Chapter 10

By Carycomic

BROCELIANDE FOREST

NEAR KINTIN, FRANCE (1767)

EARTH-06072009

Jean Chastel had not been born a wizard.

The son of a Shadowlord ragabash by a Fianna Kinswoman of theurge auspice, he had born into the Songkeeper sept, in the Finisterre region of Brittany, northwestern France, circa 1740, of ahroun auspice. And, as is customary among most Garou, he had been raised by his mother's tribe. Such being the case, it was not long before he discovered that his mother was also a vulva, or changeling sorceress, for House Eiluned of the Seelie Court! That, in turn, led him to join the wizarding Order of Hermes once it became obvious, with the onset of puberty, that the gift of lycanthropomorphosis was going to be permanently dormant within him.

Just as it had been with his mother.

Initially, he was a student of House Merinita. Later on, however, he transferred to House Flambeau. There, as part of a consortium with House Verditius , he learned how to channel pyrokinesis for metal-working purposes. Including the forging of weapons like knives and firearms! Consequently, he was working as a gunsmith in Belgium, after his graduation from the order, when he was paid an unexpected visit…

...by his mother.

"You were not an only child, Jean. Prior to meeting with me, your father had mated with a Red Talon philodox, whom he led to believe he was just lupine Kinfolk. I can only imagine how she felt upon learning the truth! In any event, their metis was raised by the Children of Gaia, according to Garou law. But, though they did their best to nurture him properly, they still could not prevent his self-hatred from turning into hatred... of your father. Especially after he fell in with bad company. A nephandic reject of House Bjornaer named Fenris Greybeard."

"Par La Barbe de Merlin!" exclaimed Jean. "An animage-noir?!"

"Oui. And the worst evil act perpetrated by the both of them... was the murder of your father. They have since split up to double the chances of their evading pursuit. So, while I, of course, have the Songkeepers working in concert with Gaian ahrouns, to capture Greybeard, I have persuaded the alpha ahroun to let _you_ be the one to capture your half-brother. For it takes a Shadowlord to catch a Shadowlord!"

"Ou est le batard, maintenant?" demanded her son.

"Currently, terrorizing the muggles of Gevaudan with the assistance of a small pack of Red Talon Kinfolk. Half-siblings! From his mother's side of the family."

She spat on the ground to her left as she uttered those last two words.

"I shall leave at dawn," Jean had assured her.

That had been two weeks ago. Now, he was at the Convent of Ste. Valerie du Petit Chaperone Rouge, explaining to the reverend mother just what had happened. Followed by a few questions that he asked as politely, but firmly, as he knew how to do so!

"I thought the ladies of your order only hunted rogue Garou."

"For the most part, c'est vrai. But, on certain occasions, they must... diversify. For example; when some of those rogue Garou serve in the employ of Les Enfants De Nuit!"

"Ah! D'accord. But, if that were the case in point, here, why would the Kiasyd have made off with Soeur Helene and not the body of La Bete de Gevaudan? Is there something... special about her?"

The reverend mother closed her eyes, and clasped her hands together in prayer, for a few moments. Then, she reopened them after a faint nod.

"Soeur Helene did not come to us as an adolescent student. We found her as a newborn, on our front doorstep, one dark winter evening, more than twenty years ago. Her birth-mother cradling her, and shivering with cold, as she christened le pauvre cher with her dying breath!"

MEANWHILE, BACK ON PLANET ZEIST...

Kaulder told Helene, Coucou, and Logar what the purple unicorn had told him. Doing so as they walked towards the southern land-side entrance to the notorious port city. With Logar riding the black fae-stallion while Helene held on to the latter's bridle.

"If do we find such a ship and crew," the immortal witch hunter finally concluded. "...your pooka will have to stay behind! Unless, of course, he changed into something else more easily transportable aboard a ship. Like, say, maybe a mastiff?"

The werewolf huntress looked at him. "How did you know he was a pooka?"

Kaulder smiled. "How else could he have kept pace with a galloping unicorn?"

"In that case," replied Coucou. "...instead of a bloody English mastiff, how would you feel about a Danish boar hound?"

Whereupon, he metamorphed into a melanistic Great Dane! The illusion of a saddle disappearing as his passenger yelped in surprise at the sudden descent in height.

"Name of Milil!" exclaimed the dwarf bard. "Would you give some advance warnin' the next time before you do that?"

The fae-canine merely chuckled in response.

So it was that they came to the south gate of Baldur's Gate. There, they were inspected by a contingent of Flaming Fists and their rather bored-looking captain.

"Identify yourselves and state your business."

"The name's Kaulder. This is my sister, Gabrielle. Her boar hound Brutus. . ."

The werewolf huntress partially raised her right eyebrow. Otherwise, she evinced no surprise at this rather unexpected prevarication.

"...and our client, Logar. The greatest bard in the Faerunian Empire!"

The captain looked them over with a plainly skeptical expression on his face.

"If he's so great, why do you have him riding that overgrown scrap eater?"

'Brutus' growled to show that he knew the captain was talking about him.

"We lost our saddle mounts to a Malarite ambush near the Faerunian border. Along with our pack mules and our Krug escort. The four of us were just plain lucky not to join them!"

"Malarites, eh? What kind of Malarites?"

"Redfang gnolls. Ever heard of them?"

"I've had enough run-ins with them to know they rarely stoop to common highway robbery! Why would they ambush you lot?"

Kaulder shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe they were out to take him hostage and hold him for ransom."

He pointed to Logar as he said this, before adding. "After all, he was recently hired by the Queen of Pylea, herself, to perform at her upcoming wedding!"

The captain centered his skeptical gaze on the dwarf. "Is that so?"

Logar could not help grinning as he displayed the lyre-and-half-moon emblem on his leather bag.

"Does this answer your question, captain?"

The captain immediately became wide-eyed with astonishment, as he and his men suddenly snapped to attention.

"Oh! Uh, yes. Yes, sir! It certainly does. Please proceed."

Kaulder, of course, was curious about this sudden change in attitude. But, he was experienced enough to put that curiosity on a temporary leash. Instead, he thanked the captain before asking if the latter knew the location of the Gray Hawk Inn.

"Oh, yes. You can't miss it. It's the largest establishment on Frontage Street, near the docks."

As they parted company with the guardsmen, Helene looked at Kaulder, unable to restrain her own curiosity any longer.

"Why did you tell him only half the truth?"

"Because, if we're right about why those gnolls were after Logar, then that ambush could only have been set up by someone with inside information."

"You mean, a spy?!"

Kaulder nodded. "Assuming that Glordelia wasn't nicknamed 'The Witch-Queen' for nothing, then it stands to reason she might have more than one enemy waiting to overthrow her at the first opportunity. Either out of fear, resentment, jealous ambition, or all of the above. In any case, conspirators require spies to give them vital information. And one or two of those spies might be at the inn along with Logar's (admittedly still hypothetical) impostor. The best way to prove that hypothesis is to flush them out! Unfortunately, the best way to flush them out. . ."

"...is for me to arrive at the inn, alive and well," replied the dwarf. "Ha-ha! 'Tis risky, alright. But, clever."

No sooner had he made that pronouncement than the curious-looking quartet arrived at their destination. The clearest indicator of such being a large, wooden, white-painted sign with a grayish-colored bird of prey alighting atop a gloved left hand.

Upon entering the foyer, the innkeeper- -a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair- -came running up to them, an eager smile on his face.

"Greetings, noble travelers? How may I help you, this evening?"

"Some supper would be good, to start with, I think," replied Logar. "Then, lodgings for the night for all four of us."

The dwarf bard indicated 'Brutus', whose soft warning growl was subtly reinforced with a telepathic 'whisper' to make no contest about letting the 'dog' stay with his 'owners'.

"Certainly! Please, follow me."

Meanwhile, back at the south gate to the city, the captain of the guard had just finished rolling up five scrolls, sealing them with hot red wax, and then placing them in five burlap sacks with draw strings that he similarly fastened shut.

"This one is for the regional commander of the Knights of the Unicorn. The rest are for his counterparts in the Red Plumes, the Silver Lancers, the Flying Huntsmen, and the Order of the Blue Boar, respectively. Until each of them is handed over, you are to ride non-stop! Hence, the extra mounts. Do I make myself clear?"

"Sir! Yes, sir!" chorused the five messengers, before vaulting into their saddles and galloping off in perfect unison.

"What of me, sir?" asked the sixth messenger, a recent addition to the local company of the Flaming Fists.

"You are to commit this one to memory, word for word, before riding hells-for-leather for Zhentil Keep. Understood?"

"Sir! Yes, sir."

The new recruit then read the message, silent shaping every word as he began the memorization.

"Milords! Harper agent survived ambush, along with two others. Plus one war dog. Second survivor is human male (possibly free-lance paladin); third survivor is female (possibly half-elf ranger). All four staying at Gray Hawk Inn. Please advise!- - -Vrackmul."

tbc

REQUIRED GLOSSARY

House Eiluned: one of the leading houses of the Seelie Court.

Seelie Court: the Sidhe, or fae, aristocracy who rule between the vernal and autumnal equinoxes in White Wolf Games' "Classic World of Darkness."

MISC. ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS

"By Merlin's Beard! A dark animagus?!"

"Where's the bastard, now?"

"...that is true."

"Ah! Of course."

"...the poor dear..."

"The Children of Night."