Prelude 6- A Very Odd Night
As always, he is a child, running through a vast, open field with nowhere to hide, and something is chasing him. Some nights it is a generic snarling monster, other nights it is the village boys who used to torment him. And sometimes, like this night, it is his own mother who hunts him.
Each time he steals a look over his shoulder, she is closer behind him. Her chestnut hair trails out behind her, her face is twisted with rage, and she holds in each hand the shard of a fancy porcelain serving dish.
He runs until his sides are aching, but his mother is tireless in her pursuit. The moment he slows, she is at his heels, wrapping her vice-like arms around him and lifting him from the ground.
Then he is under water, fighting for breath, and his mother is dragging him down like an anchor.
His grandmother's hand plunges into the water, reaching for him, and he tries to take hold of it, but she is too late to help him. The hand disappears as he is pulled to the depths of the water, and as his lungs burn and finally burst, his mother shouts in his ear:
"Horrid little monster! You broke it! You broke it! How could you? You broke it YOU BROKE IT YOU BROKE-"
Xanos awoke on the floor next to his bed, out of breath and hopelessly tangled in his blankets. The dream was still fresh and terrible in his mind, so he forced himself to concentrate as he recited a list of facts.
"I am no longer a child. My mother is weeks of travel away from here. I am at Drogan's house. I am a powerful warrior and sorcerer and I am– " he grimaced– "laying in something wet and disgusting." He rolled to one side and looked down at his chest, saw the blood that matted the fabric there, and nearly screamed before it occurred to him that a gaping wound was usually accompanied by some sort of discomfort. It also wouldn't explain the greenish something-or-other crumpled on the floorboards where he had been laying.
Squinting at the strange object, he could just make out the shape of a single tiny, webbed foot.
"Hoppy? Eh, is that you?" Xanos poked what had been his amphibian familiar and was now more of a frog pancake. There was no response. With a surge of guilt, Xanos realized that he must have fallen onto the unfortunate creature in his sleep.
He considered the remains, then scooped Hoppy onto a piece of parchment. He folded the parchment into a little package, then opened his window and tossed the makeshift coffin outside.
"Fare you well, dear Hoppy. Xanos will miss your annoying little comments and clammy skin." He closed the window and wiped his hands on his shirt, leaving a nasty smear. "Oh wait, no I won't. Damnable creature."
Clammy skin aside, Hoppy had at least done Xanos the favor of distracting him from his nightmare. He cleaned up and dressed, then went downstairs for something to eat.
In the kitchen, Mischa was humming a merry tune and setting the table for breakfast. Dorna was already sitting down. Xanos pulled up a chair and sat down across from her with his chin in his hand.
"Good morning, Xanos!" Mischa sang out brightly, placing a plate on the table between his elbows.
"I fail to see anything good about it," he said through his fingers. "You know, morning people rank somewhere between psoriasis and disembowelment on Xanos' list of favorite things."
"You're always so gloomy, Xanos," Mischa said, frowning. "You'll never be happy until you start to look for the beautiful things in life." She turned to the stove, unaware of the rude gesture Xanos made at her back.
Mischa was growing up. Xanos was glad that her childishness was disappearing, but she had entered a phase where she said almost everything as if it were a pearl of wisdom. She seemed to put particular effort into 'redeeming' Xanos, as though he were especially at risk to become evil and take over the world. Which, now that he thought about it, was probably not very far off of the mark.
Dorna leaned forward and looked at him from the corners of her eyes.
"Mischa's making breakfast for us. Isn't that nice?" Her tone suggested it was nothing of the sort. "D'you remember the last time she cooked, Xanos?"
Xanos thought about it. He caught brief flashes of memories: eating something that looked like a shepard's pie but tasted like potting soil; a feeling like a thousand earthworms twisting in his stomach; racing with Aurora and Dorna to reach the outhouse before they did. . . He shook his head. Whatever had happened that night, he had suppressed the memory of it for good reason. He looked at Dorna and saw his horror reflected in her eyes.
Mischa finished what she was doing and turned to face them. She was holding something behind her back and smiling. Xanos gave her a suspicious look.
"Unless you have a nymph and a jar of honey back there, Xanos wants nothing to do with it," he said.
Mischa's mouth formed a moue of distaste.
"Honestly, Xanos, must you be so vulgar? No, don't answer that." She shuddered, then regained her composure. "Now, then. . . Breakfast is served!" She revealed the serving dishes that had been hidden behind her and removed the lids with a flourish. One contained an amorphous gray substance, the other hard chunks of what seemed to be charcoal.
When no one made a move to serve themselves, Mischa took matters into her own hands. She scooped a spoonful from each dish onto Xanos' plate, then served Dorna as well. Warily, Xanos poked the gray blob with his fork. He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard it hiss.
Dorna echoed his thoughts.
"Isn't there some kind of happy medium between burnt to a crisp and still alive?" she asked.
"Don't be silly," Mischa said, sounding a bit put out. "They are perfectly good biscuits and eggs."
"Eggs? You mean to tell me that some of this came out of a chicken?" Dorna's expression wavered between amusement and disbelief.
"You haven't even tried it yet!" Mischa said crossly.
"Feel free to take the first bite, Mischa." Dorna leaned back and crossed her arms implacably. Xanos nodded in agreement.
"Yes, you eat it first. Then we can wait a few minutes and see if you start convulsing or foaming at the mouth."
Mischa looked at Dorna, then at Xanos, then at the food, biting her lip.
Ultimately, it was Master Drogan who saved the day– or at least saved Mischa from an afternoon of projectile vomiting. He swept into the kitchen, plunked into a chair, and spooned Mischa's abominations onto his plate. He seemed too distracted to notice the expressions of his students as he speared a bit of charcoal on his fork, twirled it in the gray blob, and stuck it in his mouth.
For a moment nothing happened. Then Drogan's face spasmed once, and a tear trickled from one eye. He calmly put down his fork, wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, and turned to Mischa.
"You're a fine student, child. But promise me that you will never, ever go near the stove again."
Drogan was in no shape to assign training or chores, so after breakfast Xanos found himself in possession of that rarest of luxuries: free time. He decided to find a secluded spot in the shade and do a bit of reading.
He was just getting caught up in the story of King Feldebar the Flatulent when he was interrupted by the sound of jangling metal and clopping hooves.
A lone rider was approaching, clad in pure white armor that matched the coat of his mount. He held aloft a banner bearing the insignia of an eye, from which extended the rays of a rising sun. He had obviously spied Xanos, for he raised his hand and hailed him in a rather extravagant accent. Xanos did not greet him in return.
"Just the thing Xanos needs to improve his mood: the pestering of some noble brat on an adventure bought with daddy's gold." He crossed his arms in an irritated fashion, but did not move out of sight. It was uncommon enough for Hilltop to have visitors, particularly ones of fine dress, so Xanos decided to wait to meet the rider and discover his purpose in coming.
The rider drew up his reigns and dismounted, coming to stand a stone's throw from Xanos.
"Greetings, good sir. I hope this day finds you well," the man said, and the foppish drawl to his words made Xanos grit his teeth. The man undid the fastenings holding his gilded helmet in place as he approached, then drew it away from his face. He had gold-brown hair in waves to his shoulders, framing handsome and unblemished features. The haircut and accent were new, but Xanos remembered well the face. He saw it often enough in his nightmares. It was Thisden Nightmark, ringleader of the group of boys that had terrorized Xanos in his youth, and one of Xanos' least favorite people in all of Toril.
"Thisden Nightmark," Xanos said, in much the same tone he had used upon finding Hoppy that morning. The man blinked at him.
"Xanos?" he said finally, as the light of recognition came to his eyes. The light quickly darkened. "What in Helm's name are you doing here?"
"Xanos might ask you the same. Shouldn't you be busy snipping the tails of stray dogs and lighting cats on fire?"
Thisden laughed, but his eyes narrowed sharply.
"You're as charming as ever. I'm surprised that the good people of Hilltop haven't yet come to their senses and drummed you out of town like we did."
Xanos bristled. He felt the prickling of magic in his fingertips, like he was holding onto a recently plucked lutestring. For the first time in years he felt dangerously close to losing control of his sorcery– and dangerously close to not caring.
"The good people of Hilltop have recognized the worth of Xanos," he said tightly. "Ask around. You will see that they speak my name with respect."
"Indeed? In that case, I'm sure you can arrange a meeting for me with Master Drogan," Thisden said. He swept a hand though his hair and laughed as if at his own private joke.
"Ha! Not a chance," Xanos said. "Master Drogan is far too busy to waste his time entertaining a pig-headed, stoop-shouldered half-wit like you."
Thisden straightened his shoulders, which were, in truth, rather obnoxiously well-built.
"Much as I'd love to stay and trade hyphenated insults with you, a knight is above such pettiness," he said imperiously. He wiped a speck of dust off of his golden breastplate with his sleeve. Xanos found himself wishing he was wearing something a bit nicer than a homespun tunic and breeches with patched knees.
"I suppose a knight would be above such things," he conceded, then gave Thisden a very long look. "Unfortunately, all Xanos sees is a cowherd with fancy armor and a ridiculous accent."
Apparently, that struck a chord. Thisden turned a bright pink that clashed terribly with his armor.
"How dare you!" he cried. "Insolent oaf!"
"Overdressed clod!" Xanos rejoined.
"Varlet!"
"Saphead!"
"Clotpole!"
"Jackass!"
Thisden slammed the end of his banner into the ground, grabbed Xanos by the shoulders and jerked him forward.
"Swive off, you halfblooded, green-skinned son of a harpy!" he shouted, in his anger reverting back to the accent of Xanos' childhood village. A flock of birds burst into startled flight from the tree overhead. The youth stood, panting, and glared at Xanos.
"Well said," came a voice from the shadows. Thisden, wide-eyed, released his hold on Xanos.
"Show yourself," he commanded, putting his hand to his scabbard. Dorna's squat, familiar form stepped into the light.
"Come, now, there's no need for weapons," she said. "I just came to see what all the yelling was about." She settled comfortably against the tree and smirked. "Feel free to return to insulting each other."
Thisden coughed and raked his hand once more through his hair. When next he spoke, the dreaded accent had returned.
"Perhaps you misheard, my good lady dwarf," he said, flashing a row of perfect white teeth at Dorna. "I was not yelling, I was merely, ah, asking for directions."
"Is that right?" Dorna chuckled. "Seems more like you were giving them, though 'swive off' is not terribly specific."
Xanos allowed himself a moment to enjoy Thisden's awkward search for a response, and found himself with unexpectedly warm feelings towards Dorna. Then, feeling just a bit nauseous, he pushed those disturbing feelings out of the way and returned to insulting Thisden.
"Dorna, allow me to introduce you to Thisden Nightmark, cowherd and irritating prig." He turned to Thisden. "And Thisden, allow me to introduce Dorna Trapspringer, fellow student of Master Drogan."
His words had the desired effect: Thisden's eyes had barely narrowed in anger before they widened in disbelief.
"You?" Thisden sputtered. "You are one of Drogan's chosen students?" He whirled to face Dorna. "Is he speaking the truth?"
"Yes, unfortunately," she answered. Xanos felt the warm feelings evaporate. "He's been here for the longest amount of time after Aurora Dawn."
Thisden frowned and shook his head.
"I had imagined Master Drogan would have higher standards. . . I suppose it is well enough that I became a squire instead of seeking out his tutelage."
"Squire?" Xanos snorted. "I thought you said you were a knight."
For the umpteenth time that afternoon, Thisden turned bright red.
"I'll be a knight soon enough, cur," he said through clenched teeth, "and when I am, I will take particular delight in eradicating your knuckledragging orcish brethren."
"And when Xanos rules his kingdom, perhaps he will be kind enough to give you a position as emptier of royal chamberpots." Xanos cracked his knuckles and took a step towards Thisden.
"Not that I object to watching the two of you beat each other's heads in, but wasn't there some reason for your coming here?" Dorna asked when it became clear that neither man intended to back down.
"Ah, yes, actually. I thank you for reminding me," Thisden said to Dorna. "I have a matter of some importance to discuss with your teacher."
"He's rather indisposed for the time being, but I suppose there's no harm in bringing you up to the house." She looked from Thisden to Xanos. "As long as you're willing to be civil, that is."
Thisden's mouth quirked, but he covered it with a smile.
"I will behave with utmost civility, I assure you," he said.
"See that you do," Dorna said sternly, then pushed away from the tree and started towards the house. "Follow me."
Thisden took up his horse's reigns and fell in step behind her.
"We'll finish this another time," he hissed to Xanos.
"Whenever you're ready," Xanos hissed back.
"Oh, I'm ready. You'll see."
"Not if you see first."
"You'll see double by the time I'm done with you."
"You'll be lucky if you can see at all."
A carefully aimed clod of mud flew right between the two of them before the argument could progress further. Dorna stood waiting with her hands on her hips.
"I don't have all day, children. Are you coming or not?"
Drogan managed to welcome Thisden with civility, though he was still quite pale. The squire requested a private audience with Drogan, and so the two of them disappeared into the kitchen. Out of respect for their master, Xanos and Dorna waited at least two and a half minutes before crouching at the door to listen.
"You're an old friend of Xanos', are you?" Drogan was asking. Dorna smirked at Xanos, and he made a face at her.
"We do have a history," Thisden answered carefully. "That is not the reason behind my visit, however."
"I suspected as much. You are here on behalf of your benefactor, are you not?" For some reason, there was a heaviness to Drogan's voice.
"In a manner of speaking. I am currently attempting to forge a name for myself through good deeds. According to tavern gossip, several farmers have spied a large wolf in the area. My intent was to rid them of this menace."
"A wolf? There are many wolves in the surrounding forests, and only rarely do they bother the farmers. Surely there are more worthy causes."
"I. . . I suppose," Thisden said, sounding surprised.
"There is a large stronghold of gnolls, not too far from here. If you don't mind my making a suggestion, why not put a dent in their population?"
"It is a fine suggestion. Even so, the innkeeps from which I acquired my information said that this particular wolf seemed to be causing a great deal of fright."
"Very well." There was a rustling of papers. "Have a look at this map, and I'll show you the most likely places a beast like that would hide."
Here the conversation turned quieter, and Dorna and Xanos retreated to the front hall.
"Drogan sounded. . . strange," Xanos said.
"It's probably from breakfast," Dorna said, and shrugged. "Or perhaps he's worried about Aurora. She never came back this morning, after all."
Now that she mentioned it, it had been several days since he'd seen the thatch-haired rogue.
"Perhaps someone hired her to keep the crows out of their cornfield," he said nonchalantly.
Dorna chuckled, then caught herself and gave Xanos a disapproving frown.
Soon after, Drogan was bidding Thisden goodbye at the door. It was cut short when the dwarf had to make an emergency run for the outhouse.
Just then, Mischa came downstairs.
"Poor Master Drogan," she said "I feel just terrible for– " she noticed Thisden and stopped short. She blushed and curtsied.
"Good evening, my lady," Thisden said, smiling and looking at Mischa in such a way that Xanos had a hard time not punching him in the mouth.
"I'm sure you can see yourself out," Xanos said, shutting the door soundly on Thisden before he could say anything more.
"Who was that, Xanos?" Mischa asked, toying with a lock of her hair.
"No one of any importance," he answered briskly. "With any luck he'll never bother coming here again."
Xanos did his best not to notice Mischa's disappointment.
That night, Xanos had trouble sleeping. The visit from his old enemy brought back all the anger he had felt the day he had been exiled from his home, and then some. He remembered the torches, the angry faces, the shouted epithets. He was a threat, gifted with dangerous powers, and could no longer be tolerated.
He tossed from side to side in his bed, muttering curses, trying without success to shove the memories back where they belonged.
Distraction finally came in the form of the loud sound of glass breaking downstairs. Xanos leapt to his feet to find out what had happened.
He made it halfway down the stairs and stopped. There, crouching among shards of glass from the window and spatters of blood, was the biggest wolf Xanos had ever seen. It was deep black, with immense shoulders and a strangely intelligent set to its features.
Xanos stood, frozen in place, as it looked up at him with eyes of glowing orange.
And then Drogan was there, stepping in between Xanos and the creature.
"Stay back, fiend!" Drogan shouted, brandishing his staff. The wolf-thing laid back its ears and growled. Behind him, Xanos heard footsteps on the stairs.
"Master Drogan?" Mischa asked fearfully.
"Get back to your rooms!" Drogan commanded.
Taking advantage of his distraction, the creature tensed and sprang. Drogan whipped his hand through the air and said a word, and points of green light menaced the wolf like a swarm of hornets. It veered to the side and snapped at its magical tormentors.
"Go. Now."
Xanos needed no further prompting. He fled to his room along with Dorna and Mischa, and slammed the door shut behind them.
"Master Drogan. . ." Mischa said. She sounded as if she were on the verge of tears.
"He'll be fine," Xanos said, feeling an uncomfortable twinge of doubt. "He has been an adventurer for a very long time. A mere wolf cannot best him."
"That was no wolf," Dorna said, and even she sounded shaken.
They fell silent, listening to the sounds from below. There was more shouting, a loud crash, and a howl that made the skin on Xanos' arms break out in gooseflesh. And then, finally, there was silence.
Xanos decided to take a chance and crept back to the stairwell for a look.
"It's safe now, lad," Drogan called up to him. "I've sent it back to where it belongs."
Xanos went downstairs, followed by Mischa and Dorna.
"What was that thing?" Xanos asked.
"It was a barghest, Xanos. A fiendish creature that consumes the souls of its prey." Master Drogan sighed heavily and knelt. "It must have followed Aurora back to the house."
Xanos looked closer, and noticed for the first time the body crumpled on the floor. He could make out a shock of pale blond hair, smeared red with blood.
Drogan placed his hands over Aurora and prayed. She groaned and stirred, but did not wake.
"She's wounded, but she should be fine," he said. "I'm thankful that she managed to make it home in time."
"What a fool!" Xanos cried. "Why did she not simply use the ring to teleport to safety?"
"She couldn't," Dorna said softly, pointing to Aurora's left hand. A moment later, Xanos realized what she meant.
Aurora's pinky and ring finger were gone, each bitten off neatly at the bottom knuckle.
Aurora was fully healed by the following day, although her two fingers were a permanent loss. Despite the questions of the other students, she refused to say anything about the previous night other than that she had made a mistake and paid for it dearly. At last they grew tired of her long silences and short answers, and went about their normal business.
Xanos was building the fire when he heard Mischa scream. He ran outside, only to find her kneeling on the ground beneath his window, holding in cupped hands a greenish smear wrapped in parchment.
She saw Xanos, and a look of great pity came into her eyes.
"I'm very sorry, Xanos," she said, holding forth the pathetic bundle. "I think somebody murdered Hoppy."
Next Chapter: Something Finally Happens in Hilltop. Helm's BEARD! It's time for the official campaign to start!
Author's Note: That was long chapter. Thank heavens I took the advice of The Rogue Witch and told work to shove it, or I might never have finished the thing. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, it gives me incentive to write more.
Random sign that I should be institutionalized: While writing this fic, I actually say Xanos' lines aloud. In his accent. While wearing green makeup and a fake mustache. Okay, so I made the last bit up, but now that I think about it, it seems like a pretty cool idea...