THE SAGA OF BOY: BOOK ONE
Chapter 13: Flames of Treachery
The apples were heavy on the trees. The bees droned in languid expectation around the eaves of the cider mill, where the floor steamed with the sour tang of last year's apple jack. The strange humid scents of rot and growth flavored the same breath as he hid in the dappled fortress of a willow's branches. He stood in the silted shadows of the mill stream that flowed black amongst the willow roots, and watched his feet disappear into the mud as he sank. He knew somehow that he should fight, but the languid heat of the day had somehow infected him, and he could only watch his legs disappear into the muck with detached curiosity. When the water reached his chest, he realized he'd forgotten to raise his arms, and they were trapped in the sucking mud up to the elbows. He studied the smooth eddies of the water as it flowed around him, a gentle pressure that drove him further down. Soon he was cocooned in the soft silt, the stream caressing the top of his head, the strange liquid pressure of the womb on his skin. A high, insistent voice tugged at his mind; screamed a warning. Before he could pay it any attention it was hushed and smoothed away by an unseen force. It was replaced by thoughts of peace, suggestions to sleep...
Nathanial awoke to someone slapping him lightly across each cheek with a pair of leather gloves. He protested weakly and tried to put his hands up to deflect the blows, but found them tied securely behind his back. As sensation returned to his body it brought a dawning awareness that his feet and legs were bound as well. When he began to struggle, the blows across his face stopped, leaving his skin hot and stinging. He blinked at the familiar shadow above him outlined against the torchlight. Whisper was not smiling.
"He's awake," she said gravely with a guarded and hostile expression. Nathanial's bewilderment threatened to overwhelm him.
"Have they gone mad?" ran through his head like a shout.
He broke the gaze by turning his head to one side where he saw Ta'arnkap equally well trussed with rope. Marcus was standing over the Halfling with his usual inscrutable expression, his shirt front soaked in blood. Hooch was patiently licking the remains of sweat and blood from Ta'arnkap's face and hands.
"Or have I?"
That was the more worrisome thought of the two.
When Nathanial turned his head to the right, he saw Boris watching him with a faint smirk, drawing a notched dagger's edge across a sharpening stone. When he noticed the boy's eyes on him, he spat thickly onto the stone to wet it. Nathanial swallowed hard to suppress the taste of rising bile and turned his eyes back to Whisper, who waited patiently for his attention.
"What happened?" He croaked.
She studied him a moment as if suspecting trickery.
"You attacked us."
"Who...When?"
Her eyes were like twin daggers boring into his skull.
"You and Ta'arnkap. When the creature charged us you attacked from the back. You hit me with your spells, Ta'arnkap tried to drop Marcus with his daggers."
"What creature?"
Perhaps it was the complete shock and confusion in Nathanial's expression, or maybe it was her memory of how poorly he lied. Whatever made her decision, Whisper's expression softened somewhat, and she cut the ropes that had begun to deaden the nerves in his hands and feet. He drew himself up to a sitting position and rubbed them furiously to still the feeling of spiders beneath his skin.
"Now," he said with a strained attempt at calm, "what are you talking about?"
She explained, with an air of condescending suspicion, how he had turned against them. He looked to the others for some indication she was joking, but they would not meet his eyes. He drew in his breath.
"If I can still doubt my sanity, doesn't that mean I'm sane?"
That sounded dubious somehow, even though it made logical sense. The refrain of fey-child, murderer, devil spawn... began once more in the back of his mind.
"I swear to you, to all of you," he added, catching their attention, "that I have no memory of this."
"That'll make me feel a heap of a lot better boy, when you slip a knife into one of us one night while we're sleeping," drawled Boris.
Marcus gave the dwarf a quelling look and stooped down to look Nathanial in the eye. "Tell me truthfully, has anything like this ever happened to you before?"
Nathanial shook his head vehemently, willing Marcus to somehow believe him. His brother's careful consideration was broken, however, when the Halfling broke suddenly into consciousness, spitting out what could only be Halfling curses until he caught sight of his unbound companions.
"sumbiddy git meh out'ta this roop!" Ah'll nobbe tha roosted goose onna spit!"
Whisper stood over him and stilled his struggles with her heel planted firmly on his chest.
"And what about you, little one? What was your idea in sticking your dagger in Marcus's ribs?"
He stopped and looked at her incredulously.
"ach, ye daft beech, if'n y'insist'n tryin'ta turn me 'ed with ye foolishness, ye k'd at leas' untah me furst!"
"I take it you don't remember either?"
"Remembah WHAT ye crazy curse te monkind?"
"Untie him," said Marcus calmly. "One is worrisome, two is beyond coincidence. Something else was at work here."
"Oh?" asked Whisper in challenge, "What exactly?"
"Most likely whatever produced the voices we all heard. Something with that level of control over our minds could possibly have more. Since they both collapsed when the creatures died, I would bet that it was somehow controlling their actions."
For the first time, Nathanial saw that what he'd taken for a shelf of rock along one wall was in fact made of flesh. The creature was enormous, and gave off the fetid odor of a carnivore. Its black blood still oozed like hot tar from the severed head, attracting a lone, fortunate fly. Nathanial's stomach turned in horror that such a thing had driven him like a horse in harness, and had managed to turn him against his friends.
"Untie him," Marcus commanded again.
"Yea, untie me ye bloody minded hoor!"
A flinty look came over Whisper's face, but it was difficult to tell whether it was in reaction to the insult from Ta'arnkap or to the challenge of authority from Marcus. She casually put her full weight on the heel planted in the Halfling's midsection before removing it, and the string of curses was reduced to a wheeze as he gasped for breath. While he was thus incapacitated she used her own dagger to cut his bonds.
Marcus raised one eyebrow at the display of cruelty, but let it lie rather than force a confrontation. Ta'arnkap scrambled to his feet and sullenly collected his daggers from where they had been tossed. A strange, silky voice startled them from the farthest corridor leading off the room.
"Why do you let him arm himself, is he not your prisoner?"
The sound of a half dozen blades drawn from leather scabbards at once sounded sinister as it echoed in the cavern. The stranger, however, seemed unconcerned at the threat to himself. His hands held nothing more threatening than a book and quill pen, but Nathanial felt wary nonetheless.
"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" barked Whisper.
The stranger blinked owlishly at her. "I am Yadros, madam. And I am searching."
He wore long black robes that shimmered slightly in the torchlight.
"Are you a wizard?" Nathanial demanded.
The stranger considered the question as if it were more complicated than it seemed.
"After a fashion I suppose, although they tend to be clumsier."
At that admission, several of the party tensed and held their weapons more defensively. The stranger, still quite at ease, made a notation in his book.
"Interesting," he muttered to himself. When he finished writing he paused the pen and regarded them once more with a disarming smile.
"And why," he asked, "do you suppose your reaction to wizards is so strongly negative?"
They stared at him, stupefied by the odd manner of questions.
"Yes well," he finally said with some disappointment, "another time, perhaps. I don't suppose that any of you have seen a cup? A mithril cup to be exact, with a series of stars engraved on the rim? I was hoping to ask the guardian there," he gestured to the remains of the beast that had attacked them, "but I don't believe I'll be able to."
They looked at each other in confusion, but the civility of the question demanded a reply despite their suspicion.
"No cups, mithril or otherwise, I'm afraid," said Leto, his tone of voice almost mimicking the cheerful unconcern of the stranger, "but while we're on the subject, did you happen to spot a large man in shiny platemail passing through? With a holy symbol of some sort?"
"I'm afraid I haven't, but then I've only recently arrived myself."
His eyes kept straying back to Whisper, before dragging themselves politely away. Finally her short temper was ignited by the inquisitive glances.
"What?"
"Oh pardon me, Madam, but I couldn't help but overhear the comment on your profession, and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind being interviewed as to why you chose that particular lifestyle?"
Whisper's face took on the stern expression she used when she failed to understand, but suspected fun at her expense. "What profession?"
"Why that of a whore, of course, according to the small gentleman. I didn't think your people held the noble service of the flesh in as high esteem as we do."
The vein in Whisper's forehead began to throb, as those around her struggled with every ounce of will to keep a straight face. Leto lost the struggle with a gasp, and found sharp metal pressing against his throat before he could finish his first guffaw.
"One work, Leto," she snarled, "give me even one tiny excuse."
He carefully swallowed the laughter rising in his throat, and she waited several seconds to ensure it remained swallowed before stalking out of the room in the direction of Ramses' footprints. The moment she disappeared from sight Leto, Ta'arnkap, Nathanial and Lira dissolved helplessly, laughing until they had to gasp for breath.
"You're all right then," Lira gasped as she pounded the shocked newcomer unceremoniously on the back, "She's a bit touched in the head if you ask me!"
Yadros looked at her in mixed horror and wonderment, "She is touched as well? Such are the messengers of the Gods! It is no wonder she became offended by my impertinent questions."
"Ah don't know about te gods, but if ye ask me a li'l touch would do te frosty witch sum good!" announced Ta'arnkap with some bitterness as he rubbed the new bruise forming on his solar plexus. Leto snorted, and Marcus gave the Halfling a stifling look.
"Enough," he said firmly, "we're here for a reason if you'll remember."
Ta'arnkap responded with a grumble, which turned to a sneer as the stranger responded eagerly.
"Perhaps I could be of help?"
Marcus looked at him levelly, but Nathanial noticed that one hand still hovered by his sword hilt. "Could you now?"
"I believe so, especially if you have anything that belonged to him. No? Well then I can at least make him easier to track."
He muttered a spell and left them all blinking furiously as the room became as bright as daylight. When his eyes adjusted, even he could see the slight depressions in the dust that were Ramses' tracks. Marcus studied the wizard for a moment, then nodded curtly and set off along the trail. The others followed, careful to keep the newcomer in the middle where he could be watched.
When the tracks apparently ended at a solid wall, Yadros showed his usefulness once again. By speaking some secret words and passing his hand over the wall, a door was revealed in the stone, outlined in a faint glow. There was a growl behind them as they bent to search for a handle, and Nathanial turned to see Hooch backing away from the doorway with raised hackles. A low snarl rose in the dog's throat as he reached Leto's side and stopped, trembling. Leto laid one hand on his head to soothe him, but Hooch only whined anxiously at him before snarling once more at the secret door.
Marcus gave Yadros an appraising look.
"Do animals often react so to your magic?"
"Not that I've noticed before. Either the creature is unusually sensitive to magical auras, or it is reacting to something beyond the door."
"Or perhaps," said Whisper acidly, "he finally caught his own scent and found it as frightening as we do. If Ramses passed this way, we must follow. I for one, am not willing to give up after coming this far!"
"No one is suggesting we give up, Whisper," Nathanial spoke up with a mix of irritation and impatience, "But that doesn't mean we have to walk blindly into who-knows-what."
"Do we have a choice, Boy?"
Pausing a heartbeat to let her victory of the final word sink in, Whisper pushed on one side of the glowing outline. The stone swiveled outward with a groaning of dust and age. Just beyond, they could see a dimly lit room, and at the far end a figure stood in the gleaming armor of a paladin.
Nathanial forgot his own advice and rushed in with a welcoming shout. Marcus's warning went unheard, and his attempt to grab Nathanial by the shirt and stop him missed by inches. He was halfway into the room before he realized his mistake. Ramses was standing, but chained to the wall. His instincts gave him barely enough time to duck before an enormous curved blade whistled through the air where his neck had been. The second swing struck sparks against Whisper's falchion as she moved to intercept the attack. Her opponent, an enormous man in black leather regarded her with surprised contempt as he slowly forced her sword arm down to the floor. A chittering noise above drew everyone else's attention upward, seeking the nature of this new threat. Chains wove through the room like a metal spider web, and a many-legged creature of pitted steel and corrupted flesh hung from it. The man facing Whisper smiled toothily at their horrified reaction and slammed a fist into her jaw. She reeled backwards, but kept both her feet and her sword. Nathanial scrambled for the wall by the entryway and drew his crossbow on the man, but Marcus shouted to them to fire upon the creature of chain as he leapt to Whisper's aid.
Like other battles, Nathanial felt as if he were moving too slowly against time. He aimed, fired and re-loaded with automatic effort, and without apparent effect on the monster above them. Twice he threw himself to the floor in time to avoid the spiked chain it swung at them with whiplike speed. It was the second time he ducked that he heard the chain connect beside him. He looked up to see Whisper sliding to the floor, impaled on the spike that went through her body and out the other side. Her eyes were open and unblinking as blood erupted from her mouth.
"Get her out!" Marcus ordered above the din, and his calm authority gave Nathanial the strength to move. Discarding his useless crossbow, he grabbed Whisper's arms. Boris leapt to help him, and together they dragged her from the room. Nathanial rummaged through his pack for a shirt and tried to staunch the blood flow from her body, but it died to a trickle, and then stopped. There was a moment of irrational hope before he realized she was dead.
A spreading numbness stupefied him, and would have left him there staring at her corpse if Boris hadn't taken him by the shoulders and shaken him into awareness.
"There's time to cry later Boy! They still need your help in there. If there's any time for your spooky mind tricks, it's now!"
The dwarf spat to one side to avert the evil eye, a gesture Nathanial remembered from the old men back in Franklin. The sight of it now made him shiver. Hooch barked and snarled at the open doorway, but would not approach. Under the Dwarf's stern gaze he stumbled to his feet and lurched back towards the chamber. He dodged Leto and Lira, who dragged the still form of Ramses to lie beside Whisper, and let them brush past him once again as they charged grimly back into the battle. He took a deep breath, which steadied him somewhat, and began to focus.
He gathered his fear, his gut-wrenching sorrow over the death of his friends, and his fierce desire to protect those still standing, mustering them all into a hot rage. His vision blurred with a reddish haze as phantasmal flames surrounded him. When he stepped into the room, he surveyed the fight dispassionately, as if he'd separated from his body. The creature above was a more immediate threat than the swordsman, he could see that now. He reached for its mind and found a writhing, alien mass of hatred.
Lighting the branch afire at the campsite was a delicate reaching, a gradual agitation of the wood's substance. Against this enemy, Nathanial knew it would not be enough. He took what had built up inside him and struck out at the thing's mind with all his strength. The force of the blow and its backlash drove him to his knees with a shriek of pain, cradling his head in his hands. The fighting lulled as the chains fell still, and all turned to look. The creature sat motionless for a single breath, then toppled from its steel web. Leto leapt back against the wall in time to avoid being crushed by its falling body.
A gurgling noise from the other end of the room marked the death of the other enemy. Marcus took advantage of the distraction to slip his sword through the base of the man's neck and into his skull. With a calm that belied the tension in the room, he strode over to the fallen spider creature and stabbed it carefully in several places before wiping his sword clean.
"In case it was only stunned," he answered their confused stares, and pulled Nathanial to his feet. "Are you all right?"
Nathanial's head throbbed, but it was a dull ache compared to the piercing pain it had been. He wiped the back of one shaking hand across his face and found that his nose had bled. Unsure of his control over his voice, he simply nodded to Marcus and straightened up with some effort.
Marcus gripped his shoulder reassuringly and smiled, "Whatever you did, you did it well."
Nathanial nodded again, aware that a grin was spreading crazily across his face. For the first time, he was proud of whatever oddity gave him his gift. Such pride seemed somehow arrogant, even dangerous if he allowed it free rein. But for now he was content to savor it for a short time.
Marcus was bleeding from a cut on his shoulder, but the others had gotten through miraculously unscathed. Remembering Whisper and Ramses, Nathanial took a deep breath to collect his wits and stepped towards the door.
For a split moment, it felt as if his footfall had dislodged a loose paving stone, for he stumbled and nearly fell. The others looked around in surprise as other parts of the floor began to shift. Pieces of chain fell from the ceiling and chipped the stone beneath their feet, while a great cloud of dust shook loose from the walls and rose around them. Slowly, the floor began to move in a great circle, dragging them with it. A groaning shriek of tortured rock filled their ears, growing louder with every moment.
Leto leapt clear to the doorway and caught one end of a chain as it moved past him. He gathered it up quickly and braced himself against the door frame.
"Catch it!" he cried.
Marcus caught the chain with one hand and Lira with the other, lifting her easily to within reach of the rescue line. The unflappable Yadros chanted a few words and rose several inches off the floor, floating himself to safety. The room's few ornaments began to waver, then fall towards the center of the room as if caught in a mighty wind. Nathanial saw a hole begin to open in the center of the floor like a vortex around which everything turned, then fell. He felt himself pulled towards it as if some force was reaching out to seize him. He scrambled over the stones using his hands to climb as if he were scaling a wall. A hand moved into the edge of his vision and he clutched at it, losing his footing at last as the remains of the floor fell inward. Marcus pulled him easily through the entryway and helped Leto push the stone door closed. The silence that fell after the roar of the room's collapse was almost deafening. Nathanial shook his head to clear the ringing sound and looked around to see who was left.
"Where's Boris?" he asked, with a pang of grief for the Dwarf, who had kept his head so well, and helped Nathanial keep his.
"Got'a better question fer ye Boy," answered Ta'arnkap with growing suspicion, "where's Whisper?"
They all scrambled to their feet in disbelief. Next to Ramses' body was the blood soaked shirt Nathanial had used to staunch Whisper's wound. Her body, and all her equipment, were gone.