THE SAGA OF BOY: BOOK ONE
Chapter 11: Fire in the Family
"So if this mission is that important, why do you give it up, and to a total stranger?"
"I cannot travel with those I suspect of such an act of evil. To pursue it and find them guilty would scatter us and make us vulnerable; to pretend innocence where there may be none would betray my vows to Kalidine. This is the only way. I sense no evil in you, and you have ties to Nathanial which would seem to obligate you."
"None that he knows of, Paladin, not yet. Why should he trust me?"
"Give the name Monk as a password of sorts. As well as my own. If you wish to gauge the situation before revealing your relationship, it will give you an excuse to travel with them."
"Good guess, Paladin, I may do just that. And do you truly suspect my brother of this?"
"He is the least likely, although if it happened he knew beforehand, and perhaps even participated. My guess is that someone influenced him, perhaps Whisper but more likely the Halfling."
"That will be seen. If any of them are posing a threat to him, they will have me to deal with."
"I've been looking for you," the stranger quietly announced.
Nathanial's body reacted while his mind still reeled, but something guided his hand and he struck true. The Morningstar connected solidly with the side of the man's face and sent him stumbling to one side of the doorframe. A trickle of blood ran from his mouth, and he reached up absent-mindedly to brush it away. He gave Nathanial a more respectful scrutiny, curiously without fear or anger.
Ta'arnkap and Whisper had to work together to push Nathanial through the doorway, but once he was outside he found his legs again. He ran with them to where their horses were still hitched and rode at a frantic gallop towards the northern end of town. Behind them, the bloodied stranger drew a vial from a cunningly concealed armband and drank the contents. The bruises faded quickly from his face, and he entered the bar with a reflective half-smile. The colorful Wizard at the counter was the first thing to catch his attention.
Leto managed to keep pace with their horses, even at a dead run, but he was breathing much harder than they were by the time they reluctantly slowed to rest their mounts.
"What...happened...back...there..." he gasped between deep gulps of air. The three conspirators exchanged guilty looks and lowered their eyes.
"We'll tell you when we camp," Whisper finally responded quietly. The Halfling straightened in his saddle with an indignant look on his face.
"AH'LL tell ya what happn'd," he began, his accent growing thicker with his indignation, "That motherless sonofa three-legged beithÃoch merchant decided it was a good idea t'sell me a damanta sleepin' potion inst'ea the poison ah asked for!"
Leto blinked. Nathanial realized with a spark of humor that they had finally managed to take the monk by surprise, even though it had almost taken murder to accomplish it.
"Any idea who that man was?" he asked the other two. Leto looked impatiently between them, waiting for someone to explain.
"What man?"
Whisper shrugged, ignoring Leto's desperate curiosity out of indifference or revenge.
"He doesn't look the type my father would employ. And he seemed to recognize you Nathanial."
Nathanial nodded grimly, still sorting through faces in his mind, recalling every townsman, merchant, traveler he'd met in his wanderings. But the stranger's face had too distinctive of a cast, somehow both foreign and familiar. He was sure he'd never seen him before, but searched his memory anyway.
"An agent of Khezrial? A messenger from Monk, maybe?" he mused. Further possibilities he spoke only in his mind, "bounty hunters from Franklin, from the lordling in Pentwater...has it been long enough? Surely they would have forgotten me by now... "
He was interrupted by a loud, deliberate clearing of the throat. He shook off his reverie to see Leto staring intently at him. When Nathanial gave him no more than a blank stare he rolled his eyes and sighed heavily.
"Is anyone going to explain to me what happened? Because if you're going to make me wait until we camp, you could at least stop discussing it over my head."
"Well what do you expect," Whisper retorted with dry sarcasm, "you're the one who didn't want a horse. Would you feel better if we got down and walked while we talked?"
It took Nathanial a moment to realize that Whisper was making a joke, and his surprise kept him from responding. The Halfling chuckled quietly and took up the banter.
"Perhaps ye'could walk on ahead of us a bit, then we could speak on'it behind yer back as well!"
Nathanial's mouth twitched with repressed laughter at the enraged expression on Leto's face. The monk's eyes closed as he silently counted to ten, and then with the great dignity of the affronted he sped up to leave them out of earshot behind him. Nathanial gave himself a few minutes to stop laughing before he hurried to catch up to his friend and fill him in on all that had happened.
They made camp just inside the woods at the turnoff of the path to the keep. In fear of pursuit they made no fire that night, and Ta'arnkap camped by himself on the opposite side of the path. There was a tension that made sleep difficult, and Nathanial was still stirring restlessly when he heard horses approach along the path. He quietly shook the others awake, hoping the Halfling would hear as well and not be caught unawares. With every ounce of stealth he could muster he crept towards the trail to try and identify the riders as they passed.
Instead of passing, the horses slowed as they approached the section of trail nearest the camp, then stopped when they stood clearly in Nathanial's sight. The tallest of the three riders dismounted and crouched to examine the soil where they'd turned off the trail. Nathanial silently cursed and crept back to where his friends were waiting. With hand gestures he motioned for them to hide while he crouched behind a fallen log with his crossbow trained in the direction of the path. Two of the three figures were not long in coming, but it startled him how the tallest seemed to simply coalesce from the shadows of the forest, without rustling so much as a leaf as he passed. Nathanial froze as the rider's gaze turned towards him, not even daring to breath for fear of revealing his presence. A nagging suspicion in the back of his mind told him the stranger could somehow hear his heartbeat, which sounded like kettledrums in his own ears. When the stranger began heading directly towards his hiding spot, Nathanial knew he'd been discovered.
"Halt," he called out, partially to let the others know he'd been spotted, "Identify yourselves."
The shorter of the two figures lowered his hood, and Nathanial knew from the flash of riotous color who it was before he even saw the face. His crossbow was immediately aimed at Leshar. The tall figure lowered his own hood to reveal the stranger who'd blocked the door at the Inn. While Nathanial was distracted by the surprise of seeing him there, he caught a movement from the corner of his eye that sent him diving to one side. A crossbow bolt embedded itself in a tree where his head had been moments before. He looked up cautiously to see Leshar re-loading.
Whisper erupted from her hiding place with her falchion half-drawn and Nathanial retrained the sights of his crossbow on Leshar. Before he could squeeze the trigger, the stranger moved to block all three attackers. His swords seemed almost to leap into his hands, moving faster than the eye could track. Awe kept Nathanial's hand from loosing the bolt, and even gave Whisper pause. The stranger watched her intently, holding both swords evenly to attack or defend.
"Don't," he simply said. His eyes followed her hand keenly as it slid her falchion back into its sheath. Still aware of her movements, he turned back to where Nathanial hid.
"Its all right, you can put away the crossbow."
Nathanial snorted scornfully and kept his bolt aimed at Leshar, who had finished re-loading his crossbow and aimed it back at him. He scanned the clearing in short glances, searching for the third rider.
"Like hell it's all right!"
The stranger looked impatiently between Leshar and Nathanial. His voice now held a note of very deliberate patience.
"How about both of you drop your weapons then. I'll even," he added sarcastically, "count to three."
Neither of us moved, and the stranger let out a heavy sigh. His guard was not down, however, and he dodged the flying dagger almost before he was aware of it. The blade buried itself in the tree behind him, and he spun around to face the new threat.
"Looks to me like we've got you in a good old fashioned Madrezarian Standoff!" Ta'arnkap announced cheerfully as he stepped out of the woods with two more daggers ready. "Now I'd suggest that YOU," as he pointed at the stranger, "and YOU," and he pointed at LeShar, "drop YOUR weapons." Leto emerged from the woods on the other side of Leshar and assumed his usual deceptive slouch against a tree, with a quarterstaff resting lazily across his shoulders. He was, Nathanial noticed, within striking distance of the wizard.
The stranger gave an exasperated groan and shook his head. He cautiously lowered the swords, trying at once to keep all the weapons surrounding him in view. With a movement like a striking snake he sheathed them nearly as quickly as he'd drawn them. Nathanial watched the movement of his hands enviously; here was the sort of fighter Brand might have turned him into.
Everyone else held their ground, to the stranger's annoyance. After seeing how fast he'd drawn them, the man's swords being in their sheaths held no reassurance for Nathanial.
"Look," the stranger finally began in a voice dripping with controlled exasperation and forced reasonableness, "my name is Marcus. Ramses," he paused to allow the surprise register on their faces, "told me where to find you and asked me to help you. He said to use the name Monk as a password and give you these." Slowly he removed a belt pouch and emptied into his palm. The original envoys of Monk wore expressions of surprise and suspicion, while Ta'arnkap seemed only confused. Nathanial's eyes, however, were on Leshar. A flash of commingled greed and triumph lit the wizard's face as his hand twitched unconsciously towards the stranger's.
"How do we know you didn't kill Ramses and take them?" demanded Whisper.
"I guess you don't. But for what it's worth, I didn't." The stranger's eyes flicked from Nathanial's crossbow to Leshar's with exasperation. "Put down the crossbows" he said.
Nathanial shot him a rude gesture that made Whisper gasp and Leto suppress a grin.
"Regardless of your highly questionable credentials," Nathanial replied, "I do not travel with the murderer Leshar."
"And I," countered Leshar, "will not leave myself defenseless in the face of an armed, mentally unstable child."
"Give me a reason Leshar..." Nathanial snarled, his finger tightening over the release catch. A flickering aura of flame began to surround him as he stared intently down the bolt shaft.
"Behind you Ta'arnkap!" Whisper warned, as a rustle in the bushes announced the approach of the third rider. Ta'arnkap's mad grin increased as he backed slowly away from the noise at an angle to keep both it and Leshar in his range of vision. A dwarf emerged from the undergrowth wielding a cunningly crafted miniature crossbow in each hand. He smiled broadly as if attending no more than a friendly picnic, and rolled a large sliver of wood from one side of his mouth to the other.
"Well then," he said by way of introduction, "If someone will just tell me who's robbing who, I'll know where to put my own loyalties."
"No one," the stranger groaned while rubbing his temples to clear a headache, "is robbing anyone Boris." He looked up with a determined set to his face and stepped directly in front of Leshar's bolt. "Put it away."
Leshar slowly lowered the crossbow under the man's stern gaze. He nodded and turned to face Nathanial, still in the direct path of the bolt. "Now you."
Nathanial reluctantly lowered his as well.
"Now put them away, both of you," the man continued, "and that goes for everyone."
He swept his piercing stare around the camp, and there were muttered protests as catches were clipped for safety and daggers returned to their sheaths.
"Now," the man said with obvious relief, "as I said, my name is Marcus, I was sent to you by Ramses, and for now I suggest we start a fire, heat some food, and talk."
"Yes Boy," Leshar simpered, "Do start a fire for us. Or do we have to make you angry first?"
"Your continued presence is a good start, Leshar..."
"Then you should have no problem. Or can you? Can you control it Boy?"
Nathanial felt trapped by the challenge, and wondered at Leshar's motives. Could he simply be taunting him, knowing that he would not reveal his power to the others, or was he hoping Nathanial would try, only to fail? He knew that someday he would have to stop pretending the power did not exist, but he hadn't expected to ever try and call it at will. The stranger, seeing his panic, turned to Leshar with a flat expression.
"Leshar."
Leshar turned to the man with one eyebrow raised in inquiry.
"Yes?"
"Shut up."
The wizard's face tightened in irritation. Nathanial glared at the stranger and drew himself up, intent on proving he needed no one's protection.
"All right then, I will," he asserted quietly, "I've never called it up on purpose before, but I will try."
He walked over to the center of the camp, feeling as if the forest itself was staring at him and readying a laugh. Under the weight of those imaginary eyes he felt fear rise in him again. He swallowed heavily and suppressed it as best he could, not daring to glance towards Leshar's smug expression. He stared at the small pile of branches and twigs laid out for the morning's cookfire and reached into his mind, towards that place where he'd felt the power before. To his surprise it was still there, waiting to be stirred up. He brought it forward carefully, and focused it on a single log. The air around him shimmered slightly, and he felt a sudden wave of nostalgia as it reminded him of the summer heat melting the air above the black tar roofs of Franklin.
It only felt like seconds in his mind before the log began to smolder and finally burn, but when he became aware of his surroundings again, he felt himself shaking, with sweat dripping from his temples. He took a shuddering breath and sat down to try and hide his weakened knees. He looked defiantly at the stranger, who responded with a level gaze. Nathanial waited for the "freak" look to come into the stranger's eyes, or some sign of fear. But it did not come. Nor, he realized, was it present in the faces of Whisper, Ta'arnkap or Leto. The man who called himself Marcus was the first to break the silence.
"Thank you Nathanial," he said in an even tone, "Now, shall we parlay?"
Nathanial snuck a glance at Leshar's reaction to the others' lack of surprise, and felt a weight lift from his mind. Leshar's power over him was broken, and the hanging threat of revelation was gone like so much smoke rising from the crackling branches. Leshar was expressionless as he regarded Nathanial carefully, and realized this himself. The wizard smiled benignly.
"Well done, Boy."
"I believe Boy is the operative word here, Marcus," the dwarf spoke up as he settled himself around the fire, "I didn't sign on with you to baby-sit women and children. I came to fight."
"Excuse me?" asked Whisper in an ominous tone, "you have a problem fighting with women?"
"Me? Nah, I fight with them all the time, and I've known some to be a crack shot with a frying pan when a man's late for dinner. But I've had women along on this sort of thing before, and have found them to be nothing but a liability. No offense my dear."
Even Leshar was distracted at the sight of one charging so boldly into death, with such cheerful ignorance. Whisper's eyes smoldered, and her jaw tightened like a spring. We held our breaths and waited for the explosion, but her voice was chill as ice when she spoke.
"I have more faith in you becoming a liability to us, friend dwarf, as I am well able to take care of myself. But if you would care to dispute that you are more thief than able fighter, I would certainly be willing to test your skill myself; unless, of course, you are even more craven than I had first suspected."
The dwarf continued to smile, but now only his mouth was involved. His eyes were stern.
"Little girl, if you truly wish to bite off more than you can chew, I will indulge you in such. But if you dispute my honor or courage again, I will take you over my knee and paddle you until you can't sit a horse for a sevenday."
"We shall see."
They each rose from their seat and stalked into the woods beside the camp. After a moment those sitting around the fire heard the clash of steel from the forest. The stranger bowed his head and muttered to himself in a foreign tongue.
"Please tell me my brother isn't as stupid as his friends..."
It took Nathanial nearly half a minute before he realized he'd understood the words, and he cast his mind back to try and remember where he'd learned them. A chill settled over him when he realized the answer. He could feel the blood drain from his face as he replied to the man in the same language he'd learned as a child.
"Brother? What Brother?"
The stranger, Marcus looked at him sharply, but seemed less surprised than he was. He regarded Nathanial carefully, unsure of how to proceed.
"Where did you learn that language?" he finally asked, suspecting he knew the answer.
"My mother taught me...she said it was the language of my father. How do you know it?"
Marcus sighed. He saw Nathanial's eyes travel to his headband and where, if one looked closely, it covered the elongated tips of his ears. Aware of the others still around the campfire he replied again in his birth language.
"I have always spoken it. Your language is foreign to me and I had to learn it when I was younger. Do you still understand me?"
Nathanial nodded mutely, studying the familiar eyes, the cast of features reminiscent of vague images in his dreams. Marcus took heart at his apparent lack of fear and revealed what he's thought to keep secret for some time.
"I am your brother, Nathanial. My father was also your's. That is why I have been searching for you."
He had been expecting the man to say something of the sort, but hearing it was still a shock. Wonder and excitement that he was no longer without family; anger that his brother had taken this long to find him; scared curiosity as to what Marcus would think of him; all mixed with the seed of resentment that his mother had not been his father's only love. He sat quietly to allow the idea to sort itself out in his mind, staring thoughtfully at his newly discovered kin. When the confusion finally sorted itself out inside him, he was impressed that Marcus continued to hold his gaze, something that had always unnerved people. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Whisper and the Dwarf's return. They both looked the worse for wear as they flopped down nearby, but despite the wary looks they still exchanged, peace had apparently been declared.
"Who won?" drawled Leto with an impish grin. Whisper merely gave him a haughty look.
"That is not important, what is important is that we have both proven that we can fight, although he had the advantage of lower light."
"In other words, you lost?"
Whisper turned the full force of her glare on Leto, who threw up his hands in mock surrender. The Dwarf waited for her attention to return to cleaning her sword and gave them a wink to confirm their suspicions. Whisper had indeed lost. At the scattering of half-suppressed snickers around the fire her spine stiffened and she turned her attention on Marcus.
"How much did Ramses tell you?"
"That you were given these items by a man named Monk to protect from a woman named Khezrial," he replied, unfazed by Whisper's hostile tone, "that no one but her yet knows what they are, but it is of great importance to keep them from her."
"And them?" she asked, indicating Leshar and the dwarf.
Marcus shrugged, "I asked after you in the Inn, they asked to join me. You'll have to ask them what motivated them to do so."
It took the dwarf a moment to notice the expectant stares directed at him. He paused in the motion of tipping his liquor flask into his mouth and grew wary.
"What?"
"Haven't you been listening?"
There was a pause while he thought about it and completed the swig from his flask.
"No."
Whisper rolled her eyes and addressed the dwarf as if he were a child, carefully spacing her words.
"who...are...you...and...why...are...you....here."
He raised an eyebrow at her, acknowledging the insult but not rising to it.
"You may call me Boris, it will do as well as any other name. Word reached me this afternoon that I had to unexpectedly, and quickly vacate Markettown. I felt it was safer traveling with a group, especially one that would be taken the road less beaten, so to speak."
Nathanial looked him over, sensing the embarrassment beneath the gruff exterior.
"Why did you have to leave?"
Boris hemmed and hawed, obviously flustered, "I'd rather not talk about it in mixed company, if it's all the same to you Boy...suffice to say I had my reasons, not the least of which were some fairly hefty gambling debts."
And a woman I'll bet, someone else's wife or daughter, Nathanial thought to himself.
"So, then," the dwarf said with an exaggerated yawn, "I assume you folks post a watch, how about someone wake me when it's my turn, I'm beat." With a great show of stretching and yawning and sleepily scratching at his beard Boris laid out on the ground where he sat and began to snore softly. The others exchanged amused glances at the obvious evasion of any more questions.
"So what's your story?" Leto asked Marcus, who looked thoughtful.
"A man stopped me as I came into town and told me of a danger to the world, and how he could no longer continue his quest. I found you where he said you'd be."
"How very altruistic." Whisper replied with a sarcastic drawl, "Is that all?"
"Isn't it enough?" he retorted mildly. She had no answer, but continued to cast wary glances his way. Nathanial was caught by surprise in a jaw-cracking yawn. Marcus looked over at him and smiled.
"Sleep brother, there will be time to talk tomorrow."
Nathanial obediently unfolded his bedroll, still bursting with so many questions that he wasn't sure he could get just one out coherently. As he settled down, facing the fire, he met Leshar's eyes over the flames. Without warning, he felt the pressure of a familiar force invading his mind. He fought it, and was surprised to find it was easier to do so than it had been in the past. He felt surprise from Leshar as well, then a strengthening of the attack.
"Well-well Boy, you've been practicing!" the familiar voice of Leshar spoke inside his mind.
"Well you did encourage me to do so," Nathanial thought back, "I am curious to know how you plan to blackmail me now that everyone knows what I can do..."
There was a soft chuckle, and Leshar actually smiled.
"I'm sure you are. Let's find out, shall we?"
There was a dull pain in his temples that began to throb with his heartbeat. He felt the pressure increase, and closed his eyes in concentration. He fought it with all his strength, losing ground slowly but forcing Leshar to fight for every bit. At last the force retreated with a suddenness that made him gasp.
"Well isn't that interesting? I don't suppose anyone's ever told you before Boy, but caring about someone is a double-edged sword. The more joy you derive from their company now, the more painful it will be when they are taken from you."
Nathanial's breath caught in his chest and a slow rage began to build inside him.
"I don't respond well to threats, Leshar."
The conversation around the fire died suddenly, and Nathanial realized he had spoken aloud. Face burning, he kept his eyes tightly closed, hoping they would mistake his words for part of a dream.
"Who said anything about threats? I merely stated an unfortunate fact of life."
Aloud, Nathanial could hear Leshar chuckle indulgently.
"Poor Boy's exhausted, he must be dreaming!" His voice took on an odd hypnotic cadence which seemed to dull Nathanial's senses and leech tension from his body, "Go to sleep now Boy," he said in a soothing voice, "and dream of more pleasant things."
Nathanial felt himself powerless to avoid the yawning blackness of unconsciousness. He heard the voice in his mind one final time, strangely echoed as if from a great distance before sleep engulfed him.
"We may meet again, Boy...And I for one look forward to it."
When Nathanial awoke the sun was streaming through the trees from the east, his friends were packing their belongings into their saddlebags, and Leshar was gone.
beithÃoch beast (in reference to a person) (Irish)
damanta bloody (slang invective) (Irish)