Author's Note: For the full text of the song Lyra sings, and more on the most amazing, astounding, mostly fearless bard ever to be beaten in a drinking contest by a half-elf kid, see "Song of the West Wind" by Eirecat. For a bit of her background you can also read "Follies Under the Banner" by LaughingWolf, who is also the DM of the game that produced this motley, unholy group of misfits! BTW, before anyone in the game gets outraged, I deviate from the storyline in these next few chapters for dramatic license and fewer pointless plot branches that go nowhere.
My apologies for the long interval between chapters. As the lady said, "The time between meeting and finally leaving, is sometimes called falling in love." In my case the entire cycle took two months and left no room for writing. Thank whatever Gods look down for Ally's album of Chicks that Rock. I don't think this chapter's of the same quality as previous ones, but I'm sure I'll go back and revise it eventually. For now I just wanted to get something out there.
THE SAGA OF BOY: BOOK ONE
Chapter 12: Fire in the Keep
"Ah good then you're back. From what the good bartender told me I thought I might have missed you altogether, and that would be heartbreaking."
"Is there something you wanted m'lady?"
"First of all, you can stop calling me that. The last bloke to accuse me of being a lady had a rather nasty accident...something about a glass tankard to the back of the head. Tragic, really."
"Yes, tragic."
"Oh, you can stop with the evil eye my dour little friend, that wasn't a threat or anything. Tell you what. I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with the colorful gentleman and the Dwarf the night before last..."
"You mean the one spoken quietly in a private corner of the room?"
"Yes of course. My word, how DO you get just one eyebrow up like that? You really must show me sometime. Anyhow, as I understood it you were looking to hire on a few extra hands to help out on the road, and as it so happens, I happen to be rather handy myself, not to mention in somewhat of an unfortunate circumstance which requires me to leave town almost immediately. And as this is just too happy a coincidence to be accidental, I must conclude that we were destined to travel together, don't you think?"
"Not really."
"Heavens, man, don't deny your destiny, it has a habit of happening whether you like it or not, so you'd might as well save yourself the effort and meet it head-on. Forth into the fray and all that."
"How...dramatic. Why are you so eager to come with us, other than being run out of town?"
"Well, 'run' out of town seems a bit of an exaggeration really, I think of it more as an opportunity to stretch my legs and mind a bit after spending too long in one place. Perhaps I'm even looking for a touch of excitement."
"Excitement? Well that, at least, I'm sure we can provide..."
"Well good... I think. By the way has anyone ever told you that you have a most frightening smile sometimes?"
There was no mention of Leshar's absence that morning, or indeed, ever again. But he seemed to hang on their minds like a ghost, and they dreaded every corner they turned for fear of coming face to face with his triumphant grin. Gradually, over time, they allowed themselves to hope they were truly rid of him. It was more difficult for Nathanial, knowing what he knew of the wizard. He felt some qualms over whether he should tell the others of Leshar's hinted association with Khezrial, but some part of him still feared the truth to what he'd been told; they'd never believe him. The longer they went without him, the less ominous it seemed, until he forgot about it altogether. Marcus never asked for an explanation, and so the matter dropped into memory.
Nathanial watched his new-found brother with curious awe as Marcus followed Ramses' trail. Where Marcus saw footprints, he saw only the dirt and grass of the path, trampled twice already by their journey and return to the ruined keep days before. The three friends from Whitefall rode silently, caught up in their own thoughts, remorse, or, in Whisper's case, suspicion of their two new companions. Nathanial watched her with amusement as she kept them warily in sight at all times. Marcus was quiet as well, but Nathanial recognized the silence of a person naturally taciturn, rather than hostile or secretive. His companion, by some strange contrast, kept up a constant stream of conversation in his gravelly voice. Nathanial found it easy to allow the Dwarf's conversation to fade into the background, where the rumble was a comfortable disruption of the silence much as stream over rocks or the wind in the chattering broadleaf trees. Every now and then Boris would break into laughter at his own joke, and elicited a ghostly smile from Leto or a hard stare from Whisper.
When the late afternoon sun began to sink behind the trees they could see the wall of the keep looming before them. Nathanial saw Marcus quirk an eyebrow in surprise as he looked up at the looming wall, but he turned towards the main gate without speaking. Echoes of Sir's voice seemed to leap from the crumbling stone as they entered. A gloom settled over them that quieted even the Dwarf. Nathanial turned his head away as they passed the remains of the old temple, knowing it would be too recent a reminder.
There was no trace of the eerie sensation in the rooms of the main keep. The perfectly preserved arms and skeletons were now piles of dust, sifted by the capricious breezes that escaped through the doorways at either end. Nathanial grasped at a bizarre thought that Khezrial's envoy might be waiting for them once again, but when he stopped and slowed his breathing to listen he heard only the distant drip of water. No premonition tugged at his attention. Marcus motioned for them to stop, and began pacing out steps in the floor. At one point he knelt suddenly by a darkened stain and gave Nathanial a keen look before moving on.
That's where I fell, Nathanial realized, when my morningstar attacked me, that stain is my blood.
Then, with some amazement, he muttered to himself,
"How did he know?"
He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until Boris turned and gave him a knowing grin. There was something in his expression that made Nathanial suddenly nervous to be near the Dwarf, and he was relieved when Marcus gave them the signal to follow once again.
Ta'arnkap was the only one who'd been in this part of the keep. The Halfling threw bitter looks at the walls as they passed, and muttered "nowt a bloody copper," as he walked. He was silenced only when the walls of the corridor opened suddenly to either side beyond an intricate archway. They could still make out writing carved above the arch, but Nathanial could not identify the language. It was vaguely reminiscent of Khaldeshian script, but the letters were shaped oddly, and he did not recognize any of the words from his small vocabulary. By the light of the lantern they could see stone columns reaching to the ceiling, where the glittering remains of a mural could still be seen on the crumbling plaster. The walls stretched beyond the circle of light they carried, but the impression was of a vast open hall. They stepped carefully, as each dislodged pebble sent echoes shouting back at them. They came to where a portion of the ceiling had collapsed as if a giant's fist had driven through the layers of stone, and continued to punch through the floor into the rooms beneath. The sheer scale of the jagged holes in floor and ceiling, and their presence there in that nobly made room gave the scene a dream-like element. But what held Nathanial's eyes was a new silk rope, a mere spider's thread against the massive columns and boulders, leading over the edge of the drop.
Marcus studied the scene before him and turned to the group with the first words he'd spoken in several hours.
"There's no way of knowing how stable the floor is to either side, so don't even approach but one at a time. We'll give the rope a wave to let you know when it's safe to send the next person."
He approached the hole, lifted the rope in both hands, and disappeared over the edge with a neat rappel lunge. In what seemed like a very short time the rope flopped across the floor in the expected signal. Leto strolled over to the edge, looked down and simply jumped. They heard the soft impact of his landing almost immediately. Hooch barked impatiently down into the gulf, then leapt at the sound of a brief whistle. A sparse rain of dust fell as the sound shook it from its resting place.
"It can't be more than fifteen or twenty feet then," Whisper said softly. Boris turned his unsettling smile on her.
"Ladies first."
She gave him a hard look, as if sensing motives hidden beneath the smile.
"Oh no, after you, I insist."
Her tone was impeccably polite, but an edge in her voice told him she was not going to allow him at her back. With a shrug he sauntered over to the rope and descended. Ta'arnkap spat on the floor by his feet.
"M'I th'only one tha trusts tha dwarf as far'as I could toss'im? Ah dinna trust a man who smiles like that."
Whisper nodded sharply in agreement and Ta'arnkap moved carefully across the floor to slip down the rope. She followed, and Nathanial, suddenly feeling as if the gap in the floor resembled the open jaws of some supernatural creature waiting to close on him, swallowed his fear before descending into the darkness.
A flare of light came from the oil lantern in Marcus's hands, causing the eyes of rats near the base of the wall to glow an unholy red. As the lamp chased away the shadows they scurried into their boltholes, keeping a careful eye on these new intruders. Ta'arnkap looked around eagerly.
"Ah never made it this far down when ah was los...explorin' tha keep." He stopped to sniff the air with a look of disgust, "Ye smell tha?"
The odor of rot rode a cool breeze towards them from down the tunnel. It wasn't as strong as to gag, but enough to make them want to breathe through their mouths to avoid the odor. It grew stronger as they made their way cautiously down the tunnel, but it was several minutes before they found the cause. The corridor floor began to angle downwards, but what they thought was the floor leveling out was simply the beginning of an impressive pile of refuse. Garbage was mixed with remains of creatures and cast-offs such as weapons, armor and clothing. Broken and discarded furniture was half-buried in the mass. Marcus held up the lantern to illuminate the pile, and the glittering reflection of junk extended several hundred feet before the corridor began to slope upwards again. The hairs stood up on the back of Nathanial's neck.
"I don't like this," he said quietly, "it's dangerous."
Whisper snorted, "Of course it is, there's broken glass everywhere, not to mention probably rats...Are you sure," she demanded severely of Marcus, "that Ramses went this way?"
Marcus nodded briskly and picked up the broken handle of a spear lying within reach. He prodded the pile to test its stability, and then began picking his way across it. Boris watched him for a moment, then turned a condescending smile on them.
"Step where he steps and you'll get through. Watch your feet though, who knows how deep it is? Wouldn't want to lose any of you."
With a gruesome chuckle he began walking carefully in Marcus's path. With some trepidation, the others followed.
Nathanial couldn't tell who had triggered the collapse with a misstep, he only knew that the world dropped out from beneath him, and although he reached for Leto's hand as the Monk tried to catch him he barely brushed his fingertips before he felt himself falling with a sickening lurch in his stomach. He seemed to hang in the air forever until a pile of ancient clothing broke his fall. For a few moments he felt as if he couldn't move except to struggle for breath, then a groan beside him made him turn his head to see Whisper and Ta'arnkap on either side. He peered upwards and saw Leto's head silhouetted against the opening of the hole, at least forty feet above their heads. Hooch was whining anxiously from between his feet.
"Is everyone all right?" They heard Marcus's calm voice calling down to them, "Nathanial? Can you hear me?"
"I think so!" Nathanial called back, taking stock of his limbs and finding then bruised, but serviceable.
In response, he felt something brush his face. He jumped in surprise, and found himself looking at one end of a rope. Whisper and Ta'arnkap were already standing, although Whisper kept wincing and holding one hand to her side. Her eyes dared him to ask if she was capable of climbing, even at death's door. Ta'arnkap kept spitting blood near his feet, but seemed more angry than injured. With a shrug, Nathanial jumped up to take hold of the rope and began to pull himself up hand over hand. Torn, bruised and outraged muscles protested this new strain, and he had to stop after ten feet to brace his legs against the side of the sinkhole and rest. He was about to continue when something moved beneath his foot.
Cautiously he studied the area that had shifted. It hadn't been a settling of the entire pile, only of a single point. A sense of dread overtook him as he studied the wall of the sinkhole, and his heart began to race. With half his attention still riveted on the spot he began to scramble up the rope, nearly in a blind panic.
It wasn't until he heard the angry shouts below him that he realized he hadn't warned them about the unknown source of danger. He paused and looked down, only to have a bulge on the wall thrust towards him in a shower of debris. Choked and blinded by the sudden dust, he felt cold, smooth fingers close around his wrist. He shouted in alarm and tried to pull himself out of its grip, but it was like struggling against fingers of stone. He told himself in his panic that he could not let go of the rope, that it was his only chance of escaping. He clung to it and finally managed to wrench his arm from whatever was holding him. He heard a sickening crunch as he did so, like the breaking of dry tinder.
"Hold on!" He heard above him, and gripped the rope tightly as he felt himself hauled several feet upwards. More hands reached out from the debris and clutched at his arms, legs and clothing. Clear of the dust he could see the bones and joints of the skeletal limbs, some still wearing rings or gauntlets of their former owners. He let out a yelp of fear and kicked wildly, breaking one hand off at the arm before the rope was pulled up again. He was so close to the top that he could almost reach it, and allowed himself a breath of relief before the cold fingers closed around his throat.
Nathanial grasped at it with both hands, releasing the rope entirely. The line slid quickly past him, carrying Whisper and Ta'arnkap to safety. Both tried to help him as they moved past, but those up top were working with grim intensity and left them no time to do more than kick at his captors as they flew by. Nathanial struggled with the hand, using all his strength to pry one finger at a time away from his windpipe. Each finger made a sickening noise as it splintered. As spots began to dance before his eyes he felt other hands grasping at him, pulling him into the mass of refuse. He heard shouting above and saw the end of the rope drop in his peripheral vision, but there were too many holding him back from it. The shouts were consumed by the buzzing in his ears. He fought against the urge to let the fire in his mind loose upon the skeletons; fought because he knew that it would set the entire mountain ablaze and take them all with it.
In desperation he finally pried the last finger from his throat and began kicking wildly at those gripping his legs and feet. Reaching out for the rope he caught the end and wound it tightly around his wrist as he reached for the Morningstar with his other. They began to pull him up, and he felt his own bones creak from the strain of being pulled in two directions. Ignoring the hot agony sending needles of pain down the arm holding the rope, he began swinging at the hands still clutching at him. He swung indiscriminately, shattering several hands with each blow even as he gave himself glancing blows on the legs. At last there were few enough for the upward pull to win the tug-o-war. New hands grasped his arms as he reached the top, but these hands were friendly and still encased in flesh. They pulled him clear to the surface and helped support him as he stumbled over the remains of the pile to collapse on solid ground next to Whisper.
He spent precious moments just enjoying the sensation of air moving through his lungs, and only opened his eyes when gentle hands examined the wrist that the rope had been wrapped around. He broke into a cold sweat at the unexpected pain, but fought back a faint by gritting his teeth against it.
"It's broken, and badly," he heard Marcus's voice say. A vial was pressed to his mouth, "Drink this."
He swallowed reflexively as the potion was poured past his clenched teeth. He felt the familiar shuddering sensation wash over him from magical healing and opened his eyes. Marcus was staring intently at him, as if gauging the potion's effect. When his brother pressed the side of his wrist the pain was diminished, but still enough to make Nathanial draw his breath with a sharp hiss. Marcus uncorked a second vial and handed it to him before distributing what he had left to Whisper and Ta'arnkap.
"That's all the potions I have," he announced gravely, "We have a choice, I can go back for more, or we can continue on without them."
"Do we all go back?" asked Whisper, "I don't like the idea of us separating." The look she gave Marcus said more plainly that she didn't like the idea of him out of her sight.
"I can travel faster on my own, and can be back here in two days. If Ramses is still in the castle he'll have to travel this way to leave. Otherwise we can continue looking when I get back."
Impatience warred with self-preservation. Whisper was reluctant to risk losing Ramses' trail, but had to admit they needed to be able to remove injuries quickly, as only magic could. Marcus left them there with a warning to avoid straying too far from each other.
The passing of time could only be marked by the use of the lantern oil. A nervous double-watch was kept in both directions, and Ta'arnkap passed a seemingly bottomless flask around to all who wanted it. The smell from the flask as Nathanial waved it past reminded him of turpentine; his eyes watered just from being near those drinking.
The time passing had a touch of unreality. They slept and ate without benefit of the sun to tell them when. Boris seemed the only one contented to be underground, the others felt a fervent wish for the sight of the open sky, or the feel of a breeze. The creeping claustrophobia made them edgy, and they spoke to each other with great caution for fear of sparking violence. They were huddled morosely around the lantern as their only source of light when a faint sound of voices and scattering stones carried down the tunnel from the direction Marcus had taken. Nathanial and Leto both turned quickly and motioned for the others to be quiet. One of the voices was female, and Nathanial carefully loaded his crossbow. When Marcus turned the corner he was met by an array of swords and drawn arrows. He controlled a reflex to draw his own and the human woman with him ducked quickly behind an outcropping of stone.
"Friends of your's, Marcus?" She ventured hesitantly, and stepped out. She was slight, and looked even more petite next to Whisper. Long brown hair was braided carefully, and her breeches and tunic were impeccably styled. She carried no weapon, but a lute was slung across her back.
"Who is that?" Whisper asked with withering scorn.
Marcus shrugged and answered simply, "Lira."
"And why," she continued, "is she here?"
He gave her a level stare which made her struggle to maintain her indignation.
"Because I brought her here."
Ta'arnkap chuckled. "She's what ah call a meat shield. Someone ta throw in front of ye when it gets too thick."
"I rather take offense at that suggestion," the woman said in a lilting dialect of common, "after all, you're assuming you can run faster than I!"
"Marcus," Whisper continued in a deliberate attempt to ignore the newcomer, "we send you for healing potions and you bring back a common tavern bard?"
"I'll have you know that I am not common by any stretch of even such a limited imagination as yours. In fact I'm quite uncommonly good at what I do."
"And what exactly do you do, besides sing and dance for drunken louts?" Whisper's voice was dripping with all the lofty sarcasm she could dredge up.
"Why I can be quite handy in a pinch. You'll see. After a few weeks you'll wonder how you ever got along without me!"
Her smile nearly lit the room without the help of the lantern. Nathanial looked her over and searched Marcus's face for confirmation. He suspected a good reason why Marcus had brought her along, and it had less to do with her usefulness than with her smile. Whisper gave only a disdainful grunt before turning to the task of gathering her gear.
"Now if we're finished wasting time," she announced loftily, "Shall we continue moving? Or had you forgotten we had a purpose here?"
"Go away! You are not wanted here!"
Nathanial jumped and nearly dropped his torch, turning frantically in all directions to find the source of the strange voice. When he noticed that the others were looking at him curiously, he froze, and swallowed hard.
"Did... anyone else hear that?"
He knew from the cautious, pitying expressions on their faces that they had not. Some small part of him rebelled against their pity. It was NOT imagined! When will they begin to believe me?"
The only faces where he could discern no pity were those of Boris; who wore an amused expression verging on what Nathanial termed the "freak" look, and Marcus; who merely looked at him in quiet assessment.
"Hear what, Nathanial?" he asked.
"The...the voice..." Nathanial knew that under the focus of his brother's attention his voice was timid, and he despised himself for it.
Marcus took a slow scrutiny of the corridor, then turned back to Nathanial with a carefully neutral expression.
"Perhaps it was an echo."
Nathanial met his eye with outraged challenge for a moment, then deflated and flushed under his brother's disbelief. Marcus held his eyes for another moment, then spoke almost kindly.
"But tell us, if you hear it again."
Nathanial nodded, grateful for at least that much dignity. When they continued, he dropped to the rear of the line.
"GO!"
This time it was nearly a shriek that tore through Nathanial's skull. He dropped the torch to put his hands to his ears, and realized it was coming from his own head.
"GO AWAY!"
There was a series of gasps ahead of him as it penetrated the minds of the others. Marcus had his sword in hand, and moved in a slow circle, trying to locate the source. He thrust the lantern towards the darkness ahead as if he could reveal whatever what hidden. As he did, light began to flood the tunnel. Torches in sconces lined the corridor ahead, lit seemingly under their own volition with eerie green flame. Looking at his hands and arms in the light, Nathanial thought of fresh mown hay, and corpses rotting in the sun. Leto headed towards one of the wall sconces to investigate while Whisper approached Nathanial with an expression struggling to assert itself as anything but apologetic.
"Was that the voice you heard before?" she asked, with all the apology he needed in her apparent willingness to believe him now. He nodded gravely, with a rush of relief, for he realized now that he'd almost convinced himself that he'd imagined it.
Leto removed a torch from its bracket, despite a fierce hiss of protest from Marcus. The green flame went out, but there was no sign of scorching on the wood. Nathanial was drawn to the fire himself, but found it troubling. After studying it for a moment he casually waved a hand through the flame, then studied his undamaged skin with disappointment.
"An illusion, it's all illusion."
"And if it's illusion," Leto added, "it means there's someone directing it."
"Not if it was set to trigger automatically by our presence," Marcus disagreed calmly.
"Then where," countered Lira, "did that voice come from?"
Boris grunted, "who knows, but in case some of you don't speak Dwarven, it was telling us to leave."
The others looked at him in confusion.
"Confused little man," Lira said gently, "If your mother taught you that was Dwarven she had a vicious sense of humour. The voice was speaking Madrezarian."
"Madrezarian mah hairy brown toίn, that was halflin' iffen ah ever head of it..."
They glared at each other for a rebellious moment before relaxing in the face of the obvious.
"If it was speaking to our thoughts then we would each understand it differently." Marcus said slowly, "which doesn't rule out a magical trap of some kind. Nor," he added, forestalling Leto's protest, "does it rule out someone or something watching us. Everyone needs to be on guard against both."
There was a brief pause before weapons were drawn and the party proceeded nervously down the corridor. As they advanced, Nathanial felt an oddly familiar pressure in his mind. He saw one or two of the others shake their head with puzzled expressions, and knew they felt it too. It grew heavier as they moved towards what appeared to be an open room and Nathanial fought the pressure with his own stubborn will. As he crossed the threshold his thoughts seized on the realization of where he'd felt it before: the sensation was nearly what he'd felt when Leshar attempted to invade his mind to learn his secrets. The surprise of his discovery lowered his guard enough for the force to overwhelm him, and a black numbness paralyzed his thoughts even as he opened his mouth to warn the others.
The party stepped into the room, unaware of the blank slackness that had settled over Nathanial and Ta'arnkap. Their eyes were on the grayish blue mass that blinked stony eyes at them from across the room. It let a silent roar that echoed through their minds, with jaws wide enough to swallow an ogre whole. They stood unmoving, gauging its threat to them with weapons ready. When it charged with a snarl heard only in their heads, they were unprepared for how swiftly it moved.
They were equally unprepared for the attack from behind; Molten ectoplasm flew from Nathanial's trembling hand to Whisper's back, and as Marcus dodged to one side to avoid the creature's claws, he felt Ta'arnkap's dagger bite deep into his side.