The Forgotten Ranger - A Ranger's Apprentice Fanfiction

Signs of Danger

The village streets were already alive with activity as Aiden made his way toward the forest. The morning sun filtered through low-hanging clouds, casting a muted golden glow over the cobbled road. Market stalls lined the main street, vendors already shouting to draw attention to their wares—bread still warm from the oven, bundles of herbs, smoked meats, and cheap trinkets that glittered in the sun like treasure. The smell of fresh produce mixed with woodsmoke and the sharp tang of iron from the smithy down the lane.

Aiden kept his head low as he walked, boots scuffing the dirt between stones. He was used to the looks. Curious, suspicious, sometimes wary—though no one ever said anything outright. Not anymore.

Eight years in Redmont and still, it felt like they were only tolerated, not accepted. Most of the villagers didn't trust Rangers. They never had. Silent watchers of the kingdom, cloaked in shadows, feared as much as they were needed. Aiden had learned early that his father's profession followed them like a shadow, even after his death. And if the fearful glances from adults weren't enough, their silence was.

Kay had made a few connections—apprenticing under the blacksmith had helped—but even he rarely spoke of their past unless it was to remind Aiden to keep his head down. Aiden didn't mind too much. The children who lived as wards of the Baron had offered him something closer to normal. They didn't know the weight of his name, or the whispers it carried. They only knew him as another orphan under Baron Arald's protection.

Still, today, the glances followed him with a heavy weight. He shifted his gear slightly, the familiar press of his sword against his thigh and the bow strung over his shoulder giving him a sense of steadiness. By the time the stalls began to thin and the crowds dwindled, he picked up his pace, grateful to be free of the watchful eyes. Ahead, the treeline loomed, the forest waiting like an old friend ready to swallow him whole.

As soon as he crossed the boundary from open road to shadowed wood, the tension in his shoulders eased. Leaves rustled softly overhead, the canopy turning the sky from blue to dappled green. The sun was still high, but here it filtered through in slanted beams, dust motes dancing in the quiet.

He moved deeper into the woods before veering off the path, eyes scanning the forest floor for signs of life. It didn't take long—damp soil from last night's rain made it easy to spot fresh tracks. Kneeling, he brushed aside a thin layer of fallen leaves and examined a trail of prints. Pheasant, he guessed. Light, wandering tracks, the kind that led to clumsy ground birds rooting in the underbrush.

He was just about to follow them when a sound pricked his ears—hoofbeats. Faint but growing louder. He froze, crouched low, eyes narrowing. One set from the east, another from the west. Not unusual. This stretch of road was used often by traders and travelers. But then—another sound. The telltale rasp of steel drawn from leather. A short, controlled sound. Not a sword. Smaller. A knife, perhaps.

Instinct kicked in. Aiden backed into the brush, moving silently as only his father's lessons had taught him. Years of practice had made the movement natural—controlled breathing, careful steps, weight balanced on the balls of his feet. He crouched low, cloaked in undergrowth, heart thudding.

Two horses came into view on the road through the undergrowth he crouched in, but from his position Aiden couldn't see the riders. They reined in their mounts and began speaking in hushed tones. Aiden strained his ears, wishing he were closer. The voices were low, and the woods swallowed the sound quickly.

"...trouble lately... highway bandits making things dangerous..."
"...should've turned back..."

The rest was lost in the wind and the quiet jangle of tack. One of the horses shifted, clearly agitated. Its rider murmured something and nudged it forward. Aiden tensed as the sound of hooves moved toward his hiding place. The horse passed close enough he could smell it's sweat, the scent of leather and earth thick in the air. He stayed still, barely breathing. A single twitch and the rider might spot him. But they didn't. The man passed by, none the wiser, and Aiden let out a slow, silent breath. The second rider lingered only a moment longer before nudging his horse forwards, it seemed he was continuing along the path into the forest. This confused Aiden, considering the warning he just got, surely he should head back into the village? Most would petition the Baron to deal with the problem.

Once the horse sounded far away enough, he peeked his head around the bush, trying to get a look at the man foolish enough to continue on. He seemed quite ordinary, his clothing was simple and he rode a chestnut horse with a shaggy coat. It was rather alarming, if the man couldn't defend himself he could get into serious trouble. Concerned for the stranger's safety, he quickly decided he would follow for a while—that way he could make sure nothing happened to them. Although the twinge of excitement that ran through him as he thought of the possibilities may have had a hand in his decision making. Aiden moved parallel to the path, trailing the rider from the trees. He kept low, using brush and trunk as cover, following at a safe distance. His instincts buzzed. Something about the way the man moved—it seemed too casual for someone who might be in danger.

Soon the man left the road entirely. Aiden hesitated a moment before pushing deeper into the forest. The trees thickened, the ground grew uneven, moss-covered roots rising like knotted veins. Sound dampened here—no birdsong, no wind—just the quiet crunch of leaves beneath his boots. Every few minutes he paused, listening for movement.

He scanned the forest floor for tracks. The man had left clear signs—a narrow trail of disturbed earth, bent ferns, and the occasional hoofprint in soft mud. Aiden followed them with growing wariness. The behaviour was odd, it set off more alarm bells for Aiden, but he still couldn't figure out the stranger's motives. With perhaps a little more trepidation in his steps, he ventured further into the forest after him.

The light dimmed as he walked carefully, the trees much more dense now. He had lost sight of the man, and despite straining his ears couldn't hear his movement over the ambient sounds. However his tracks were easy to follow, his path much clearer without the hundreds of overlapping hoofprints he would have seen on the road. He had to pay close attention to his own footfalls, a false step on a rotten branch would very quickly give away his location. Despite being fairly confident the stranger wouldn't be able to hear him with his lead, he decided to stay cautious. The going was much slower, but kept his stealth intact.

It seemed the man was heading in a specific direction, from his knowledge of the area Aiden was sure the tracks ran parallel to the road, which must be nearly fifty metres away. Preoccupied by his thinking, he stopped, realising the tracks had disappeared. Aiden cursed under his breath. Ignoring the growing sense of urgency he felt, backtracked slowly, scanning for where they diverged. A snapped twig here, a scuffed rock there. He found the trail again a few paces back, and realised why he had lost it in the first place. It seemed the tracks veered suddenly, and headed almost directly back to the road. After a moment he figured out what he presumed to be the strangers motives, he must have been trying to avoid the potential highway bandits.

An uncomfortable feeling settled over Aiden, he was unsure whether to proceed. It struck him as odd for highway bandits to set up in such a place, this section of road was straight and had a healthy gap between it and the trees, it would provide little opportunity for them to get the jump on travellers. He thought back to the road—trying to visualise the terrain, the layout. The road they had passed just wouldn't make sense. What stretch of road would make for a good ambush? Narrow paths? Sharp turns? Then it hit him.

The bridge.

It wasn't far. A stone bridge crossing a fast-moving river—a bottleneck for anyone traveling to or from Redmont. Traders used it constantly. If there were bandits nearby, that would be the place to strike. Aiden's grip tightened around his bow. If he was right, that rider might be headed straight into an ambush.

Without fully thinking it through, he turned and sprinted through the trees, dodging roots and ducking branches. His cloak whipped behind him, and the sword at his hip slapped lightly against his leg as he ran. He pushed himself harder. Whether his thoughts were right, he didn't know. Only that something could be wrong, and he couldn't turn away from it.