Rendering Nirayel-Wayward Fates Read online

  With his initial task completed, the messenger then withdrew a second scroll, this one bearing an Elder's official Seal. "I seek the Ranger, Merfee Rainswalker! If you are present, please step forward!"

  Merfee and Nefari exited their tent. "I'm Rainswalker," he confirmed.

  "Good evening, Squire. You are directed by order of Elder Ironwood to report immediately to West Wiccaris, at the Arbitos Lowlands border. Once there, you are to await further instruction," the messenger announced formally. Having handed Merfee the sealed scroll, he took two steps back, and stood at attention while waiting for a reply.

  Merfee quickly broke the seal, turning away to read in private.

  Merfee,

  We have slippery prey afoot. I believe those sharp senses of yours might well be put to use. No dawdling now. The trail grows colder with every passing moment.

  And do mind your step, boy.

  Amara Ironwood

  Merfee flushed. As Nefari moved in closer, he placed his thumb over the Elder's last comment, and then faced the messenger, thereby obscuring her view altogether. "Please inform Mistress Ironwood that I will report as quickly as is possible."

  "Very well," replied the young messenger, withdrawing a gate potion and drinking it down quickly. "I will advise the Elder to expect you shortly, then," he confirmed while bowing deeply as a white mist formed about him. When the mist cleared, he was gone.

  Merfee was abruptly infused with a feral sense of stamina and reflex. His legs and heart both surged with a dynamism not their own. He turned to face Nefari just as she finished casting Essence of Canis.

  "Well, you'd better get going," she confirmed without inflection. "But if you leave our child without a father, just because you wanted to go and play Army, then I swear on Natura's name, I'll sell your sorry bones to the first Necromancer that…"

  "I'll be fine," he assured her. "They require my service as a Tracker, and nothing more."

  "It's not what they require that concerns me," she scowled.

  ***

  As Merfee gathered his gear, Nefari entered, hastily stretched out on the bunk, and then casually opened the latest Pi'xylem Periodical she had received from home, to the place where she had left off. "Don't forget your warm socks," she muttered curtly.

  In reaching the first hill, he turned to find his loving wife standing by their tent and offering a half-hearted wave of farewell. He returned her wave, pride swelling as his thoughts turned to the great things he might accomplish in the company of such leaders as Ironwood and Krue. Perhaps the day was not so far off when the name of Rainswalker would be counted among their auspicious legends.

  He began to make his way toward the border, but she called out to him. She no doubt felt a resurgence of fear at his impending but glorious peril. He must remain strong for her. Yes, he must not allow her to realize what dangers may lie before him. That must remain his to bear alone. Such were the lonely burdens of the Ranger.

  "Don't forget to mind your step… Boy!" he heard her call as his self-induced image of manly prowess suddenly shattered. Reluctantly, he looked back. In the distant dusk, his loving wife was waving the Elder's scroll at him with one hand while holding her mouth shut with the other.

  ***

  "Jester has healed both Ezlea and Nere. She's awake, but we're letting Nere sleep a bit longer while everyone gets their stories straight," Cleetis concluded.

  "And the Warrior?" Magnatha inquired.

  "He's awake, but refuses to be healed by Jester."

  "That may be just as well. I don't think Jester's willin to help him anyways."

  "Yes. When I recommended it, the Warrior looked as if he were…rather nauseated at the very suggestion."

  "What's his condition?"

  "Well, his jaw's fractured. There's also a very good chance that he has a concussion, and I'm not certain, but I think he may have pulled several muscles in his neck and back. All of that will heal with time. The only serious problem is his left eye. If it's not restored soon, there could be some permanent impairment."

  "Does he know?"

  "Oh yes. I was very careful to explain what he faces."

  "All right. Have Reanna watch him. I'll go try ta knock some sense into Squire Thistle. Oh, and it might be a good idea ta have someone scout about fer another healer type, just in case it turns out he has no sense.

  Several hours passed, as everyone involved endeavored to restore the peace. Upon waking, Nere was informed of Borin's entrance into his home, not a prowler, but rather as an injured pilgrim who had simply come to Ezlea in search of medical attention. This much was true. Further, what he had witnessed was no more than Ezlea's valiant efforts to restrain her patient from leaving before he was well enough. This much was for the sake of all involved.

  Magnatha made one last attempt to convince Borin of the severity of his injury. He remained quite adamant in his refusal to allow any magic healing, were such to involve what he referred to as "that evil fleabag," which was perhaps a moot point since the fleabag in question had yet to be found. She suspected that Jester was most likely close by and simply did not wish to be seen.

  At last, she concluded that diplomacy was lost on all young Warriors and Druids alike. With her patience finally exhausted, she got to her feet, exited Borin's tent and shouted loudly enough to be sure Jester could hear. "Jesterwolf Thistle! If ya don't show yerself, right this minute, then ya might as well stay invisible, cause I won't want to be seein ya round here, no more!"

  There were several gasps in the crowd that had congregated about Borin's tent. Jester appeared directly in front of Magnatha, his expression ominous. "Am I to take it you're kicking me out of the family, then?"

  "Take it anyway ya like," she spat. "I can't afford to be associated with someone who would allow anyone to suffer such as the loss of an eye, knowin all the while it could have been saved."

  "Nanna, that oaf insulted…"

  "Aww, what did the big bad Warrior do, then? Did he call you somethin like…an oaf, maybe?" she shouted, both hands clutching both canes tightly enough to leave her knuckles white.

  Jester suddenly found himself unable to offer any response, other than that of open apprehension.

  With her temper flaring, Magnatha forced herself to take a step back. She closed her eyes, and after a time managed a measure of composure. When at last her attention came to bear on him again, she seemed to consider him with something like wounded disappointment. "I'm…I'm just so ashamed of ya," she whispered in a cracked voice, and then turned her back to him.

  He made as if to respond, but stopped. There was really no point. Once Magnatha Thistle put her foot down, it stayed there. Besides, it might be that her observation of his own conduct could have had some minor impact on the situation. He released his breath in a long sigh of resignation, then walked over to Borin's tent and entered.

  "I heard what she said and I don't care. It changes nothing."

  "Well then, oaf…Corporal… it would appear that you've failed to grasp the point. You see, it really doesn't matter what you do, or do not care about. What does mat… As a matter of fact, what matters is really none of your concern."

  With the excitement concluded, the crowd dispersed. It was getting late, and as the day prepared to give way to the night, the entire camp prepared for bed. Morning always comes early for Tarots.

  ***

  He had no intention of sleeping in camp. It would serve no purpose, other than to allow further opportunity for blame to be placed on his shoulders, should anything else befall the Warrior. This did not appear to be an overly remote possibility. The oaf seemed a veritable magnet for trouble.

  He did have to keep it in mind to wake before the Warrior, otherwise the ingrate would most assuredly set out for Arbitos without warning. In itself, this was of no particular concern. The Elders had only stipulated that he accompany the Warrior. They had included no clause wherein the Warrior had to be made aware of it.

  After the proper amount of begging a
nd whining, Tuda and Dobin were finally given permission to stay with Jester for the night. He didn't mind. They were well-behaved children, and good company when not preoccupied with waylaying one another. In fact, they seemed to be just about the only Tarots in camp who were not faulting him.

  He had intended to sleep near the Hub, perhaps in one of the surrounding Elms, or even a nice Willow. Willows were quite pleasant on breezy nights. However, this was not a practical option for the children, so he decided to stay in the nearest guard tower to the west. He knew the guards there. They weren't exactly friends, but they both owed him platinum from a crap game played the last time he was through this way. He had often found that having someone indebted was worth far more than the actual amount they owed. Tonight was such an instance.

  Accommodations in the tower were sparse. The guards had little to offer other than a few blankets. The solution was simple enough. Jester cast full strength levitation spells on both the children and himself. The finest bed in the world couldn't compare to a cushion of air. Besides, the children loved it.

  On the other hand, convincing adolescent Halflings that rest was more important than playing about with levitation spells had turned out to be something of a difficult proposition. Then of course, there were the standard rituals that always followed. She was thirsty. He had to relieve his bladder. She had left her doll in the wagon, and could not sleep without it. Then he was thirsty while she had to relieve her bladder.

  By the time they had finally settled down, he was far more than ready to turn in, himself, and drifted off almost immediately. Within a short period, his sleep deepened.

  The last few days had taken a toll. He had not actually slept since before his search of the Dwarven Garrison. He had compensated for a great deal of fatigue with restoration spells, but one cannot keep that up indefinitely. Eventually, the need for sleep will become too overpowering.

  ***

  Sometime before dawn, they had slipped silently about the tower. In the dark, they were like crystals in water, or perhaps more aptly, they were like shadows among shadows.

  If only he hadn't been so exhausted, he might have caught their scent, or even heard the gurgling sounds made as the guard's throats were cut. Then he might have acted in time to teleport the children to safety. As it was, he never even felt the blow.

  ***

  Borin awoke early. The sun's approach was yet to be detected, though the arrangement of stars suggested the eastern sky would soon be about its morning blush.

  He recalled the dangers of traversing the Wiccaris at night and had no particular desire to meet up with a Hag, Werewolf, or any of the other unpleasant bogies offered by the dark. He paused to weigh his options carefully, finally deciding it all sounded pretty damn good when compared to his recent misadventures.

  When at last he was satisfied that everyone else was yet asleep, he gathered his gear up and set out for Arbitos. Upon reaching the western edge of camp, he looked back to make sure he wasn't being followed. Good riddance, he thought, breathing easier for the first time since taking that ill-fated shortcut through the Dwergus Alleyway.

  In turning to resume his journey home, there came an almost imperceptible, though familiar irritation. That's odd, he thought, slapping absently at the tiny sting behind his left ear. It's rather late in the season for mosquitoes.

  Chapter Eight-Wake-Up Call

  "How long?" Reginald asked as Amara examined the guard's body.

  "Several hours, I should think. There's been a great deal of flow, though it hasn't quite coagulated enough about the cut to be more than that."

  "Back here!" Merfee shouted.

  "More blood?"

  "Yes, milord, but not very much. In the absence of a corpse, I would venture to guess that they've either taken a hostage, or procured rations. Dark-elves can be rather…omnivorous."

  "Hostages," Amara corrected. "Three blankets, roughly arranged in a circle."

  Merfee carefully rummaged through the bedding, but found nothing in the first two. As he lifted the last, Amara gasped, "Oh, Natura!"

  Reginald knelt down, and retrieved what was obviously a child's doll. "We must hurry."

  ***

  Just before daybreak, a lone fire was struck near the outskirts of camp. Magnatha was always first in camp to wake.

  Her band of Tarots moved with the seasons, following the trade routes, Solstice festivals, and general commerce. During migrations, the youngest and oldest spent the greater majority of time within the safety of beetle-drawn wagons. Life lived in this manner made the time spent between pulling up stakes something never to be squandered, and for Magnatha, mornings were the most precious of all.

  After rubbing liniment on her knees to abate the rheumatism, she faced her rocker to the east. There she sat down to a breakfast of muffins and coffee as the sun came up. She always enjoyed sunrise in Wiccaris. The new sunlight filtered through the leaves of trees and Treants alike, casting golden illuminations and long, winding shadows. A silent dance of life stirring. A parading celebration of renewal. A grand performance of soothing reassurance, belonging to her alone. This was her time. So quiet. So peaceful…

  Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong!

  Cleetis burst out of his wagon, sword in hand. The first thing he saw was Magnatha on her back with coffee and muffins spilled about her. "Oh my!" he exclaimed, rushing to help her up. "Are you all right, Nanna?" he asked while setting her rocker right again.

  "Do I look all right?" she asked disdainfully.

  Reanna rushed passed Cleetis, who had just helped Magnatha back to her rocker. "Nanna!" she cried. The Warrior lies unconscious near the western edge of camp! There's something wrong with him, but I can't tell what it is!"

  "Again?" Magnatha groaned. "All right. The two of ya go see to him. I'll be along in a bit."

  When they were both out of sight, she refilled her mug with coffee, and then retrieved several fresh muffins from the bin by her rocker. By the Great Dragon's Arse, I intend ta at least enjoy me blasted breakfast!

  Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong!

  "Incoming Arbitos soldiers!" Albin shouted as he ran through the camp. "All vendors to your carts! All vendors to your carts!"

  ***

  Nere and Ezlea, who had slept in a borrowed tent, were up and preparing their wares as quickly as possible. Owing to the loss of their home, they found themselves unable to pass up any possible commercial opportunity.

  As Magnatha approached, Nere called, "Good morning to you, milady." With his attentions primarily set upon the task at hand, he failed to notice both her coffee-soaked bodice, and the muffin crumbs sprinkling from her ear when she turned to face him.

  "Mornin, Nere," she offered absently while turning about on her canes, looking this way and that way, as if in search of something specific.

  "Oh, Nanna!" exclaimed Ezlea. An entire regiment! We could make enough to build a whole new wagon!"

  Magnatha wondered vaguely if Ezlea's interests in the regiment were solely based on a commercial motive. Out loud she crooned, "Where's yer sweet wee Hobson at?"

  "I think he's on the other side of our tent," Ezlea replied while continuing to carefully separate various pelts and skins.

  Magnatha quickly hobbled around to the other side of the tent. Shortly after, there was a most resounding GONG. She then hobbled around to the front of the tent and on back toward her own. She was sporting a most satisfactory grin.

  A moment later the enchantment emerged, wobbling unsteadily as each gauntlet lurched independently of the other, hovering in what appeared to be something of a drunken stupor. Haltingly, it began to progress in the general direction of its beloved creator. About half way there, it dipped, righted itself, hesitated, rattled violently, and then finally collapsed to the ground, both gauntlets falling askew. The right landed palm down in the mud. The left landed upright, upon the rim of its cusp, its back to Magnatha's back, and with all fingers relaxed, save one.

  ***

  At first,
the undefined murmuring seemed only another aspect of the rushing water. The voices themselves made no sense, but the water was easy. He knew the sound of the Wiccaris River, quite well. After all, he had heard it all his life.

  "Youse wake up now, Jester," Huey's dream voice whispered, momentarily drawing Jester's attention from the other voices.

  "Huh?" he replied, glancing over and thoroughly expecting to find his friend standing right next to him. No one was there.

  His attention returned to the voices in the water. Or was the water in the voices? He wasn't sure, though his efforts to separate the two seemed to diminish everything else. Soon, there was nothing but the voices, and…the water sounded familiar… There came the sharp pain of being struck again as it wrenched the dream away.

  With awareness flooding back, he experienced a dull throbbing to the back of his head. He attempted to investigate, only to discover he was unable to move at all. He tried to open his eyes, but found that he could not see. Not only were his hands and feet bound, but he had been hooded as well. He struggled, but only managed to tighten the rope's bite. If this were part of the dream, then the dream was obviously becoming a nightmare.

  "Ahh, I see our friend is waking," a graveled voice of unmistakable accent remarked as he was abruptly yanked to a sitting position.

  The hood was removed and he blinked to clear his vision, but only succeeded in part. Blood from the blow had flowed well enough to reach his eyes, and then dried there. One eye was unable to open at all, as it was fused shut by the congealed blood. The other eye could open partially. His field of vision was reduced, but it was clear enough to see what was directly in front of him.

  "Good morning. I trust you slept well," the graveled voice said. It was a raspy sound, and the words came to Jester's ears as if wafting from the hollow of a tomb.

  Jester focused as best he could on the grizzled blue face before him. His eye became drawn to an ugly jagged scar, running the length between the Wognix's chin to his collar bone.