He wouldn’t be able to continue for long as his arms were growing tired under the force of the blows.
    Then it came to him. The sparks. They were the answer he was looking for.
    The next blow came, sending another shower of sparks. Vincent quickly reached out and grabbed them with his token. Immediately his arms were engulfed with flames.
    The sudden eruption of flames startled Frost, and he backed off. Vincent quickly formed a ball of fire and hurled it at Frost. The ball hit him in the stomach and he winced. However, he quickly recovered, glaring at Vincent with hatred.
    “You’ll pay dearly for that,” Frost growled.
    Vincent started preparing another ball, but before he could let it fly, an arrow whizzed past his ear and buried itself in the flank of the charging centaur. Frost cursed in pain as his leg gave out and he toppled to the ground.
    “This isn’t over yet, boy,” He shouted as he staggered to his feet and galloped into the forest, limping noticeably.
    Vincent turned to find Lauren standing behind him, bow still in hand. A very angry scowl adorned her dusty face.
    “Thank you,” Vincent started to say with a smile, but he had hardly got the first word out before Lauren slapped him hard across the face.
    “What was that for?” Vincent started to ask, but was cut off again.
    “Jason told you not to leave the camp, but you left anyway,”