Rendering Nirayel-Wayward Fates Read online

  "Tuda! Dobin!" Jester shouted while dropping to one knee. By the time Tuda reached him, Dobin had caught up and they both hit him with a combined impact that rocked him backward, though he did manage to hold his balance. "It's a good thing you're Halflings," he laughed.

  "Fling us! Fling us! they both sang in unison.

  "Oh…well, I'm really very tired. Let me get some rest…"

  "Please! Please! they sang in unison again.

  Jester looked from one to the other with a curious expression. He paused for a moment, torn between his own need for sleep and their pleading faces. Very well then," he relented.

  "Ahem," Borin cleared his throat.

  "Oh yes, I forgot. Sorry," Jester apologized. "My friend here is really quite exhausted. Just let us get settled in, and then I promise to fling you both."

  Neither of the children said a word. The look of disappointment on their faces was statement enough. Jester looked from one long face to the other long face and back again. It was more than he could bear. He looked to Borin. So did the children.

  Borin looked from one expression of disappointment to another expression of disappointment, to Jester's own expression that seemed to say, "How can you be so completely heartless!" and somehow a day that had already seemed longer than was possible, suddenly became even longer.

  "I know not what this…fling thing is. Please just get it over with," he said resignedly.

  Both children cheered.

  Jester began to spin around and around. Soon, both children were each hanging by one of his arms as centrifugal force continued to pull them further away from his torso. When both of his arms were held straight out from the force of said spin, he began to swing them, down at first, and then up as he gained momentum.

  "Stop it!" Magnatha screeched, while hobbling on one cane and waving the other in the air. "You'll turn their livers over, ya dang fool!"

  She was however, too late to interrupt as Jester had already dropped down and was currently pushing up hard with both legs, snapping the children skyward, and releasing them while still spinning, so that they shot upward like stones cast from a sling.

  Ten meters, twenty-five meters, thirty-five meters. At about forty meters in height, their trajectory began to curve. Soon they would be dropping like stones.

  Borin had not expected this. He figured that the children had wanted to be swung about, as most children did. Still, one is not supposed actually to let them go. Beset by an abrupt image of the children falling to the unforgiving ground, he bolted forward, both arms raised. What was he to do? He could not possibly catch them both. They were flying in opposite directions.

  Jester stopped spinning and got a bead on both children as he waved his arms outward, gathering his mana, and then swinging his arms in a wide arc. As they came together, he crossed both hands in the directions of the children and loosed his spells. Both Dobin and Tuda began floating gently back to the ground, squealing and giggling all the way.

  Borin caught himself and stopped. "I really don't like you, you know," he stated flatly while passing Jester on his way to camp.

  Jester had not noticed Borin's attempt to save the children. What's eating him? he thought. Fortunately he did notice Magnatha's cane bearing down on his head in time to dodge.

  "Ya coulda killed em both, ya blasted menace!" she screeched, quickly drawing her other cane up to whack the same noggin the first cane had missed.

  Now her I like, Borin thought, looking back without stopping.

  Jester jumped over the second cane as easily as he had dodged the first, and then landed on his feet to fall backward and away from both canes as he rolled into a sitting position while becoming translucent, and then altogether absent.

  "Get back here, ya scallywag! I'm nowhere near done with yer tree-huggin carcass!"

  "It's nice to see you too, Nanna," Jester whispered in her left ear. He then kissed her cheek.

  "Bah!" she spat. "I'd just a soon kiss the Spurious end of an Arbitos-bound Dung beetle!" Then she wheeled about, to begin hobbling back toward her tent. "Young scamp," she chuckled to herself after she was about halfway.

  "I heard that," laughed a disembodied voice to her right.

  "Bah!"

  ***

  "I'll take three fingers of the red sulfur powder. Oh, and let me have half a dozen cut dressings, if you have them."

  The vendor held up a large package of fresh bandages to illustrate that he there was no shortage. He then folded a sheet of Bixie wax-treated paper into an envelope and held it over a torch that was mounted on his vendor post to braise the wax, thereby creating a watertight container. He finished by measuring out three fingers of the reddish powder into the container and folded the flap shut, handing both the bandages and sulfur to Borin with a well-practiced smile. "I seen what you did with the chick," commented the vendor. "Nice bit a work, that."

  "Thank you," Borin replied politely, and though both thin and awkward in light of recent events, his facsimile of a smile was a sincere response to the old man's appreciation. He placed two platinum coins on the counter and slid them toward the vendor. "Nice doing business with you," he offered while picking up his purchases.

  The vendor pushed the coins back toward him. "Like I said, milord, I seen what you did with the Roc. We got young ones here. I'll not be takin money from someone who was injured while contributing to their safety."

  Borin's recent buildup of apprehension eased, his smile actually broadening a little as he started to collect the coins.

  "Besides, no friend of Squire Jesterwolf Thistle will ever drop coin in my shop."

  Borin's smile dropped. Instead of reclaiming the coins, he pushed them back toward the vendor. "Thank you anyway, friend, but I'll not take goods without paying. No offence meant. It's just my way."

  "No offense taken, friend," assured the vendor. "There be many different peoples. We all got our own ways."

  ***

  He needed some boiled water to clean the wound before dressing it. It would have to be soon, too. There was an increased sloshing within his armor, not unlike the problem one experiences when one is on maneuvers through swamps or marsh, only he hadn't been on such an exercise. This coupled with his increasing dizziness, and further accompanied by the ringing in his ears indicative of a simple problem, the solution to which was complicated only by a need for expedience.

  He came to a wagon near the center of the encampment. Beside the wagon was a cauldron with a fire under it. He stepped up to the door and knocked, already beginning to feel somewhat disoriented.

  The door opened and a most comely young woman stepped out. Her warm and welcoming smile was obscured only by a thin tress of long Raven-wing hair that curled at the end, almost as if intentionally attempting to caress the Lady's brandy-wine lips, while her eyes, green as jade, seemed to assess him from head to foot. She asked, "May I help you, milord?" in a voice of pure honey wine.

  "Yes, please," he had meant to say, though what came out was so slurred, it made no sense.

  "Are you all right?"

  He was not all right. In fact, he had grown quite pale. His eyes fluttered briefly before rolling back, as the world swam away in shades of gray and light.

  "Milord?"

  Already unconscious, Borin fell to his knees, and then sprawled flat on his face.

  The woman at the door screamed in horror as blood flowed from his armor at every joint, in rivulets.

  Chapter Six, Part Two-The Ezy Conspiracy

  In waking, Borin encountered none of the previous ill effects. He felt for the wound, but it was gone, as was his armor, yet again.

  A large pail of water sat on the floor. Next to it lay a bar of soap and a clean drying-cloth. Borin had been placed on a bed, or rather, on a tarp that had in turn been placed on the bed. He raised his head up to realize he was covered from head to foot in his own blood.

  "Why didn't you say something?" Jester inquired as he sat up. "If I had seen it happen, I would have healed you then
and there."

  "You healed me?"

  "Of course I healed you! You were barely alive!"

  Borin mumbled something under his breath that Jester could not quite make out.

  "What's that you say?"

  "I SAID THANK YOU, DAMN IT!"

  ***

  As Jester left Ezlea's wagon, she asked, "Is he going to be all right, Jes?"

  "What's that?" Jester asked. "You'll have to speak up.

  "I asked if your friend was all right," she repeated in a slightly louder tone.

  "He'll be fine, Ezy."

  "Oh, that's good," she offered with relief. "It would be such a waste… Such a shame to lose such a fine young man."

  "It's very kind of you to put him up for the night."

  "Yes, well, he is rather nice looking, isn't he?" she grinned while turning to peek between the shutters of her wagon's rear window.

  "Sure," Jester mumbled as he walked away. "He's real cute, in a loud, oafish, ungrateful, dunderheaded sort a way!" He was still banging the palm of his hand against his ear when Ezlea entered the wagon.

  ***

  Borin sat on the bed, near the edge, washing as much blood off as possible without getting everything about him covered in it. Fortunately, the canvas was serving its intended purpose.

  "How are you feeling, milord?"

  At her voice, he looked up to once again to find himself facing the same Human whose assistance he had first sought. Her dark hair fell about her face, encasing eyes of infused jade and emerald that somehow seemed almost too large. She could have been as young as fifteen summers, or as old as a hundred and fifty.

  As his attention came to bear upon her, she offered a cordial smile. The overall effect became fairly disorienting.

  "I'm…"

  "You're what?" she asked, small dimples forming about the corners of her mouth as the nature of her smile shifted.

  "Oh… I'm just washing up a bit, milady. Terribly sorry for the inconvenience."

  "I assure milord, there is no inconvenience," she crooned softly while slowly moving just a bit closer, and proffering a scent not quite that of perfume, but perhaps more like a morning breeze: the bearer of such scents as wild flowers and wheat, and rains yet to come. He was beginning to feel somewhat lightheaded again.

  "That is not what I asked, though," she added with a hint of playful teasing.

  "I guess I feel…a bit dizzy," he managed to reply truthfully, if not altogether coherently.

  "Oh, milord!" she crooned with exaggerated concern. "Perhaps you should lie back for a while." She quickly leaned forward, placing one knee on the edge of the bed while pressing a hand to his forehead, the hemline of her skirt just happening to rise over half way up the length of her thigh as she did so.

  Though Borin was able to tear his eyes away, by exerting no small amount of effort, he then found himself faced with her upper torso. As this new proximity caused that portion of her body to envelop the perpendicular horizons of his peripheral vision without either returning his attention to the now almost non-existent hemline, or actually turning his head to the left or right, thereby expanding those horizons and thus causing tactile contact with his proboscis, now thoroughly immersed in her scent, he was duly forced to crane his head up, returning his attentions once again to those all-consuming green eyes that somehow served to both alarm and disarm all at once.

  "Oh, dear! I think milord has a fever!" she exclaimed in mock severity. Her playful tone was still there, but now bearing something else beneath it, something not really playful at all.

  ***

  "You what?" shouted Magnatha.

  "Why are you all looking at me like that?" he asked defensively.

  "So, he's there, even as we speak?" Albin inquired.

  "I suppose so. Of course, there's no telling. He is a Warrior after all. I gather he's geared for violence more than passion. More than likely, it's all over and she's kicked him out. He'll probably have to find another place to roost tonight," he laughed shortly, sobering quickly in light of their sober faces.

  "Your friend is in great danger!" Niry exclaimed.

  "Why do you all carry on so? It's only Ezlea. I did the oaf a favor. Fact is, I've never seen anyone in a greater need of…"

  "Squire Jesterwolf Thistle!" Magnatha shouted, invoking his full name. "I always knew ya were a scallywag, but I had no idea ya were so low as to treat one of yer oldest friends as if she were just a common tramp to be passed about!"

  "I did no such thing!" Jester retorted with great indignity. "Whatever is or isn't going on over there is none of my doing, and certainly none of my business!"

  Albin grasped Jester's shoulder, to focus his attention. "Ezlea was joined to Nere during last Solstice."

  "What?" Jester inquired, not quite absorbing the full impact of the implication.

  "He said she's married, ya great boob!"

  ***

  Nere led a large cart full of various pelts, hides, and meat-everything from Plains cat to Roc.

  The Shear beetle he had harnessed pulled the cart without sign of effort. It had not been a difficult task to persuade the Shear to cooperate. He simply held the end of a rope as it dragged the ground behind him. On the other end was a small rabbit carcass that held the beetle's interest. Beetles were strong, but not very smart. Nere was no mental giant himself, but he was smarter than the beetle. It had almost seemed too easy.

  In fact, it all seemed almost too easy. Life in the frozen wastes of his birthplace had been harsh and forbidding. His people had to struggle constantly just to survive. Yet here in the Wiccaris, there was so much. What a paradise!

  And now he was married to the sweetest of angels. True, Human females cannot bear children of Barbarian blood without risking death. However, were there not many adoptions in this camp? Dobin and Tuda were fostered by Human parents. Ezlea and I can adopt too. How could life be so bountiful?

  "Good evening, Nere," a vendor offered as he passed.

  "And a good evening to you too, friend," he returned with great sincerity.

  Most people shunned Barbarians. How many times had he heard their curses? Be gone, foul beast! Take your leave, and take your stench with you! We don't serve animals in this tavern!

  Yet the Tarots were different. Sit yourself down, friend. Warm yourself by our fire, Brother. Come to my wagon, handsome. Life had been so unfair, for so long. Finally, Nere had found a home.

  While yet reveling in his good fortune, Nere failed to notice when someone stepped out in front of him. "Ummfff!" That muffled cry seemed to come from under at his feet.

  He looked down to see a large pile of cloths strewn by an upturned basket. From beneath the pile of laundry poked a pair of feet wearing ochre sandals. He recognized them immediately.

  "Niry!" he exclaimed. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Here, let me help you." He turned the basket right side up and loaded the laundry back into it, thereby excavating the disheveled Niry at the same time.

  "I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked with concern.

  "No, Nere. I'm fine," Niry said, while getting to her feet and dusting herself off.

  "I am such a clod!" he cursed himself.

  "Oh, look!" she cried abruptly, pointing to the cart as it rolled away.

  Nere looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, the rabbit, cart, and all his goods were currently traveling back the way he had just come. He quickly bounded off after it, already forgetting the mishap.

  When he finally caught up to the cart, after some two hundred paces, he found Albin holding the rope, and the rabbit to which it was attached.

  "Give me that carcass, you infernal beetle!" Albin cried. "Oh, there you are, Nere. I thought I would never get the rabbit out of the Shear's pincers! You should take greater care about leaving an unattended cart," Albin chided as he handed Nere the rope, and then turned to walk back to camp. "Perhaps you should consider investing in a fully trained beetle. They're much easier to work with, and you wouldn't need a rabbit," his voice trailed as he
continued on.

  Nere scratched his head in bewilderment. "That's awful strange, Albin. I didn't see you…" But Albin was already out of sight.

  He returned his attention to the wayward cart, maneuvering the Shear about, and then making his way back toward camp again. When he reached the outskirts, he came across Magnatha, who was standing beneath a large Cedar tree, near the outermost ring of wagons.

  As he approached, she banged on the trunk with one of her canes. "I know yer up there! Ya can just get yer rump down here right this minute, ya Goblin grub, ya!" she shouted.

  "Is something wrong, milady?" Nere asked, failing to notice her indication of someone's covert whereabouts.

  "It's that little scamp, Dobin!" she lamented. "It's time fer his lessons, and he's hidin from me again."

  "I see," replied Nere, preparing to continue past her.

  "What he don't realize," she whispered confidentially, and offering a wink to punctuate her confidence while pointing up into the tree with one cane and blocking Nere's path with the other, "is that I know where his favorite hidin place is."

  "Oh, I see," said Nere, grinning broadly. "The little scamp," he agreed, chuckling.

  "I don't suppose ya could help a feeble old crone, could ya, Nere?" she appealed in a pitifully helpless tone.

  "Uhh… Which one?"

  "Me, Nere. I meant me," she answered in the same sweet, yet now somewhat tenuous tone.

  "Oh, of course, milady.

  "Ahh, thank ya so much, dear boy," she crooned. "It's not easy fer a woman of me age to get around, ya know, especially now that me poor old joints are so stove up with rheumatism."

  "I understand, mistress," Nere offered sympathetically. "How may I be of assist…"

  "Not to mention me eyes," she continued. "They're just not what they used to be."

  Poor old Lady, thought Nere.

  "Why, I can't see three paces in front of me own face," she lamented, sadly resigned to her plight. She then paused to regain her composure.

  Nere reached down, gently patting the old woman's frail shoulder to demonstrate his earnest empathy.