THE SAGA OF BOY: BOOK ONE
Chapter 6: Fire Away
Farmer Alderson was settling in for a late-night smoke when the pounding came at the door. He pulled himself out of his chair with a groan and limped across the room, wondering where he could possibly fit another orphaned child in the bunkhouses. When he opened the door, there was only a man concealed in a cloak and hood, with something indefinably foreign about him.
"Mr. Alderson, of the… orphan farm?" The stranger tripped over the last two words as if they were distasteful to him.
Alderson didn't see a child with the man, and a hope emerged that he might be in search of an apprentice, or even an adoption.
"Yes it is sometimes called that. I prefer to call it a home instead, but come in, please. Can I offer you something to drink?"
The stranger shook his head. As he stepped into the main room he peeled back his hood, still damp from the light rain, and peered around with curiosity. Alderson did a double take at the sight of the man's features and reached for his pipe to take a soothing puff. He'd never seen the man before in his life, but yet he was oddly familiar. The cloak was of fine quality, and an intricate leather headband circled his brow. Alderson wondered if the man wasn't of some royal family looking to adopt, as he sat at the table and gestured for the stranger to join him there.
The visitor cleared his throat and began without preamble.
"I'm asking after a young boy you had here at the home until two years ago. His name was Nathanial."
Alderson started, and wondered what the boy had done to bring the recent string of people knocking at his door. He tried to control the nerves trying to shake his voice, and thought he managed to sound casual.
"Nathanial Holt, I remember him. He died in a tavern fire two years ago. The townsfolk think he set it."
The man had noticed the start, and his eyes narrowed as the farmer spoke.
"That's what I hear," the stranger said, sitting back in his chair and tapping one foot, "but I have my doubts. Tell me about him, what he was like."
"I'm afraid that's not my place to tell. The boy's long dead, and should be no concern to anyone."
The man looked the lying farmer over coolly and removed his leather headband. Alderson's eyes went wide at the sight of the long ears tapering to points.
"Every concern," the stranger said calmly, "The boy was, or is, my brother."
Nathanial was kicked awake by a cursing Sir William, and rolled from the attack with his arms flung protectively across his face.
"BOUY! Wotdee'elljoodowitourfirewoo?"
He peeked cautiously over one arm and saw Sir and Whisper both glaring at him across the ashes of last night's bonfire.
"YeesumkindapyroBouy? Yefookincrazy?"
Nathanial rolled to his feet and ignored the grousing about the missing firewood, but couldn't shake off the icy glare of Whisper's eyes on his back as he rolled up his bedding and stuffed it unceremoniously into a saddle bag. He was as angry with himself as they were for letting his fascination get the best of him. Guilt and short sleep did not put him in the best of moods, but then neither did the lack of water to bathe after the previous night's exertions. He climbed into the saddle with a groan, earning a sympathetic look from Ramses.
"You'll get used to it soon enough Boy. We've got a long way to go."
His friendly tone took some of the sting out of the nickname, and Nathanial began to resign himself to it.
The road met up with a wide, clear river carving its way through sandy banks, and they stopped in the high heat of the afternoon to rest the horses at a small landing. Nathanial gratefully stripped down to his breeches, leaving them on only for Whisper's sake. He dove eagerly into the water and let it rinse away the twenty-four hour accumulation of dust, soot, blood and sweat. The water came to his waist in the deepest part, and he could feel the tug of the current against his legs when he stood. The coolness of the water seemed to penetrate to his very bones, and the relief of it made him laugh out loud with delight.
He noticed the party looking at him with a wide range of expressions from amusement to scorn when he climbed back on the bank to retrieve his clothes. He made sure his hair covered the tips of his ears whenever he was in sight, but otherwise only acknowledged their presence with a sarcastic salute before he waded back into the water.
He rinsed his outer clothes as best he could and hung them on bushes along the stream bank before his stomach finally convinced him that the mouth-watering smells from the cookfire were more important than wetting his already-clean skin. He sat down on a fallen log wearing only his breeches and his hat, knowing how odd the combination looked. Water dripped steadily from him as he wolfed down his share of the venison pieces wrapped and roasted in herbs. Whisper sniffed in his direction, whether in appreciation of his improved odor or in disapproval of his soaked, half-bare appearance Nathanial didn't care. He was clean and comfortable with the sun on his face, and was ready to get along with anyone.
"You look," she proclaimed haughtily, "like a drowned rat."
Nathanial swallowed a bite and grinned easily.
"There're worse things I suppose. At least I'm clean."
He hadn't meant to imply that she wasn't, and almost groaned when her spine stiffened in indignation. But she only stood and stomped over to a nearby clearing, unslinging her bow. He kept one wary eye on her to make sure he wasn't her target.
"keepta'ellawayfroomtefyrebouy, ahwantsoomwoodleftfertamoora."
Nathanial looked up at Sir glaring at him suspiciously from the cookfire. Nathanial shrugged and went back to watching Whisper practice with her bow. Leto laughed from a corner.
"You've got an axe don't you? You do know how to use it, don'tcha Sir?"
Sir looked at him scornfully.
"wullYAHIknewstauseit! Culdsplity'edopenfrom'ere,effahwantato."
"Then it bears to reason," chimed in Ramses, "that if you can split a human head, you can also split some kindling when we need it."
Sir actually began to splutter, and Nathanial eased back on the log in case Sir decided that splitting heads was more his style. It was only when Whisper stormed over to scold them that the argument ceased.
"If you GENTLEMEN are finished eating, perhaps we could make it to a town by nightfall, hmmm?"
The three shot wary looks at each other, and moved towards their horses. Sir packed up his cooking gear and loaded into the saddlebags while Nathanial kicked sand over the remains of the fire. There was a strained silence that continued through the afternoon.
They arrived in a sprawling city proclaiming itself to be MarketTown just as the sun dipped down to the horizon. The main street ran east to west, so the setting sun seemed to coat the rows of vendors with gilt. Tents became golden, jewelry flashed warmly in the angle of light, and a level of calm began to infuse the crowds pushing their way through the street. When the sun's light was only a vague sliver above the horizon the rows of vendors erupted with a loud shout of "LASTS!" echoing up and down the rows of tables and tents. The horses spooked, and Nathanial barely managed to keep his from bolting through the masses of people on foot. His hand dropped nervously to his Morningstar and he looked around for some source of alarm, but other than a surge of last-minute shopping the street was quickly clearing. Less than a minute later the vendors began packing up their wares and closing their wagons for the night.
Ramses led them through the town, and called for a halt in front of a seedy looking Inn tucked amongst warehouses in the heart of Markettown. It had no name, simply a rough-hewn sign proclaiming "Ale" in blood-red letters above the door. The one window was shattered and covered with mismatched boards. Empty crates and broken bottles lay in a heap as if merely kicked away from blocking the door. The Inn was painted in a clashing riot of colors, as if the leftover paint from a hundred other projects were used to cover the walls.
"I say, Ramses," Leto piped up sarcastically, "classy place, but are you sure its not too high-brow for us? They might require formal wear."
Ramses shrugged and dismounted.
"We want to be as inconspicuous as possible."
Nathanial wondered privately how a six foot paladin in gleaming metal armor could possibly be anything but conspicuous in such a place, but he held his tongue and dismounted. He tied his horse to the rail outside the Inn, without much hope that it would hold the creature if it wanted to escape. The others threw each other dubious looks as they followed suit, and Nathanial anticipated another long discussion once they had food and a drink inside them.
He squinted once he was through the doorway, and let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light inside. The boarded windows let narrow flashes of sun worm their way to the interior, but all other light came from oily lanterns set high on the walls. A dark cone of cemented soot and grease spread up the wall from each lantern, darkening walls already stained with shades of grey, yellow and a queasy greenish-brown. An assortment of tables in all sizes and shapes were scattered about the room, few of them occupied. The burly dozen or so patrons had a permanent air to them, as if they'd been there so long they'd become fixtures of the building itself. The bartender himself sat at the end of his bar with an unlabeled bottle of clear liquid, carving something into the top of the counter.
Ramses strode up to the bar while the others filed in more cautiously behind him. He stood a few feet from the bartender, who glanced up at him, then returned to his work with a dismissive wave of his hand. Ramses actually looked nonplussed for a moment, then rapped briskly on the bar with his gauntleted knuckles. The bartender's head slowly rose, staring at the offending hand. Ramses decided that this was close enough to an acknowledgement and jumped straight to the point.
"Sir, we'd like to order drinks, and food if you serve it."
Several of the party members shuddered at the thought of eating anything prepared in this building. Nathanial saw Leto carefully raise one foot to clear the path for a cockroach the size of his thumb. Leto had an odd twisted expression on his face, and Nathanial wondered how close it was to his own. The cockroach headed for a corner and Leto lowered his foot to the floor with a sigh. The bartender's only response to Ramses was a short contemptuous grunt.
Ramses leaned over and tapped the bar right in front of the man.
"See here, Barkeep...."
He pulled his hand out of the way in time to avoid losing a finger as the carving knife buried itself half an inch into the wood. Ramses looked indignant and opened his mouth to protest. The bartender pulled the knife from the bar and turned one steely eye up to him.
"Feck off."
Ramses shut his mouth with an audible snap. His companions noticed uneasily that the other patrons were taking an active interest in the conversation. One of them drew a dagger and laid it next to his glass. Another did the same with a crossbow. Ramses made another attempt.
"Really, there's no call for rudeness. Or threats, which, if I may remind you, are illegal by territory law. So if you'd be so kind as to put that knife away, I would be happy to pay you double for drinks. I should warn you, however, that should you continue to threaten me with that dagger I will be forced to defend myself, and possibly make a citizen's arrest."
Leto and Whisper exchanged half-panicked, long-suffering glances at that prospect. She carefully stepped behind Sir to avoid notice, and drew her falchion, hiding the blade discreetly beneath a fold of her cloak. The bartender began to chuckle, and sheathed the dagger. He reached under the bar and there was a moment of held breath while everyone in the room waited for their cue to attack or defend. When the bartender's hands surfaced with nothing more threatening than a set of dusty mugs it was as if the building itself sighed and released the explosive tension. Nathanial could hear his own heart beating in his chest as his shoulders sagged in relief. The bartender began whistling cheerfully and reached down for a bottle. When he surfaced again it took a moment for the crossbow in his hands to register with party or patrons. Ramses reacted first and cut the man's head neatly from his shoulders. The bartender's shot went wide and the room erupted.
Most of the patrons had crossbows and the bolts flew past members of the party. Nathanial turned to look for some sort of cover when something hit him hard in one shoulder, spinning him around to the floor. He lay a moment, stunned before reaching back a tentative hand and closing it around the crossbow bolt buried in his skin. His stomach crawled for a moment, but he was surprised at the lack of pain. Grasping the shaft, he pulled it sharply out, and the furies of hell were awakened in the wound. He clenched his teeth around a low groan and shied away from a bolt flying past him to bury itself in a table.
"You'll be slaughtered if you stay put, Nate me mate," he told himself sharply in that tone of Brand's that always sounded reasonable. He took a deep breath and managed to pull himself to a half-crouch to run for the cover of the bar. He ducked a swing from a mace and dodged behind the counter, tripping over the forgotten body of the dead bartender. When he landed on his hands and knees a sharp, angry pain shot down his torso from his wound and it was a brief moment before he shook his head to clear it. He heard the sound of steel connecting with steel and found his resolve, along with the bartender's crossbow. He got the man's fingers unwrapped from the weapon and espied a full quiver of bolts half-hidden behind a row of bottles beneath the bar. He pulled it out without a thought, and the bottles smashed on the floor around his feet. The fumes from the liquor nearly choked him, but he got the crossbow loaded and peeked cautiously over the counter.
He spotted a man about to swing a chair across the back of Whisper's head, but she was engaged with two other attackers and oblivious to the new threat. Nathanial planted a bolt neatly in the man's throat, using the counter to steady his aim. He ducked a returning arrow and dropped back down to reload. When he rose again he shot too quickly, and only winged a man's shoulder before a bolt came his way and left a gouge along the outside of his left arm. Cursing, he dropped back down, clutching his arm. When he hit the floor he tried to reload the crossbow with hands slippery with blood. He dropped the next bolt on the floor, and rather than fumbling for it in the broken bits of glass he drew another and locked it frantically into place. He drew a deep breath and surfaced again, but found there was nothing left to shoot at. The last patron was lying across the doorway itself, breathing in short gasps. Blood bubbled up from the corners of his mouth and spilled across his cheeks as he finally stopped breathing altogether. Nathanial swallowed hard and looked away.
The light from the doorway was suddenly blocked, and Nathanial brought up the crossbow to fire. At first he thought the creature in the doorway couldn't possibly be human. Its robes were woven in a thousand conflicting colors, some of which didn't even recall names. The colors changed and flowed into each other with every movement of the fabric. As the figure lifted its robes to step disdainfully over the fallen body on the floor, Nathanial had to close his eyes and rub them to eliminate the glare etched into his vision. He very nearly disliked the thing on sight.
"Can I help you?" Nathanial asked sarcastically.
The thing stopped and looked him up and down. A creature resembling a monkey peeked out from around the thing's head with a pleading expression of misery on its face. Its fur had been dyed in bright shades of oranges and red, which somehow both accented and clashed with its owner's robes. Nathanial got the strong impression of an animal at the end of any shred of dignity, and felt a fierce stab of pity for the thing.
Ramses stepped over to Nathanial when he saw the blood staining his traveling clothes. He looked over the wounds briefly then nodded.
"Hold still Boy."
Nathanial nodded and waited to see if Ramses would pull out a needle and thread. He'd had stitches before and had horrific memories of the experience. But Ramses merely laid his hands on Nathanial's head and began to mutter. He saw a soft golden glow envelope them both, and his wounds began to itch uncontrollably as they healed over.
The taller creature, identifiable as a man once out of the glare of the doorway, looked past Nathanial dismissively and stepped up to the bar with a casual glance at Ramses. He tapped one finger on the bar as he spoke.
"I do hope the drinks are better than the decor. I'll take a glass of your finest ...."
He suddenly stopped in mid-sentence and took a second, longer look at Ramses, who'd straightened and was staring icily at the man for his presumptuous tone. The stranger's eyes hungrily lapped over all six feet of blond muscle in plate mail. He gave out a low whistle.
"Come..to..pappa.." They heard him mutter under his breath.
The party locked eyes in disbelief. Nathanial reviewed the robed figure again, wondering if he was mistaken and it was indeed a female. Puzzled, he couldn't find anything, other than the walk, that would indicate so. He shuddered and managed to tell himself against his own eyes that he had not just seen a man make flirtatious advances on a Paladin of Kalidine.
"A pleasure to meet you, my name is Leshar," the stranger said with his hand out as if a woman expecting it to be kissed. Ramses took it and gave the hand a quick shake. When he went to disentangle himself from the grip there was a brief struggle as Leshar seemed reluctant to release him.
Nathanial opened and closed his mouth like a fish, waiting for a reaction but not knowing what possibly to say. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a gleam in Leto's eye that could not bode well for any situation, but before Leto could speak he was interrupted by a strangled gasp from Whisper. Everyone turned, hands on weapons in case some new threat had appeared, but saw only Whisper crouched over one of the dead patrons, staring at an unrolled sheet of parchment. She was ghostly white, and Nathanial took a step towards her.
Suddenly conscious of the attention on her, Whisper blushed and shoved the parchment into a pocket on her cloak. She avoided meeting anyone's eyes as she moved on to search the next fallen body.
"Whisper," asked Ramses cautiously, "are you all right?"
She gave her head a quick shake, but whether in answer or dismissal no one could tell. She apparently didn't find what she was looking for on the next patron, and moved on the search another. Leshar was stirred to curiosity, and bent over the dead body in the doorway. When he straightened, he was staring at a piece of parchment with a look of smug triumph on his face.
"Oh my my..."
Whisper's face drained of color and she turned slowly. Her fingers tightened on the hilt of her falchion when she saw the parchment in the stranger's hands. Leshar seemed to relish his small victory and stared critically from the parchment to Whisper's face.
"Not to worry dear, a very poor rendition of you. But why on earth would someone want you dead, hmmmmmm?"
She approached him with a measured stride, and a cold, glittering black rage on her face that nearly sent Nathanial diving behind the bar again. He swore to himself at that moment to never do anything that would direct that look toward him, and felt some measure of sympathy for the stranger who'd unwittingly goaded her to it. She approached the stranger at a deliberate walk, tore the parchment from his hands in a single, lightning fast movement, and shredded it onto the floor at his feet. The two locked eyes for a single moment, with Whisper finally matched in high-handed superiority. An epic battle crossed the small space between their eyes and no one but the participants knew who won the struggle. Whisper turned on one heel and motioned towards the door with her head.
"We have to leave town...now."
Her companions all exchanged looks, wondering if the stranger would really get off so easily or if there was violence yet in store. Her exit from the building was anticlimactic, and it was a moment before everyone shook off their puzzlement to follow. They had unhitched their horses and were partway down the street before they realized LeShar was following them.