Author's note: This chapter was an awful block for me, thanks much to Tim for editing and DMing :-) Thanks also for suggestion from others, both through reviews and otherwise! I took some creative license with the actual events of the game, but only so far as to eliminate characters that were only there for one to five game sessions (i.e. Justin, Betsy). From Whitefall on, the major characters belong to their players rather than to my own imagination, right down to Sir William's garbled accent, which John recreates every other Saturday with amazing and ironic perspicuity. Todd: I hope you're happy with the level of smartass I've retained in Leto. Jenn: don't worry, Whisper's snarkiness will reveal itself more in time.
THE SAGA OF BOY: BOOK ONE
Chapter 4: Friendly Fire
"You know what you have to do. Your father has lost all reason, and dishonors the house of Evenflow. We have not heard from him in too long for us to place continued trust in him, and must consider him Rogue."
"You would ask me to kill my own father?"
"We ask you to live up to the duties and responsibilities of your position. It is rare that we entrust a bastard half-blood with a task of such honor, but you have performed well so far in eliminating the rogues who dare dwell in the human planes."
"Can no one else..?"
"We must protect our species and keep knowledge of our existence from the humans, this you know. Your father has threatened that protective anonymity by taking up with a human woman. You are to take care of it."
"My pleasure is to serve the will of the King," he muttered through clenched teeth.
The half-blood of the Summer Court and Winter Court kept an icy-neutral expression on his face as he bowed to the Summer Court official and strode from the room. His half-sister, a full-blooded Summer Court and a hundred years his senior, moved confidently to the official's side, threading her arm through the proffered bend of his elbow.
"Would you wager he'll do as he says?" She whispered.
"My dear, that is precisely why you will be ready to step in if he does not. We will be keeping a close eye on your bastard brother, and if he fails me in this, you are to eliminate him as well."
"My pleasure is to serve the will of the King."
Nathanial had just turned twenty three when he came into the town of Whitefall for the first time, but still resembled a boy of fourteen. He stopped to squeeze the last copper piece in his sagging belt pouch once more, and recited a quick charm for luck. He'd gone short rations for the last three days without finding any kind of employment, and was forced to stop a few days to set deadfalls in the woods for food. He could have found money without a job, but his pride still refused to allow him to consider begging or stealing.
He crested the hill above a town marked Whitefall and was charmed at the first sight of its simple prosperity. A clear, shallow river flowed past the mill, and the green trees along the paths gave the town an ambiance of peace and well-being. The Inn was easy to identify and well maintained, which told Nathanial that the place would be busy, the owner a taskmaster, and the kitchen clean. Not that he was particularly choosy anymore, but it was always nicer to earn his keep without flicking cockroaches from his shoes.
The door of the Inn was heavy, and opened up to a large room still lit by the sun filtering through the thick, wavy glass of the picture window by the door. The place was at the stage of fresh-scrubbed quietude between the last of the maids and the first of the customers. The silence was so complete that Nathanial wondered if the owner had simply stepped out and left the door unlocked. He cleared his throat experimentally. When it brought no reaction he rapped gently on the wooden bar and called, "Hello?"
A large, battle-scarred man emerged from the back wiping his hands on a butcher's apron and raised an eyebrow at the scruffy figure behind his counter.
"What do you want? And if you say a handout I'll bust your ass out that door with my foot!"
Nathanial wasn't intimidated by his brusque tone; he'd heard it from a hundred Innkeepers over the years.
"I'm not looking for charity. I'm wondering if you might have work that needs doing, either short or long-term."
The Innkeeper snorted and looked Nathanial over. Nathanial stood quietly under the scrutiny, although he had to admit it was more thorough than usual.
"What can you do?" barked the Innkeeper.
Nathanial shrugged and said "Anything." After a moment's thought he revised it somewhat, "anything done around an Inn anyway. And if you have something I don't know how to do, I'll learn. And I promise you'll only have to show me once."
The man looked at Nathanial thoughtfully, as if assessing him. Nathanial's hopes grew when the man didn't outright kick him out for being "cocky," as so many others had. He wasn't trying to brag, he simply stated the truth. After working at countless Inns in countless menial tasks, there wasn't much an Innkeeper could surprise him with.
"Can you wash dishes?" asked the Innkeeper.
Nathanial perked up hopefully, "Yessir."
The man pulled a towel off his shoulder and tossed it. Nathanial caught it readily and the man continued talking.
"Then here's how it's going to be, boy. You do what I say and when I say it. If you put in a good day's work there's room and board in it for you plus a little extra. My name is Monk, but that's Sir to you."
Nathanial nodded and stuck out his hand, "I'm Nathanial Holt."
Monk took it and shook once.
"Don't bother me with names Boy, I don't want to know yours until you've proven yourself worth remembering. So you'll be called Boy until then, and you'll answer to it, got it?"
Nathanial nodded, resigned. Monk gave him a room key and stuck one thumb towards the kitchen.
"Now settle your stuff and git to work. When you're done with the kitchen there's wood to chop."
"Yessir."
Nathanial put water on to boil before heading to his room to shed his gear. He whistled lightly as he moved towards the stairs, giddy with his sudden good fortune. Rarely did a job around an Inn include room and board, although most Inns would at least feed the help from whatever was left in the pot. He looked around the well-lit, clean kitchen and considered staying a while in Whitefall, at least to save up something for another stretch of travel.
After a month had passed, Nathanial was beginning to allow himself to hope he could settle in Whitefall. The town was peaceful, the people pleasant, and although he was a demanding boss, Nathanial found Monk to be fair and worth respecting. He pushed himself to live up to Monk's high standards, wishing to earn respect in return, but despite his efforts Monk never abandoned his nickname for Nathanial.
He had just swung open the door to his assigned room one afternoon when he heard a bellow from downstairs.
"BOY!"
He quickly tossed his backpack into the room and sprinted down the stairs in his armor to see what was needed of him. Monk was there handing change back to a scruffy looking man who twitched constantly, as if he wanted to be looking over his shoulder no matter what direction he was facing. Nathanial stood in front of Monk and gave him a half-mocking salute. Monk raised one eyebrow and stared him down, but even though his stare had lost none of its intimidation, Nathanial had begun to suspect there was humor lurking somewhere in the man's expression.
"Boy, take this man to the stable to see to his pony, then bring him back safely. Think you can handle that?"
"Yessir." He agreed, already thinking of the dishes and woodpile waiting for him before he could turn in. He held the door open for the man to pass through, but paused when Monk cleared his throat. Nathanial looked back at him expectantly.
"Safely, Boy."
He studied Monk's expression for a moment, puzzled. He glanced at the man placed in his charge and looked him over more carefully. Something about the weasely, twitching expression made him want to tuck his belt pouch into his clothing while the man was near him. Hesitant, and hoping he was reading Monk's signal correctly, Nathanial ran quickly back up to his room and re-donned his leather armor and Morningstar. Monk had occasionally asked him to wear them when he was expecting trouble in the bar, more as a deterrent than anything else. He took the stairs two at a time on the way back down, and from Monk's terse nod he knew he'd guessed correctly.
The man seemed almost reluctant to step out into the daylight when they left the bar, and Nathanial eyed him suspiciously. He looked up and down the street of the quiet town, but saw nothing out of the ordinary to cause the man to duck nervously behind crates and barrels as he walked. A few travelers were filtering towards the Inn, obviously foreign to the place. A few locals were going about their daily business, eying the foreigners suspiciously. They hadn't gotten far between the Inn and the gate to the stableyard when they heard a cry from across the road.
"THIEF!"
Nathanial jumped, one hand going to his belt pouch, the other to his Morningstar as an enormous man in mismatched armor charged towards them waving an axe. The man beside Nathanial seemed to freeze in terror for a matter of heartbeats before he broke like a racing sprinter towards the safety of the Inn. Nathanial had to jump to one side as an enormous figure, covered in gleaming armor like a knight from the old tales, galloped his horse through the confusion and knocked the accused thief down with a glancing blow from his lance. The twitchy man lay still in the street and the rider turned his horse to make another pass. A hot stubborn rage consumed Nathanial at the thought of scorn and disappointment on Monk's face when he reported the death of his assignment. He began cursing steadily under his breath while he fumbled with his Morningstar. He charged in recklessly and stood over the fallen man, ready to swing at anyone who stepped into range. He stared, enraged at the rider with the lance and felt the power stirring in his mind. The knight spurred his horse in their direction, but suddenly pulled up and threw his lance from him, shaking his hand as if in pain. Nathanial eyed the smoking weapon with satisfaction, thankful that luck was on his side.
His distraction nearly cost him his head, but when he heard a metallic clang just behind his left ear he ducked and swung blindly. He heard a grunt as the Morningstar connected with something solid, then another ringing blow of metal on metal. He jumped a step back and turned to see a woman in a long black leather skirt standing defiantly before the man with the axe. She gritted her teeth as she struggled to disarm the attacker with her sword. Confused at this unexpected assistance, Nathanial looked around to assess the fight. The knight was drawing a sword and preparing to charge again, but the sun reflected with bright intensity from his armor into Nathanial's eyes, obscuring most details. The accused thief was stirring and slowly stumbling to his feet with a trail of blood streaming from the side of his head. A weaponless man was leaning against the porch rail with an amused, cynical look on his face and a scruffy dog at his feet. With one wary eye on the newcomer, Nathanial stood by the thief he was obligated to protect and waited for the rider to get into range. The knight swung on him as he approached, opening his shoulder with a nasty slice, but Nathanial connected as well and nearly knocked the man from his horse. He felt his fingers go numb on the wounded arm, and switched his Morningstar awkwardly to his whole one. He heard a cry of warning behind him and turned in time to catch the flat of the axe across the temple, sending him sprawling in the dust. Dazed, he saw the axe's wielder evade the woman in black again and grab the accused thief by one hand. The smaller man was dragged onto the porch, kicking wildly and shrieking for help. Nathanial struggled to his feet and ran towards the porch as the larger man held the thief's hand flat against the railing and raised his axe to chop it off. His captive gave a final shriek and went limp in a dead faint. As the attacker's arm tightened for the final blow, the window behind him exploded in a shower of glass and a fist dripping blood and shards of glass took a rocklike grip on the hand with the axe. Nathanial ducked instinctively and skidded to a halt, awed at the sight of his boss standing behind the remains of the window with a look of murderous rage on his face. Monk flexed his arm and Nathanial winced at the sound of bones and tendons snapping beneath his fist. The axe dropped harmlessly to the porch floor as a stream of outraged foreign gibberish came from the owner of the broken hand. Monk snorted and took a step back, jerking the man through the broken window by his hand. It was a moment before he reappeared.
"YOU."
Nathanial flinched reflexively at the tone, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others react the same way.
"ALL OF YOU. INSIDE. NOW."
They sheepishly headed towards the Inn door. Nathanial re-sheathed his Morningstar and tried to help the accused thief to his feet. The man with the dog came over and helped.
"I don't think you'll be getting a tip out of this one." He quipped, and Nathanial glared vacantly at him. The cut on his arm was beginning to throb and he gritted his teeth against it. They dragged the limp body inside to a table and laid it across the top before Nathanial collapsed in a chair and gripped his arm to stem the blood flow.
Monk looked the man on the table over and turned to one of the patrons at the bar. "YOU. Go get the temple priest."
The man scurried off without even finishing his beer, although not for a wistful look backwards as he went. Monk continued to glare at the combatants, arms folded. He glanced Nathanial's way, mouth half open in a command, then stopped and blinked. He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a small vial. He tossed it to Nathanial who reacted too slowly, but the man who'd helped him drag in his unconscious charge snatched the vial out of mid-air with a motion faster than Nathanial's eye could follow. He flourished the vial with a mocking bow and smug grin.
"Boy," ordered Monk, "Drink that and go clean yourself up."
Nathanial nodded wearily and threw back the contents of the bottle, shuddering at the unexpectedly vile taste. He felt a tingling sensation move over his skin and settle into his injuries. The itching was almost unbearable, but when the tingling had faded the wound on his shoulder was reduced to a string of bruises and a faint scar. He flexed his arm experimentally and found the pain all but gone. He looked up at Monk with some suspicion and curiosity. It wasn't his first experience with a magical potion, but it still made him uneasy. He preferred things to be solid and explainable.
"Would you be willing to sell me one of those potions?" asked the woman, examining her cuts and bruises from the fight.
Monk snorted and raked her over with scorn, "Hell no, try getting out of the way when someone swings at you."
She drew herself up haughtily, "Well excuse me for jumping in to protect a child outnumbered two to one."
"Child!?" interrupted Nathanial with some heat, "Not to be unappreciative of your help, but I was doing just fine!"
"Enough!" Monk shouted, cutting off her response, "Boy! I told you to go clean up; you still have things to do." He pointed a finger towards the stairs and with a last cold glare at the woman Nathanial limped up to his room.
"Now for the rest of you rejects," said Monk, "start talking."
Nathanial did his best to quickly scrub the dirt, sweat and blood from his skin and clothes, and changed into his only spare outfit. After a longing look at his bed he made his way back downstairs. The foreigners were still sweating under Monk's questioning, and Nathanial decided to escape the experience by ducking into the kitchen. He quickly washed the dishes in lukewarm water, and then listened in on the conversation as he dried them. The temple priest had arrived by then, and Nathanial finished mopping the floor before moving to the doorframe for a better view. He heard the priest pronounced the thief guilty, and with merciful efficiency the priest's assistant grabbed the thief's hand, sliced it from his wrist, and cauterized the wound with a spell. The thief fainted once again, and the stoic assistant slung the limp body over one shoulder before following the priest from the bar. Nathanial swallowed several times in horror and ducked back into the kitchen, trying to banish the sight from his mind with little success. He escaped out the back door to the woodpile, grateful that his part in these people's adventure was ended.
He was exhausted and sore by the time he stacked the last pieces of wood in the growing darkness. He stretched out his back with a groan and buried the axe firmly in the tree stump he'd used for a base. Wiping the sweat and woodchips from his neck he wandered inside and served himself a bowl of stew from the pot bubbling on the stove. He took no more than three steps into the main dining room before he spotted the table of foreigners from that afternoon sitting down to a beer and what looked like serious conversation. The knight was bent over the charred shaft of his lance attempting to repair it, and the woman looked to be in some heated debate with the dog's owner. Nathanial wheeled around on one foot without slowing or spilling a drop and tried as inconspicuously as possible to sneak back into the kitchen.
"Boy!"
He winced and turned back, sighing. Monk was looking straight at him and Nathanial limped over to the table.
"Yessir."
"Did you finish that woodpile yet?"
"Yessir."
Monk arched one eyebrow in surprise and grunted. Nathanial took note and wondered if Monk had really thought the chores would go undone because of a few bruises.
"Pull up a chair Boy; this may concern you as well."
Wanting no part of anything that concerned the brawling group of strangers he inwardly cursed his indiscretion at not eating in the kitchen. He set his food on the table between the woman and the odd man with the dog and ate as he listened, determined not to get involved.
"I've been looking to hire on some folks to protect certain objects in my possession," began Monk, "and while I cringe at the thought of turning it over to this bunch of misfits, circumstances may not leave me any choice. The job is to get these objects as far away from myself and Whitefall as possible, to keep them together and on the move, and protect them from anything that might try to get a hold of them. For this I'm offering each of you ten gold per day."
Nathanial's halfhearted interest suddenly became complete at this offer of mind-boggling wealth. He saw some of the others perk up as well, but the man next to Nathanial chuckled indulgently and scratched the ears of the dog beneath his chair. Nathanial began to regret his choice of seating as an intense, rank odor of rotting wool and sun-ripened dead skunk rose from the animal.
"Monk old man, you must think we're greedy enough to be stupid, and you might be right," said the man pleasantly, "but if you're offering that much money to baby-sit some trinkets there's a catch, and not a warm, fuzzy, friendly catch either."
"Of course there's a catch you idiot!" snapped Monk impatiently, "do you think I'd waste money on protection for these things if someone else wasn't looking for them?"
"So what are these items, and who is hunting them?" chimed in the woman in black, looking at Monk with glowering intensity.
"Actually, we don't know what they are, and we're trying to buy time to find out. They're being hunted by a witch named Khezrial, and I'll not name her again. She has some way of tracking them by magic, and we need to get them safely away to give us a chance to research their purpose. All we know is that if she wants them as badly as she seems to, they must be part of something powerful, and for her, getting what she wants usually means the death of anything in her way. She wants these enough to make me think that many, many lives are at stake, perhaps all life."
"So what you're asking them to do," asked Nathanial incredulously, before he could remind himself to not get involved, "is to save the world."
The man with the dog gave a short bark of laughter and choked on his beer.
"Nah kid, what he's asking us to do is die for some damn fool war that's not even ours."
"Cor!" chimed in the mismatched man, waving a beer expansively, "yamoossbeahbluh'yidyootden!"
There was a brief moment of silence as everyone tried to puzzle out what sounded vaguely like a dialect of common speech, but the Knight merely shook his head and turned calmly back to Monk.
"So you're asking us to put ourselves in direct danger so that you can take your time deciphering an academic puzzle? And you think…"
"What I'm asking you to do," interrupted Monk with a warning note in his voice, "is continue your travels wherever you would normally go, but together. You are to keep an eye out for anything suspicious, and stay out of trouble while you carry these things. I'm paying you extra to be smart, since I don't really trust you to make an effort at it otherwise, and I'm paying you to be cautious. Whether you choose to take it is up to you, but time is getting close and I need these to leave town tonight at the latest. "
Around him, Nathanial could see the strangers eye each other warily. Nathanial turned back to his plate.
"Boy?"
He looked up, startled and saw Monk looking at him expectantly.
"Sir?" he asked, then realization dawned on him. "You mean you're including me on this?"
"Why not?"
"Why not?" interrupted the woman with some heat and a subtle movement away from Nathanial, "He's a child and even if we did feel like babysitting, it's too dangerous for him."
Nathanial flushed and looked the woman over with some disdain. "I may not look it, but I'm probably older than you."
She gave him a scornful look, and the man with the axe slapped the table in glee.
"YaBouy,waytapoot'erinhurspoot!"
Nathanial looked at them both, then turned to Monk.
"I'll accept your offer, even if no one else does."
Monk nodded. "And the rest of you?"
One by one they assented, and Monk motioned for a barmaid to refill their drinks.
"It's settled then. I'll provide you with horses and supplies to set out, and a week's advance on your pay. You are not to return to Whitefall until you're contacted."
"When do you need us to set out?" asked the knight, still bent over repairs to his charred lance.
"Weren't you listening pansy boy?" snapped Monk, "You leave tonight. Right now."
He tossed several pouches onto the table and Nathanial could hear the clink of metal coins inside some. He weighed one experimentally and tied it to his belt pouch without counting. He then chose one of the misshapen leather pouches and pulled it open. A dull piece of fractured metal was inside, with part of an intricate design worked into the surface. It looked so completely ordinary that Nathanial had trouble believing someone would pursue it so relentlessly. He glanced up to see Monk glaring at him, and he quickly closed the bag, tying it to his belt and tucking it into the inside of his clothes for safe keeping. The others were doing the same, and gathering up their equipment.
Nathanial stood and climbed the stairs to what had so briefly been his home. He looked at the clean, soft bed and gave a resigned sigh before retrieving his backpack and still-damp clothing. He trudged downstairs and followed the others to the stable to choose a riding horse.
He wasn't the only one without a horse already, but the stranger with the dog didn't seem to want one. The man sat cross-legged on a bale of hay watching the others saddle their mounts with a sardonic grin.
"It must be terrible to have to rely on something to carry you through the world, eh folks?" I can go as fast on my own two feet as that critter there, without leaving big steaming piles..."
He was cut off as a bucket came hurtling out from a stall and clipped him on the shoulder.
"shyutyoorselfupalreadyidyoot," came the garble from the stall.
The man rubbed his shoulder resentfully and bit back a response. He was quite willing to be distracted, and brightened when he noticed Nathanial had entered.
"Boy! Glad you could join us, I believe you missed introductions. I'm Leto, this is Hooch."
The rank odor from the dog had not decreased, but he grinned up at Nathanial with a mad, vacant gleam in his eyes. Nathanial nodded.
"My name," he said with polite emphasis, "is Nathanial."
"Sure thing Boy," Leto continued with cheerful indifference. "The rather statuesque woman with the sword over there apparently goes by Whisper, although I somehow doubt she lives up to the name."
The woman scowled at Leto and did her best to pretend he was a flea stuck to the bottom of her boot.
"The very shiny walking signal mirror to your left is Ramses, a Paladin of Khalidine, and yonder hulking brute in the stall is Sir William Beaumont Merriweather the Third, at least if I understood him correctly. He suggested Sir for short, and while the suggestion is ridiculous, it may be just funny enough to go along with."
Nathanial nodded to each of his new companions warily and performed a closer inspection of the horses available. He ran his hands down legs and checked teeth and eyes, ignoring the pithy remarks from Leto. He settled on a light warhorse with a white star on his left fetlock, which the superstitious would call a sign of luck. He borrowed gear from the tack room and felt every tired muscle protest as he strapped the leathers onto the horse and swung into the saddle. Nathanial rode at the back of the party, wondering if he was in over his head.