Rendering Nirayel-Wayward Fates Page 13

Amara and Merfee turned to each other with alarmed expressions.

  "Well, fetch em back here, and bring Jester as well," she ordered. "I want ya to meet him too. He's a rascal if there ever was one, but he's…"

  "You say they stayed in the guard tower last night?

  Chapter Ten-Chaos Gambit, Part One

  A caster who cannot see, cannot cast. As such, he would be allowed to wash out his eyes before opening a portal to the Vastus Druid Hub.

  The hooded female cut the ropes that bound him. Yet, while rising to his feet, he abruptly found the serpentine blade of her dagger at his throat. As he instinctively jerked away, her own reactions, or perhaps, anticipations, would either imply faster instinct, or superior preparation, for as his head whipped back, so was her other hand ready.

  She grabbed him by the back of his collar, using his own momentum to pull him backward and even further downward with both his legs now caught beneath him. He came to rest with his spine draped across her knee and his head supported by the same hand that had jerked him back, then once again found her dagger at his throat. As she bore down on him, he found himself looking up. The only benefit of this new vantage was that he could now see inside her hood, or rather, in part.

  In spite of everything, what he saw was striking: a thick mane of the darkest locks sweeping over a sculptured violet cheek, both high and delicate, and her left eye, which to Jester seemed the very hue of Nirayel's ether. Of course, the quality of that azure was slightly tarnished through a glare no less intimidating than any other type of voracious carnivore. Then, just as the inside of her hood billowed in the breeze, Jester winced. He quickly looked away, though the image of it lingered; her right eye completely gone, and not just the eye itself, but the lids, brow, and even a small portion of her cheek, with scant sections of bone appearing about the rim of the semi-coagulated maw.

  His reaction had not gone wholly unnoticed. She drew in close enough for him to both feel and hear her breath. "Be warned, Druid," she whispered evenly, her hushed tone coated just as thickly with venom as was the blade with which she held him. "Lend no credence to that missing eye, for your every motion is yet well known to this Rogue." She then sheathed her blade, permitting him to stand, the maw once again hidden within her hood.

  He allowed himself to be escorted to the river by two other Dark-elves. These appeared to be Warrior types. "Waste no time," she called as he was led away. "If we fail to escape, then you have failed your little friends."

  ***

  When they reached the riverbank, he knelt down to the water's edge. In doing so, he felt something slip from the inside of his jerkin, near his collar, to the inside of his waist at the belt line.

  The two guarding him were at his back and saw nothing as he withdrew the small patch of leather. He palmed this in his left hand while cupping water in his right. As he splashed water in his face, he glanced down to the single word cut into the patch: sanctuary.

  In reaching to cup another hand full of water, he dropped his left hand into the shallows, thereby burying both his hand and the patch in the sandy bottom.

  It wasn't difficult to determine who had planted the note. In recalling what had transpired, he made several connections. First, the hooded Rogue argued for Tuda's life. As to whether she acted in the interest of the children, or simply offered sincere advice to her commanding officer, Jester had no idea. What was clear, were the murderous intentions of the one called Crimsin. Unless he missed his guess, the Rogue's life was currently worth no more than the children's, or his own.

  He continued to wash until his eyesight cleared. As he withdrew his left hand, the note remained buried. He had just enough time to wash the sand from his hand before being wrenched to his feet.

  "Move yer arse, fleabag!" spat the guard while hauling him backward. Jester was unprepared for this and fell to his knees. While getting to his feet again, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye, near the waters edge. It was only a flash of gray from behind a rotted log and no more. Still, this was enough to recognize a kindred spirit, and perhaps an ally.

  Then, as they approached a small water puddle, he caught the reflection of something else. Something most disquieting was quietly sitting high in the tree directly above the main group of Dark-elves. Though this did serve to identify the wolf behind the rotted log, it did little to explain how this other had come to be perched where he was without the Dark-elves' knowledge. Unless he had been there before we arrived.

  ***

  Now they traveled quickly. With his troops running under Essence of Canis, Reginald led his men while Merfee led them all.

  At first, Magnatha had intended to join the hunting party. Reginald had gently pointed out that time was of the essence. She could only serve to slow their pursuit. He could see that she was hurt by it, but he knew better than to attribute her hurt to such dainty reasons as ego. Simply put, she was to be deprived the opportunity to cut down the vermin who dared endanger her family. No, there was nothing dainty about his former Captain.

  Amara had also elected to remain. She would be no more able to keep up than Magnatha. In her place, she provided the same young Ranger as had dispatched her original assassination report. He was inexperienced, yet she felt that such natural abilities as he obviously possessed would more than compensate. I do hope he keeps to his feet.

  As the Regiment disappeared over the southern horizon, Magnatha wrenched her hands, feeling helpless for perhaps the first time since the day of her retirement. "I never prayed even once in me whole life," she said to her companion. "I reckon Jester prays to the one called Wildern. Do you pray to Wildern?"

  "Natura is my Deity," Amara replied softly. "Shall I pray on your behalf, milady?"

  "No, but ya might ask if she's of a mind ta watch over me grubs," Magnatha suggested as tears welled, and then flowed. "And if it's not too much trouble, she might keep an eye on that scallywag as well."

  ***

  An arrow struck a tree in plain view above the Baron's head. Attached to it was a thin red flag. At this he stood, searching the direction from which it had come. In the distance, a Dark-elf waved and pointed to the north.

  The Baron made a subtle hand gesture in the direction Jester and his two escorts were now returning. Upon receiving the relayed signal, each guard took one of his arms and Jester was dragged as both guards ran back toward to the main group.

  "Baron, if I may?" Delphi asked, glancing toward Jester and the incoming guards.

  Picking up on her meaning, the Baron nodded approval of her offer to expedite their departure, but as she started in Jester's direction, he grabbed her arm. "There is only time enough for one transport, my dear. Some must stay behind for the good of our cause. I simply thought you should know that I do not consider you expendable," he offered while smiling.

  She had made quite an impression on him with her previous counsel. He knew that Crimsin would eventually kill her. Until then, he saw no reason not to take advantage of her allegiant zeal. Perhaps he would convince Crimsin to hold his blood lust in check for a bit. At least, long enough so that he could sate a bit of his own.

  She returned his smile as one who had an understanding of an unspoken agreement and he released his hold on her. In turn, she withdrew slowly, deliberately raking her nails across his forearm.

  Blood welled from the scratches she left behind, causing him to draw a sharp breath as his smile broadened at the pleasure. Still smiling, herself, she turned and went to the Druid.

  As she approached, she waved the escort away. When they had gone, she moved closer, placing her dagger to his throat, yet again. Then, without moving the blade, she maneuvered behind him. With her free hand, she grabbed a hand full of his hair, yanking his head about so that his ear was to her mouth.

  "Unless you're a complete dolt, I gather you've a clear understanding of our situation. Do I gather rightly?" she asked loudly, for the Baron's benefit.

  "Yes."

  "Then hear my terms," she whispered. "I
will help you escape. In return you will represent me to your people as a candidate for Sanctuary."

  "There has never been a Wogni…"

  "Do you agree, or not?" she cut him off while speaking loudly enough for the Baron to both hear and see as she pressed her blade deeper to his flesh. She glanced up to confirm the Baron's approving grin as the Druid's widening fear of both her blade and veiled question became evident within his frightened yet comprehending eyes.

  "Yes," Jester rasped in a low tone. "I will do what I can for you, but only if the children escape with us."

  She considered this briefly. "All right, Druid. You should know then what Heartrot plans."

  "You mean other than Kidnapping and Extortion?"

  "You are to bind yourself for the return gate. You are then to place two spells on each member of the group. First you are to give them the ability to see that which cannot be seen. Then you are to make them unseen by all others." Though she did not know the Dryadic names for these spells, he understood her meaning.

  "Next you are to transport the first group to the Vastus Druid Hub. From there he plans to return to the Empire, via the Vastus-Lobri pass, only…"

  "Only what?"

  "He intends only the one portal," she whispered. "And though he has not said so, I feel certain that he will kill both you and the child as soon as you are on the other side. The others are to be sacrificed to those who pursue us."

  "Arbitos," he muttered, closing on the only possible motive for the Baron's haste. "They're close, then?"

  "Sentries have spotted them to the north. Our position could be discovered at any moment."

  "Not a lot of time for planning," he muttered.

  "You could port the three of us away before he could stop you. In fact, he wouldn't even know what you were up to, until it was too late. Obviously, this would leave the other child, but I believe it to be the only way to at least save one of them."

  "I can't do that," he replied without hesitation.

  She appeared confused. "It is of course unfortunate, but we must be practical. I cannot see why…"

  "Because they're my family. And even if they weren't, they're still children. We can't just abandon one of them."

  "As you wish, Druid, but if we are to survive, then I suggest that you come up with some other plan of action, as I know of no alternative."

  Jester's thoughts raced. "Tuda is with the Baron." he muttered.

  "Who?" she inquired.

  "The girl child."

  "Yes. He watches her closely," she confirmed.

  "And the boy? Where is he?"

  "He is near the eastern sentry. He too is being watched."

  "I see," he sighed. "This will not be easy, though there may yet be a way out," he paused in thought, and then continued. "There is no time to explain in full. I realize trust is a difficult commodity between us, but I fear our choices are few."

  There was a short silence as she considered her lack of options. "Command me then, Druid, but betray me not," she warned, "lest my last breath be shared with your own."

  "Fair enough," he agreed. "Then listen to me closely." He went on to describe what she was to do. When he was satisfied that she fully grasped her part of the plan, he added, "No matter what may occur, you must not do other than what I have asked."

  "I understand, Druid."

  "Delphi!" shouted the Baron. Bring him! We must go!"

  With her blade still to his throat, they started slowly toward Heartrot.

  "Incidentally," he whispered. "My name is not Druid."

  ***

  Now acting as point man, Merfee crawled on his belly in the tall grass, recalling his assurances to Nefari concerning his simple role as a tracker. Oops, he thought, smiling despite himself.

  He carefully raised his head, but only high enough to get a bearing. What he saw was not what he expected. Unknowingly, he had ventured much closer than planned. There was a Dark-elf sentry approximately twenty meters to his left, and hiding behind a dead cedar tree. Oops, he thought again, no longer smiling.

  Then he heard a small explosion. It had come from directly in front of him, but not close enough to see. He looked again to the sentry, whose attentions had also been directed toward the explosion. A moment later, Merfee loosed an arrow. The sentry fell dead, landing quietly in the tall grass.

  This offered a valuable but risky opportunity. There was obviously some distraction among the Wognix. Now would be the best time for the Captain to close in. After a moment of deliberation, he made his decision. He hoped he would not regret it.

  He got to his feet, his eyes glowing faintly red as he raised his bow high and to the north. The Captain was but a small dot on the northern ridge. The arrow, also emitting a pale red aura, would fall at the Captain's feet.

  ***

  He continued to force an acceptance of what he now knew to be the objective truth. The series of events, beginning in Dwergus and subsequently ending at the Tarot camp, was by in large nothing but a lengthy string of very unlikely, yet authentic misunderstandings.

  This was not to completely dismiss Thistle from all responsibility. He was obviously the direct cause of much of Borin's misfortune. However, when everything the Druid had truly been innocent of was eliminated from scrutiny, the remaining series of events in which he was actually guilty seemed relatively trivial.

  This line of logic served to momentarily ease Borin's mind. Jester isn't such a bad sort, he told himself. We just got off on the wrong foot, he told himself. But what if it happens again? What if, in the course of crossing paths again, he brings yet another catastrophe down upon my head?

  And thus Borin found himself. He was no more capable of breaking the chains of honor that defined who he was, than he was able to break free of the dread he felt in contemplating the chaotic misfortune he knew must inevitably follow that infernal Druid.

  He was jolted from his ironic reverie by the sound of distant thunder. No, not thunder, but a small explosion of some sort.

  A few moments later, the Captain gestured to his followers to close in on the enemy, but to maintain rank until the final signal. This command was relayed silently, as the entire Regiment disappeared into the tall grass.

  As he crawled southward, he somehow knew exactly who was responsible for yon explosion. It suddenly felt like a very long time since he had been home.

  ***

  When they were no more than ten meters from the Baron, she removed the knife from his throat, thereby allowing him the casting room needed to open a portal.

  As she went to re-sheath her blade, he suddenly jerked his arms up high and fast. There followed a resounding explosion that knocked her off her feet.

  The assembled group about them was caught off guard, first because of the explosion itself, and then at the shock of seeing Delphi fall dead at the Druid's feet.

  The spell he had cast was called Inner Storm. It was not even offensive, but rather a low-level, self-buffing spell he had learned in nursery school. All it was really good for was noise.

  He wasted no time. This deception might serve to disorient, but not for long. With the shock still on their faces, he cast again, infusing his own body with a spell known as Fleeting Felidae. Then he bolted forward by a means of speed too swift to be observed clearly, thus covering the distance between himself and the Baron in a blur.

  The Baron reached for the small tow sack at his feet, but only succeeded in retrieving a hand full of grass as both the blur of the Druid and the sack he had snatched disappeared, leaving naught but a fading after-image, indiscernible but for the Druid's crooked grin.

  ***

  He streaked eastward. Without even seeing, he knew that Heartrot was giving the command to end Dobin's life. He would only get the one chance. The spell enabling this massive increase in velocity was short-lived, and once spent would be useless until he could regain the greater bulk of his mana which was required by the spell. His only hope was to get to Dobin first. Unfortunately, without knowing
where the boy was beforehand, he would need to learn, somehow, of Dobin's location, retrieve him, and then safely deliver both Tuda and Dobin to the Arbitos soldiers, supposedly somewhere to the north.

  He had only just commenced to doubt his planning when he discovered that the eastern sentry running to the south. This was a strange direction in which to run, considering the positions of both his enemy and his Baron. In following the sentry's line of projected course, Jester caught sight of the sack the sentry was heading towards.

  He shot passed the running Dark-elf, quickly retrieving what he prayed was Dobin. Although it was possible, he didn't believe the Baron had thought far enough ahead to plant dummy sacks. Now he changed course yet again, this time to the North.

  Again he passed the same sentry who had been running for Dobin. Having failed at accomplishing that task, the sentry had stopped in his tracks, equipped his bow, and was notching an arrow, even as Jester sped past him for the second time. Behind him, Jester could hear the wooden bow creaking with tension as the sentry drew back.

  He broke out of the Wognix parameter and raced toward what had to be Arbitos soldiers. They were on their stomachs, apparently attempting to sneak up on the Dark-elves, as if Wognix would be unable to hear an entire regiment of armor clanking through the grass. Yep. Arbitos guards, all right.

  Then he noticed another: someone not of Arbitos.

  ***

  Merfee had waited until the soldiers were within a hundred meters, and had then begun to crawl forward again. If there were any traps, he would need a moment to assess the situation. He had progressed only a few meters when he heard something odd. It sounded much like a sickle cutting through a great deal of grass.

  He looked, but what he saw was no sickle. What he saw was an old friend coming toward him at a great velocity, and with tall grass on either side, splaying outward like water in the wake of a great ship.

  As he reached Merfee, he stopped short. The residual current of air blasted the grass in front of him, effectively flattening Merfee's cover in a radius of several meters.