THE SAGA OF BOY: BOOK ONE
Chapter 10: To Fan the Flames
"Strange though, I always wondered why it happened like that."
"Like what?"
"well call me naive, but I always thought the people caught up in great destinies were supposed to know it. Ya know, crash of thunder and the future lies clear before you sort of thing."
"Some of the greatest destinies arrive like a cat's step. That is why so many slide unnoticed from the ranks of what might have been. The world is full of destinies and prophecies, enough for countless lifetimes of adventure. Fortunately, some manage to slip past your kind's stubborn denial of whatever happens to be staring you in the face. Enough for hope. Besides, the hero never really knows they're being heroic; not real heroes anyhow. That all comes later, when their mistakes and doubts, fears and foibles are stripped from them by well intentioned bardic rape; thus they are immortalized in verse. To be honest, most heroics are the result of being in the right place at the right time."
"And spitting mad."
"That helps, yes. And speaking of..."
"Do we have to?"
"You wish us to pass our judgment now then?"
Nathanial looked up from Sir William's charred corpse with a core of ice in his belly warring with a hot rage building behind his eyes. Leshar stood before them with a good affectation of dismay, but Nathanial caught a mocking satisfaction lurking in his expression. His anger consumed his entire being, causing a buzzing in his ears and casting a red haze across his vision. He did not see the others exchange looks of amazement as his body began to emit a translucent aura of fire, nor was he aware of it happening. His entire mind was focused on the wizard leaning casually against the doorframe.
"Murderer," Nathanial choked out with an outstretched finger accusing Leshar.
"I?" asked Leshar with all pretense of surprised innocence, "why it is only because of my spells that you are all still alive!"
"You saw Sir fall, I know you did. You set the web afire anyway. You knew it would kill him, and you set it afire anyway!"
He was aware that his hand shook slightly, but he had lost some conscious control of his limbs.
Nathanial began to walk towards Leshar with his Morningstar raised. The others hesitated to lay hands on him to restrain him, not knowing if the dancing fire that surrounded him was real. He could hear Ramses' calming voice as if he were a great distance away, but his awareness had narrowed to himself and Leshar. It was only when the Paladin placed himself between them that Nathanial could wrench his attention away.
"Nathanial," said Ramses in a commanding voice, "You cannot attack him for vengeance, it would make you the murderer."
There was a moment of struggle in his mind. Nathanial stood on the brink of becoming the monster he'd been accused of all his life, and never had the temptation been so clear to deliberately harm another. But the Paladin held his gaze, reminding him of the few who had put their faith in him and offered friendship. The darker half of his soul cried out for blood, but his Morningstar lowered under Ramses' steady eyes.
"You saw what he did Ramses, you know..." Nathanial noted with horror that his voice shook slightly. He saw a smile lift the corners of Leshar's lips at the Paladin's apparent rescue. But Ramses hadn't finished speaking.
"I saw. And he will answer for what he has done. But in a courtroom, not by vigilante justice."
"Courtroom mah sweet tóin, Paladin," the halfling spoke up angrily from the corner of the room where he nursed considerable burns, "ah'm up for a bit of vigilante justice meself!"
Leshar's eyes flickered warily between the hostile glares in the room, suddenly uncertain of the influence he'd worked so hard to build. His smug confidence faltered at Ramses' unexpected impartiality.
"But Ramses," he said with admirable control, turning to his once assumed advocate, "Surely you can see that it was an accident. How could you think me capable of murdering a dear friend..."
"How dare you claim friendship with him, when he lays there dead by your hands!" Nathanial roared. He lifted his Morningstar, but was once more quelled by Ramses' gaze.
"That will be determined by the proper authorities, Leshar. I will not make judgment until the case is heard. Now will you come peacefully?"
Leshar frowned at the Paladin, who stood impassive before him, immune to all attempts at charm or negotiation. Nathanial could see him gauge his chances of escape before he let out a hearty sigh.
"Yes Ramses, I will go with you."
They traveled back to Markettown, subdued and weary. The watch was ordered to prevent his escape, much to Leshar's discontent but much to the somewhat sadistic satisfaction of the Halfling, who introduced himself to them as Ta'arnkap. Nathanial volunteered for the midnight watch to avoid giving the wizard an opportunity to provoke him further. He led Sir's horse as he rode; the body wrapped in a makeshift shroud and secured across the saddle like so much grain sacking. Ramses and Whisper rode to either side of Leshar with identical grim expressions, while Leto rode by Nathanial. The boy took heart in the monk's sympathy, but felt no desire to talk. On their third day of tight-lipped silence they rode into Markettown, and up to the magistrate's office.
After heated debate and flying accusations, all but Ramses and Leshar were banished outside while the harried man on duty attempted to sort out the stories. Nathanial paced in agitation while he waited, throwing occasional grim glances at the Halfling sharpening daggers. When the door swung open Leshar stepped out with a jaunty spring to his step. Nathanial's jaw dropped in disbelief, and he turned a reproachful look on the Paladin behind Leshar.
"Ramses?"
The Paladin shook his head and took the reins of Sir's horse.
"We should get the body to the temple for burial, Nathanial."
Nathanial looked from his grim face to Leshar's triumphant one in disbelief.
"What about him!? Isn't he going to be arrested? Hung?"
Ramses shook his head regretfully.
"Nathanial, please try to understand that we had no way of knowing if Sir was still alive when Leshar set fire to the web. Since we do not know, we cannot say that Sir died by Leshar's hands. It may have been an accident."
"May have been an accident? May have been?"
Nathanial's voice was rising again, along with his anger. Leshar, somewhat giddy from his release, chose the wrong moment to gloat.
"Yes Nathanial, an accident. And I'm offended that you'd think it was anything else. I did what I thought was best at the moment to save you all, and I grieve more than anyone that my actions resulted in harm to my friends."
Nathanial's head whipped around with the rage building. The Halfling began shouting obscenities at Leshar, but the wizard's attention was focused on the boy's reddening eyes.
"Murderer..." Nathanial growled. As his anger peaked, motes of some unearthly substance began forming in the air around the Wizard. The motes burned with the smell of ozone and hissed as they fell. He heard Ramses speaking angrily behind him, telling him to stop, but the sound of his voice was drowned out by the buzzing in his ears, like crackling flames. He did not see the aura of fire begin to form around him, but he suddenly noticed, as the burning substance fell onto Leshar's skin and hair with a nauseating sizzle, that the wizard was smiling with some secret triumph. The sight was enough to cool a part of the anger with wariness, but he restrained himself far too late. Leshar took the opportunity to dash around him and hide behind Ramses, whimpering.
"Oh! The boy's lost control, he's a freak! Protect me Ramses!"
Sudden realization of Leshar's motives washed over Nathanial like a cold dash of water, and the voice of cool logic in his mind began to speak rapidly:
"This is how he plans to turn them against me, and to his side. What does he hope to gain by their alliance?"
A sudden flash of Leshar shaking hands with the woman in red sent by Khezrial flashed through Nathanial's mind, but he dismissed it as implausible.
"Surely Ramses would know if he were in league with her...can't Paladins sense evil?"
He eyed the wizard cowering behind the Paladin, his anger cooling to contempt.
"Coward," he threw at Leshar, with every ounce of scorn and ridicule he could put into the word. For a moment, Leshar broke out of the role he'd chosen to play and his eyes flashed blackly. Feeling as if he'd scored a blow, Nathanial took a step in their direction.
"Murdering Coward!" he spat again. Leshar's eyes promised death before he struggled to regain his frightened expression.
"Eek! Don't let him hurt me, Ramses!"
Nathanial snorted with disdain.
"Oh don't worry, Leshar. You're a sniveling waste of my time, and not even worth the effort to draw a weapon. Look at you, cowering behind someone like a damn mouse...." With that, Nathanial deliberately turned his back on Leshar and began walking away.
"Don't ever turn your back on me boy."
Nathanial started. The words had been spoken inside his head from outside of it. He recognized Leshar's voice, without any trace of the effeminate whine he spoke with normally. He turned slightly and eyed the Wizard, who gave him a knowing look in return, full of deep hatred.
"You are brave enough surrounded by friends, boy. But one day you will be alone and I will be waiting."
There was a brief pause, and Nathanial felt a stabbing pain in his mind, as if Leshar had cut his skull in half to examine his naked brain. He instinctively clamped down on the pain and blocked the intrusion. He felt surprise, then caution from the source.
"So that is the source of your power then, not magic."
He felt the pain again, a nearly physical pressure behind his eyes. Unbidden, the image of Leshar with Khezrial's minion floated to the surface once more. The force retreated with a faint burst of surprise, but he heard the last echo of the voice before it was silenced.
"They will never believe you boy, and when I am done, they will think you mad."
Leshar gave him a meaningful look before he fled towards the guard room, crying for protection. Ramses sighed and Nathanial felt the Paladin's disapproval settle like a cloud over him. He looked at Ramses defiantly, tongue tangled in outrage as he struggled to tell him what had happened in his mind. When he managed to only stutter the Paladin shook his head in disappointment and took up the reins of Sir's horse, leading it and its unfortunate cargo towards the temple.
A subdued and angry group waited Ramses' return at a bar. The inn was cleaner and friendlier than the one they'd last visited, but those huddled around the corner table felt little appreciation for the differences. Ta'arnkap kept up a running dialogue on the shortcomings of Wizards, both in general and one in particular. Nathanial began to feel hostile eyes on the back of his neck from elsewhere in the room, but could not think of a way to silence the garrulous Halfling without giving offense.
He was saved the trouble when Ta'arnkap stopped speaking in mid-sentence, and was so relieved that it took a moment before the tension in his silence registered. He turned and followed the Halfling's gaze back to the door, wondering if Leto had returned from his trip to have his quarterstaff re-shod. His hopes plummeted at the sight of Leshar standing like some nightmare specter with a beatific smile across his face. Nathanial swallowed a cry of protest with the bitter realization that he'd half expected this. After a nod to the grim circle of faces around the table, the wizard found a seat at the bar, facing the door in anticipation of Ramses.
Whisper buried her head in her arms at the table with a soulful groan.
"We'll never be rid of him!"
She shot a sideways glance at the bar, at which Leshar grinned merrily and waved to her. Whisper buried her arms again for a moment, gathering resolve.
"Right then, he's left me no choice."
She rose from the table, drawing her falchion. Nathanial dove for her sword arm, spilling his glass with a wayward elbow. He managed to unbalance her enough to knock her back into her chair. Taking advantage of her utter shock at his actions, he put one hand over hers to push the falchion back into its sheath. He was aware of the silence that had fallen over the room at the sight of steel and shushed Whisper frantically when she opened her mouth to protest.
"Whisper shut up and listen to me for a second, don't you see what he's trying to do?"
She was taken aback at his vehemence and gave his words thought.
"What are you talking about Boy? And it better be good to justify laying your hands on me."
"Don't you see? If you attack him here and now, in front of all these witnesses, Ramses will be forced to charge you with assault....all right, murder then," he amended quickly when she glared at him for suggesting Leshar might walk away from the fight. "And probably charge us with helping you, or not stopping you, whatever the crime is."
"Accessory," chimed in the Halfling, gauging the distance to the bar with a throwing knife dancing over his knuckles, "And what's yer point Boy?"
"My point is that it would divide us, Whisper, making it easy for someone to pick us off one by one, and retrieve certain objects in our possession."
The last part he spoke softly through clenched teeth. A gleam in Whisper's eye told him she'd understood, but when he collapsed backwards into his chair he saw her try to dismiss the idea.
"You think that is working for Khezrial? Come now Boy that seems a bit far-fetched. Are you sure you're not reading too much into Sir's death?"
Her face was sinking towards sympathy and condescension, making boy curse his stunted maturity for the thousandth time. He gritted his teeth impotently as Leshar's last words to him sunk in. "They will never believe you boy..."
Ta'arnkap eyed him dubiously, then turned to take Leshar's measure.
"Woil, ah'may know more about this Khezrial than you two, but ah do know she deals as well in trickery as in force. Ah wouldn't put it past her. But regardless of'all that lassie, is he worth goin'ta prison for? If'n you really want ta get rid of him, ah may have a better suggestion."
Poison was cowardly; Nathanial knew that in his heart. His wounded pride called out the justice of a coward meeting a cowardly death, but it still left bitterness in his mouth. When Ta'arnkap left to try and purchase it, he was kept from protesting by the determined look in Whisper's eye. But he silently writhed under the stigma of coward just the same. He felt is so acutely that he wondered no one around him could see or smell it. It seemed as if everyone in the bar were shaking their head in shame, to have such a wretch among them.
They didn't notice that Ta'arnkap had returned until a gnome near the bar gave him a wink. He was startled enough to jump, having already wondered if the patrons could sense the act he was about to commit. When he peered closer at the gnome, he recognized the cleverly disguised Halfling and gave Whisper a nudge.
"Now."
Whisper ordered a round of drinks at the table, plus extra for "absent friends." As the waitress set them down the gnome stumbled drunkenly over to them. He nudged the waitress aside and hovered greedily over the drinks.
"And how about a drink for new friends?" he slurred happily, with no trace of his usual rolling accent. Nathanial barely managed to spot the vial as it carefully dispensed the poison into one of the glasses.
"Shove off!" cried Whisper angrily, "I'm not here to play charity-maid for the drunks."
"Heartless human!" the gnome whined, and staggered out the door with a belch. Whisper glanced quickly down to her lap where the vial had fallen, and smeared a drop on her wrist before letting the vial fall to the floor and kicking it into a corner. The barmaid was busy apologizing, and Nathanial took his cue.
"Nevermind," he said reassuringly to the irritated girl. He pulled glasses quickly from the tray and set them around the table, leaving the poisoned one. He frowned in what he hoped looked like innocent confusion.
"You seemed to have brought one too many, I don't really drink. No problem, my friend probably ordered the wrong number. Why don't you send it up to that colorful gentleman at the bar? We'll still pay for it of course."
He laid two gold pieces on the tray, twice the price of the drinks. The woman's irritation faded considerably and she winked at him.
"Why I do believe we have a young prince in disguise amongst us! Would you like something else to drink then, little sir?"
Nathanial shook his head, with a forced smile beginning to ache on his face. She giggled and flounced her skirts as she carried the tray back up to the bar, and Nathanial turned so that he couldn't watch. He looked up as a waft of air indicated the opening door, but couldn't meet Ta'arnkap's eye as the restored Halfling slid into his place at the table.
"Dinna look now, but your Paladin is two steps behind me."
Whisper and Nathanial both swiveled to look at the door as Ramses entered, which gave their reaction to the shriek at the bar the force of real surprise.
"Princess! Speak to me darling! Oh what's wrong!?"
They moved cautiously closer to the scene, staying with the crowd. Leshar held his multicolored monkey in one arm while he wailed.
"Poisoned! She's been poisoned!"
The bartender blanched and tried quickly to pull away the glass the monkey had stolen a drink from, but Ramses strode forward with a shout for him to stop. The bartender handed the glass somewhat defiantly to the Paladin, and Ramses began to cast a spell over the continued sobbing from Leshar. Nothing changed that they could see, but Ramses studied the glass carefully before asking for the bottle and studying it as intently. The three at the table watched in anxiety.
"The glass is poisoned," pronounced Ramses, "but with a very mild poison. Princess should be fine with as little as she drank. The bottle, however is not, meaning that the poisoned reached the glass between the bottle and the monkey."
He looked at the barmaid, who turned pale and began protesting her innocence. Leshar continued to sniffle, but Nathanial could feel the pressure of his attempt to enter his mind.
"Well played boy, but the game is mine."
When the waitress gestured towards their table Whisper gasped and knocked over her own drink, resting her poisoned wrist briefly in the spill. She backed away from the glass as if in horror.
"They poisoned the wrong glass! I must have been the target!"
Ramses' face was void of expression as he watched her. Ta'arnkap kicked Nathanial heavily in the knee, and he stared at the Halfling stupidly before a thought raced through his mind.
"The gnome!" he shouted as he leapt to his feet, "The gnome must have tried to poison Whisper, but he got the wrong glass!"
Whisper closed her eyes and swayed slightly.
"I...I don't feel well..." she said softly, sinking back into her chair.
Ramses studied her glass and the liquid on the table, then her. His gaze turned to Nathanial and the boy nearly flinched beneath it, envying Whisper her excuse to faint. Ta'arnkap appeared to ignore them both as he peered into Whisper's eyes.
"Aye lass, you may have gotten a small dose after all."
Nathanial pretended concern for Whisper, but couldn't help a sideways glance at Ramses' stony face.
"He doesn't believe us, he knows somehow..." he admitted to himself with a sinking heart. He listened to Ramses' footsteps retreat, and winced when the door shut quietly behind him.
Nathanial reluctantly admitted after several long minutes had passed, that Ramses would most likely not return. He shot a look to Ta'arnkap who began attempting to "revive" the fainting Whisper.
"Ah think ye need some fresh air girly, let up to yer feet."
She stood, wavering and walked with them towards to door. Nathanial hoped they'd be able to catch up to Ramses' head start, and keep him from leaving them forever. If nothing else, Nathanial wanted to ask forgiveness.
He followed the others to the door, shoulders drooped in shame. When Whisper and Ta'arnkap opened the door and stepped to one side to let a group of rambunctious drunks past him into the bar, Nathanial lifted his eyes when the many booted feet had passed, and found himself facing a man in the doorway.
The face was familiar enough for him to give a second look, but it was the flash of recognition in the stranger's eyes that made Nathanial search his memory anxiously for where he'd met the man before. It was a distinctive enough face with an odd foreign cast in the fine-boned features, but as hard as he tried, Nathanial could not remember having seen it before.
He waited for the stranger to either step inside or move to let them by, but he continued to block the doorway. Whisper grew agitated under his knowing smile, but could not break her ruse of illness.
"Assassin..." She whispered to Nathanial through clenched teeth.
He looked the man over warily, from the boots scuffed from long travel, the twin longswords at his belt, to the intricately braided leather band across his forehead. The man was alert, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet, one hand almost unconsciously hovering over his sword hilt. Nathanial broke into a light sweat and gripped the handle of his Morningstar. He wasn't sure if the man was an assassin for Whisper or if he recognized the face from his days on the run from Franklin, but he knew he would have to be careful if he were to leave the bar alive. He drew himself up into a semblance of cool confidence and pulled his Morningstar leisurely from its holster.
"Step aside," he demanded of the stranger.
The man raised an eyebrow and his smile broadened. Nathanial felt almost disoriented. Something was too familiar about that face. The stranger's next words drove panic into Nathanial's nerves, already at a strain from maintaining their ruse. They seemed to mock him with the knowledge that he might always be running, never safe.
"I've been looking for you," the stranger quietly announced.
Tóin backside (Irish Gaelic)