THE SAGA OF BOY: BOOK ONE
Chapter 7 – Old Friends, New Flames
The trail was years cold, but once he learned Nathanial was alive he would not be discouraged. He spent a year searching in an agonizingly slow spiral outward from Franklin before he found his first hope in the memory of a weapons merchant. From there the trail disappeared again, and it was months before he came across a clue by accident. A vendor remarked on his familiar face, and he learned the boy had lingered here for more than a year. He doubled back and found a horse breeder who remembered him with some fondness and regret. Each time the boy had disappeared without a trace and he would resort to searching randomly until Nathanial's name or face rang a bell with an inn or shop keeper. There was no pattern to the movements, and he wondered if the lack was intentional, or simply a mark of someone with nowhere to go. But the trail was getting fresher each time Nathanial stopped, and he was closing in.
More to the point, Leshar was following Ramses. The Paladin was oblivious to the covetous stare that tracked his every move, but from the mixture of pity and glee on Leto's face he at least knew it, and Nathanial examined and discarded ways of tactfully pointing out Leshar's interest to Ramses. Complicating the matter further was the fact that Nathanial had no way of knowing if Ramses returned Leshar's sentiment. He suspected that these things were seen in a different light in the cities of the continent than the farming stop he'd been raised in. He'd also heard mention that this or that religious order often condoned such relationships, but he'd never heard that of Kaladine. Out of frustration, he chose to bite his tongue, rather than be marked as a bumpkin and once more the subject of ridicule.
The source of the party's white-knuckled silence rode cheerfully on beside them, holding an animated, one sided discussion which wandered from topic to topic without any signs of settling or expecting a response. Whisper was the only one quieter than Nathanial, as she seemed to approach the problem by openly refusing to acknowledge Leshar's presence on the same planet, much less within twenty feet of her horse.
She was obviously more worried about the pieces of parchment she'd found in the tavern. She fidgeted constantly, glancing over her shoulder for signs of followers so often that Nathanial waited for her neck to stick in the twisted position. Ramses pulled up his horse near dusk, but was halted as he prepared to dismount by a low growl from Whisper.
"We can't stop yet, I need to put more distance between me and that town."
Ramses straightened in the saddle and appraised her carefully.
"How long do you plan on riding tonight Whisper? I will not risk my horse if the footing becomes unstable in the dark."
Whisper's tone and face softened, making her next words a plea rather than a demand.
"Just a while longer, please? You don't know what's at stake..."
"Well," interrupted Leto, "You could always tell us what's at stake, seeing as how we're apparently going to be riding into midnight because of it."
Whisper gave her head a firm shake and lowered her eyes to avoid their expectant stares. Ramses waited a few moments, then took pity on her and nudged his horse back into a steady walk. The moon was high and full, and still shed enough light to navigate by.
The passage of a cloud obscured the intersection where the main road turned off, and soon the path grew narrow and overgrown. The open fields became forest, and the wall of dense underbrush crowded in around them. Nathanial rode in a near-doze. To him the trees seemed to watch them pass, and any movement caught from the corner of his eye startled him awake in a panic. The adrenaline kept him alert for a few moments, but it wasn't long before the steady rocking of the horse lulled him to sleep again. His dreams were haunted by ghosts of lost travelers, which grew in his imagination as the woods darkened. Incorporeal hands reached out to brush his legs, but when he flailed out at them he caught only leaves. A short time later there was a moment of panic as a skeletal hand seized him suddenly by the throat and arms and began to pull him from the saddle. He struggled to wake but the dream did not dissipate. His own shriek finally woke him and startled the others into a confused brandishing of weapons. He flailed with both hands at the bony fingers choking him, gasping more from fear than lack of breath. Whisper trotted her horse up next to Nathanial's and freed him with a single slash of her falchion. He put one tentative hand up to catch the remains falling from his neck and sheepishly cast aside the pieces of King's Ivy he'd ridden through in the dark. He met Whisper's look of disgust with an apologetic shrug of his shoulders and hurried forward to catch up with Ramses. The Paladin had stopped his horse and was staring into the woods at one side of the path.
"What is it?" Nathanial hissed, one hand carefully unlatching the guard of his Morningstar. He peered off in the same direction as Ramses, squinting in the darkness. The underbrush was thinner in that spot and Nathanial could see a high, flat hillock just through the first line of branches and a narrow deer trail cutting through the scrub.
"A campsite," Ramses replied, and dismounted. Whisper opened her mouth to protest, but to her dismay a long-suppressed yawn swallowed her words. She was soon left on the path alone and yet still hesitated before sliding off her horse and following the others. There was halfhearted talk of a campfire and setting a watch order, which drifted into silence as sleep claimed them all.
They awoke without warning to the sound of a violent struggle. Ramses was the first to react, but even he was delayed while he disentangled himself from his bedroll. In the moment it took him to gain his feet, the battle was over. Whisper had a dark-haired man pinned with his face to the ground and one arm twisted firmly up to his shoulder blade. He did not make a noise but a faint grimace betrayed his discomfort. Sir reached into his bag with one hand while rubbing sleep from his eyes. He pulled out a sunrod and cracked it, leaving a white spot floating in their vision from the flash. Blinking furiously, Ramses drew his sword and held the point to the man's throat.
"Who are you, and what is your purpose here?"
The man's eyes rolled as far as they could towards Whisper, who ground her knee into the small of his back and scowled impatiently.
"You were asked a question! Answer him!"
The man closed his eyes as if some internal pain was greater than the physical.
"Your father's orders forbid me to answer to a stranger, Highness."
The camp froze for a skipped heartbeat, except for Whisper's ragged breathing.
"HOYniss?" chortled Sir. "Whispayahoyniss..."
"My father sent you?" she demanded of her captor.
The man only nodded in reply.
"What...." she paused. "You are a servant of the House, correct? Which means you answer to my orders as well."
There was another nod, without hesitation.
"What were your orders from my father, I demand you tell me."
"You were to be found and brought back to the palace."
"And if I would not?"
"To kill you, and anyone with you."
A small, frightened squeak emerged from Leshar, and he backed away from the pair glancing nervously at his brightly colored donkey. A wolfish grin began to spread across the face of Sir William, and he turned his grip on the axe he carried.
"Hoy...yukinbloo'yelltroyit..."
Nathanial watched the entire scene as if not entirely there. The harsh alchemical white light from the sunrod threw everything into stark relief. Whisper and Ramses cast the shadows of giants onto the trees, and the exaggerated detail of their faces made them appear like cheap illusions cast at a country fair. Whisper's frown was made more sinister by the shadowed furrows in her forehead. She seemed to consider her options carefully before she continued to question her prisoner.
"If I order you to leave this place and not return to the palace, and not report my presence to anyone, will you obey?"
"You cannot counter the orders of your father, Highness. It would be treason for me to obey."
She locked her eyes on the back of his skull as if to physically will his mind to change. She tightened her hold to the very edge of snapping the bones in his wrist and arm, but received no reaction beyond a sharp intake of breath.
"So you are telling me," she continued in a low voice, "that I can give you no order or offer that would keep you from betraying me to my father, or attempting to kidnap or kill me in the future?"
"That is correct, Your Highness."
Whisper's own eyes closed and she shook her head wearily.
"Then I order you to die."
There was the briefest of hesitations before the man answered, and it was in a voice so calm that Nathanial shuddered. He sent a prayer up to whoever might listen in an attempt to avert this course of events. While a part of him wanted to jump forward and intervene, he felt rooted to the spot and helpless to do so.
"As you so order, Your Highness."
"Whisper.." Leto began, stepping forward with a quelling hand. But she did not even notice he'd spoken. She released her prisoners' hands and gripped both sides of his head. Both Ramses and Leto realized her intentions too late and leapt forward as she twisted the head sharply to one side.
"No!" they both shouted in close to unison. Ramses shoved Whisper to one side and sent her sprawling onto the forest floor. He searched frantically for a pulse on the twisted neck of her attacker but found none. His expression was grave and reproachful when he turned to face Whisper.
"He's dead."
Leto turned aside, shaking his head. Nathanial closed his eyes against the serene stare and half-smile directed at him from an unnatural angle. He tried to calm the queasiness that had risen with the wet cracking of the assassin's spine.
"I hope so." Whisper replied with some sadness, "I hope it was quick. The man was a loyal servant of my father's and I would not want him to suffer."
Ramses looked at her unbelievingly.
"But he was helpless! He was fully pinned to the ground. He could not escape or even try to harm you. He was cooperating with our questions. You have no right to take his life!"
Whisper's melancholy apparently had its limits, for Ramses had crossed them. She rose from her position on the ground to stare him defiantly in the face.
"What would you have me do Ramses? Spend every minute of the rest of my life waking in the middle of the night with a dagger at my throat? My father's assassins are loyal even unto death. Nothing would have kept this one from hunting me, or reporting my presence to others who would then hunt me. Is that what you want?"
Ramses' tone was as scathing as her's; he was appalled by the scene he'd just witnessed.
"We could have left him somewhere, in jail or tied up, and disappeared to where he could not track us. There is ALWAYS another alternative!"
Her outrage brought her voice to a near-shriek.
"Disappeared!? Disappeared with a six foot man in plate-mail and a great helm? DISAPPEAR, with THAT THING following us!?"
She pointed an accusing finger at Leshar, who's bedroll even glowed softly in the darkness, pulsating with colors that made one slightly nauseous if watched too long. Leshar drew himself up haughtily.
"Well pardon me, Your Highness, for having more style and femininity in my smallest toe than you hold in your entire muscle-bound body."
He turned on one slippered heel and lay down on his bedroll with his back to the others in the camp. His monkey chirped and peeked a sleepy head from inside the donkey's saddlebag before settling back to sleep. Whisper was left nearly panting with outrage, casting her eye around the camp for some outlet to her frustration. Leto and Nathanial nearly collided in diving for their perspective bedrolls, feigning sleep within seconds.
Ramses just shook his head in disgust. He knelt by the body of the assassin and lifted it gently to his shoulders. He straightened and moved with a dignified tread into the woods without a second glance at Whisper. She opened her mouth several times as if to call out for him to wait, but finally let out her breath in a frustrated sigh. She pulled a shovel from the gear on Ramses' horse and trudged after him with her head down.
It was some time before they returned; bringing Nathanial abruptly back from the edge of sleep. He heard low voices and opened his eyes in time to see them both strolling into the camp, deep in discussion. They sat at the base of a tree to continue it, and after time Nathanial's eyelids began to droop again. A sharp pain in his side reminded him of a tree root digging into his ribs, but he waited to turn over until the other two seemed well-engrossed in conversation. When he finally wiggled into a more comfortable position, he caught sight of Leshar's open eyes staring at Ramses and Whisper. The expression on his face was difficult to make out, but when he noticed Nathanial watching him in return he snapped his eyes shut and pretended sleep. Some warning sounded in the back of his mind, but he could not pin it down past a vague uneasiness over Leshar's expression. He was still attempting to analyze it when sleep caught him by surprise.
He was less troubled when he awoke to the gut-wrenching growl of his stomach. The smell of frying venison fat was filling his head and reminding his body that he had definitely skipped dinner. He joined the others huddled around the fire in the dawn chill and gratefully accepted his share of the crisped slices of meat. He settled on a log to chew, and noticed an absence.
"Where's Whisper?"
"Watering the bushes I believe." Leto said with his usual cheerful indelicacy. Ramses shot Leto a quelling look which did not miss Leshar's attention. When Whisper made her appearance Leshar was quick on the offensive.
"Good morning Your Highness...Sleep well on the ground with the rest of us commoners?"
His tone was dripping with acid despite the serene smile on his face, and even Sir William gave him a puzzled look for his sudden ! Whispasaprincess!"
Whisper's look was closer to pleading than rage.
"Please don't call me that, either one of you. You mustn't mention it at all! If the wrong person overheard you..."
Leshar looked pointedly around the woods to emphasize their distance from civilization.
"Very well spoken Your Highness, unfortunately we're not in your country and are not required to follow your orders. Considering the orders I've seen you give it's a wonder anyone's left alive in your country."
Whisper flushed an angry shade of red but Ramses intervened before she could actually attack the wizard.
"Leshar! She's made a polite request that in no way hurts you to grant."
Leshar turned petulant eyes to Ramses that softened eagerly under his stern gaze.
"Of course Ramses, how very good of you to so gently remind me of my manners..."
Leto rose abruptly from his seat by Nathanial and strode off. Nathanial could hear the sound of suppressed laughter disguised in coughing. Ramses turned a puzzled stare to Leto's back.
"Leto! Are you all right?"
The monk flapped one hand in assurance that he was fine, and struggled to regain control. Nathanial gulped down the remainder of his breakfast, wiped his plate out and hurried to pack. Soon Leto's "coughing" fits of laughter became somewhat contagious after the exhausting night they'd had, and Nathanial could not meet his eye without them both suppressing fits.
"What on earth is wrong with you two?" Whisper snapped as they rode further into the woods.
"Nothing," the two called out in chorus, both entirely truthful. They looked at each other in surprise before dissolving into laughter. She looked back and forth at them, frowning, before spurring her horse ahead in a huff.