***
"I could have helped!" Reginald insisted.
"That's right, Father, you could have, had you been sober," Borin replied as he sat beside Sarah.
"I am soder! Sober!"
"I don't know who he is, or how he survived it all, but here he is," reported Marcus as he rejoined them with an unconscious figure draped over his shoulders. He carefully laid the man on the ground as the others looked on, and then sat down between Borin and Sarah, forcing Borin to scoot quickly to one side in order to avoid being sat upon.
"Good God!" Sarah exclaimed in revulsion, as she viewed the figure covered with gore.
"You're sure he survived?" Borin inquired doubtfully, standing, walking toward, and then squatting beside the prone figure for a closer look.
"Yes. I checked him over," Marcus confirmed. "He's got a couple of small bumps on his head, but none of that blood is his."
"Oh, Gads!" Borin exclaimed in disgust as he endeavored to wipe at the thick layer of bloody goo that covered the stranger's face. He then almost fell backward before realizing the ear he just lifted had once belonged to a Dark-elf.
"I'll see if the others have any…"
"Fresh water, anyone?" Tuda asked, straining under the weight of a large bucket of what Sarah had been about to seek. After noticing the gore-covered figure, she set the bucket down. "Start with that. I'll fetch another." She sighed heavily as she plodded back to the now expired supply beetle.
***
"Tuda is unharmed, but Cleetis took a hard hit from an Ogre club," Ezlea reported.
"He'll be all right," Magnatha assured her. "I've seen worse than that in training."
"We're still looking for Digger's leg," Ezlea continued. "Perdil says he has a restoration for severed limbs, if that is, we can find it before the blood congeals."
"What about the others?"
"I'm afraid the Human Bard died in battle, and it doesn't look as if the Gnome will make it either. Merfee should be all right. I'm not sure, but I think one of the Dis'Errants hit him with that death thingy they do. Hobson needs some work, but I can…"
"Blast Hobson! What of the Fighter group?"
"We're all fine, Granny," Crumly announced as he approached.
***
"Stop fussing, Sweetie," Nefari urged from beside her unconscious husband.
"But I want to help," Aqua sniffled while attempting to adjust her mother's sling.
"Is there anything I can do?" Braumis asked softly from behind Aqua.
"Thank you, Braumy, but I'm sure we'll be fine just as soon as the Cleric gets around to us. And if he doesn't, I'm sure my own mana will return soon enough."
"Yes, mistress," he agreed with a dejected expression.
"Will you two perk up? You're depressing me," she intoned.
"Aqua's concerns are no doubt compounded, as you and Squire Rainswalker are family," Sibastian began as he joined them, bearing the same expression as those of Braumis, and Aqua.
Miria listened from just outside the tent, not having worked up the nerve to join them, but also bearing a similar countenance.
"Still, I feel I can speak for everyone when I say we are all feeling a bit guilty, mistress."
"Is this true?" Nefari asked while reaching with her good hand to grasp Aqua's arm.
In reply, Aqua simply nodded without looking up.
"Well for Natura's sake! That's the most ridiculous…"
"I took cover while you fought, Mother."
"Of course you did. You four are just children."
"I am seventeen summers, Mother."
"And I am but two summers younger than Squire Rainswalker was when he led his first rescue party," Braumis added.
"That's different!" Nefari insisted. "My husband is a Ranger. He's trained for this sort of thing. You have all chosen a path of culture and refinement," she continued, releasing her daughter's arm to lift her face, and then repeated the gesture for Braumis.
"As for you, young man," she addressed him soberly. "Were it not for you, the fighters would not have been released. We would all be dead now."
In response, Braumis offered a feeble smile. "And right after I released them, I took refuge with the injured." he admitted as his smile faded.
"Bards have proven essential in many conflicts!" Nefari scolded him. "Countless battles would have been lost, but for the driving force of inspiration alone. All the music, stories, and artwork that your Class gives…" she cut herself short when Miria's sobs became loud enough to be heard.
Sibastian pulled the tent flap back to reveal her, now on her knees and weeping openly.
"What is it, dear?" Nefari asked cautiously.
"Maestro Spinwyp just died," she whispered as Sibastian knelt with an arm about her shoulders.
***
Despite the beard, certain facial features had begun to emerge as Borin's eyes grew wider with each swipe of the cloth. In his mounting rush to expedite a vague but urgent recognition, he lifted the bucket, emptying its contents on the unconscious figure, who instinctively commenced to cough and sputter to avoid taking water into his lungs.
"Hey!" protested Jester's familiar voice as Jesse first sat, and then leaned, bracing himself while continuing to expel water. "You trying to drown me, or what?"
"I should have known," Borin intoned in weary recollection, and then returned to sit on the other side of Selina.
"Huh?" Jesse asked while slowly getting to his feet, the world about him yet swimming in a slight tilt. "Umph!" he then exclaimed when struck by Sarah in what appeared to be a bear hug as she realized who he was.
"Excuse me?" Marcus interjected expectantly. Are you and this…person…acquainted?"
"He's my…" she cut herself off, suddenly realizing her recognition would not be shared. She was the only one who knew what was really going on. Still, her relief at finding him was such that she continued to embrace him. She had found him. She had found her brother.
"This is all we can spare," Tuda announced, straining under the bucket's weight, and then dropping it to the ground, not noticing that its contents thoroughly splashed her. "Jester!" she cried, rushing to attach herself to his left leg while abruptly commencing to weep.
"Huh?"
"Unbelievable," Borin muttered with disgust as Selina and the Halfling woman continued to make fools of themselves over the fleabag.
"Nice beard ya got there, Bunkie," tittered Crumly while assisting Magnatha properly to greet and thank the fighters for their help.
"Grub? I've half a mind ta beat ya right back into that blasted trance!" Magnatha exclaimed while quickly hobbling to join both Tuda and Sarah in a group expression of emotional rejoinder.
Jesse might have been more receptive, if not for his misinterpretation of the old crone's aggressive greeting. This resulted in an instinctive attempt to retreat. Unfortunately, it ended in an awkward lumbering over the attached Halfling as he crashed back to the ground when the other unfamiliar madwoman continued to cling until he lost his balance. She then released him, so as to avoid a similar fate. While yet on his back, he opened his eyes to the inclusion of yet another unfamiliar face.
"Puppy!" exclaimed the decidedly feminine voice of Ezlea, still bearing the form of an unusually well endowed Ogress, who upon recognizing Jester, fell upon Jesse with a relief of tears and kisses while nearly shutting off his oxygen as certain overly generous portions of her anatomy threatened to engulf him.
If this is a coma, I hope to God somebody pulls the plug!
"Hail the camp!" came a shout from the path, instantly drawing the attention of all save Jesse, who was simply grateful for the opportunity to escape the clutches of the exuberant mob.
"Who is it?" Borin asked cautiously as he and Marcus both came to their feet.
"Hail, Master Goren Stelthak!" Crumly returned, walking out to greet the new arrival.
"Goren?" Magnatha asked, recognizing the name, and then recalling the boy who now stood before her as a man wearing a Rogue Master's cl
oak, no less.
"And all Hail the legendary Trickster!" continued Goren, coming to stand before Jesse, and kneeling with his head bowed in fealty.
Absolutely unbelievable!
***
Below the city streets and buildings of New Malice, there lay the same network of crisscrossed aqueducts that had served as a sewer system to the citizens of Arbitos for generations. For the most part, it still served the same purpose, though now there was a small portion that had been converted to another function.
The expansive antechambers connecting to the rehabilitated underground haven were, to the untrained eye, no different then they had always been. Filth-encrusted layers of lime coated stone for as far as the eye could see in such gloom, with naught but the occasional rat or snake to propose anything other than places to be shunned by all who would avoid the ambient stench that would certainly frequent such conditions.
Near the end of one such passage, two cloaked figures came to the conclusion of their long journey. They came to a stop near an old wooden crate that lay broken and half buried in lime so thick as to fuse it to the very surface of the floor and wall.
Here, one of the figures reached out with his walking staff gently to slide a loose plank from the center of the crate, thereby revealing a small section of relatively unsoiled wall-surface, where a series of odd scratches were etched into the stone itself in a seemingly random pattern: one resembling a skull with two other bones crossed beneath it.
The other of the cloaked figures then stepped forward to reach out and brush the skull gently with his own staff. A moment later, a small door within the wall slid open with an issuance of stone against stone.
For a moment the strangers were scrutinized by unseen eyes. The first of the figures stepped closer, drawing a small dagger and holding it up to reveal the blades curved serpentine shape.
"Welcome, Scapegrace," whispered the entombed voice.
"We greet our Allies with open arms and hopeful hearts," Delphi returned, now drawing back her hood.
"May both the Necromancers of Surripere and his Scapegrace find victory in both life and death," Tobar offered while drawing back his own hood.
"May the unification of our factions free all those enslaved by Malignancy," offered the familiar voice, no longer in whisper as its owner stepped aside, making way for honored guests.
As Delphi passed through the doorway, she became aware of several others in the room who, though active, were nonetheless defunct.
***
A number of the combined group, including Borin, Magnatha, and the other Tarots had found a certain difficulty in readily accepting the Rogue's revelation. In fact, his declaration of fealty was in itself cause for merriment.
Goren offered them no argument. He only listened patiently. All was as it should be.
He had completed the first of two steps in his overall Quest as prescribed by Master Bane. The Trickster had been found at the very spot prophesied, just as his own Acolyte had found the other who had recently been stipulated by Master Bane's visions. In turn they had converged upon this very spot, thus joining all three of the prophesied components. Of what was truth, there were no doubts left in his mind. The Prophecy would continue. Its undeniable accuracy, along with its unquestionable wisdom, made manifest the only true path. For now, he was content to sit and enjoy the campfire's warmth, a privilege he had not partaken of since his journey had commenced.
He looked to the western horizon. The sun was setting. Soon the daylight would give way to both the night, and the Prophecy.
Chapter Nine-Seven Stone-Cold Trolls!
The new allies dispersed to confer among their original formations, though each group conducted conversations of generally similar purpose, i.e. withdrawing from this area of obvious peril. Further, they were all in accord as to the best time for that action, i.e. post-haste, with the first available post-haste being first light.
In conclusion of the principal subject of immediate survival, other matters were then broached. The Tarots' route home was carefully altered to a slightly less convenient course, which offered a much greater likelihood of avoiding further un-pleasantries with such things as Ogres and Dark-elves.
Accordingly, the Bardic field trip was ended. Each student was to return home immediately. This was in direct opposition to the unanimous vote taken by the students themselves, whose primary concerns were centered exclusively about finishing what Maestro Spinwyp had started. As is almost always the case, the majority rule of their student body was unceremoniously canceled by the minority of their ruling elders.
There remained but one overall group with unfinished business. The Fighters yet lacked a final destination, since what would have been the destination of their choosing no longer remained an option, given their having been cast out. Unfortunately, this unresolved issue quickly led to other yet unresolved issues of ever-increasing volume.
The only issue remaining outside the three-way domestic dispute being debated amongst the Fighters was the identity of the hairy-faced Half-elf, although he himself had lost interest quickly after learning that his delusions now included the obligatory designation of his WF character. With nothing further to be gleaned there, he managed to meander over to the Fighter group.
"Do you mean to suggest that… that …is Squire Jesterwolf Thistle?" Merfee asked again, and still pointing in the general direction of the colorfully dressed and thoroughly bearded stranger.
Aqua listened without interruption. There was something familiar about that name.
"I suggest nuthin," Magnatha spat without hesitation, while applying a curative ointment to Reginald's bruised ribs in the continued absence of Perdil's still-regenerating mana. "I'm plain outright tellin ya. That be Jester, just as sure as them over-sized bat wings be Elven," she concluded, indicating Merfee's slightly elongated ears.
Perdil simply sat, leaning against the dead beetle's shell while desperately avoiding any sudden motion. This was due to the wolf, Digger, who now lay with his head in Perdil's lap. Apparently, the beast was somewhat grateful for his reinstatement from tripod to quadruped. Although Perdil could appreciate Digger's appreciation, there still remained the fact that there was a semi-feral brute of a creature bearing some very long and sharp teeth in relation to what would otherwise have been a most inadmissible vicinity, were it not for the beast's intimidating…grin? Oh, heavens, I do so hope that's a grin, he thought as Digger rolled over in hopes of a belly-rub.
"Mother?" whispered Aqua. "Who are they speaking of?"
"Oh, you remember, Dear. I used to tell you stories when you were little."
"I think so…but it's been so long."
"He's your Godfather."
Aqua slowly leaned to her left, so as to peek around Nefari at the small group near the center of camp, now huddled as if in conference. Among the group was Jesse, clearly distinguished by his costume. Her expression of neutral curiosity suddenly shifted to something more closely resembling mild alarm. After a moment, she asked, "That doesn't mean he's a blood relative, does it?"
"No, of course not."
"Good."
"Why do you ask?" Nefari asked, her voice oddly suspicious.
"Oh, just curious," Aqua smiled innocently.
***
Goren's attention shifted to his peripheral left and the almost inaudible footfalls of an unmistakable gait, quickly joined by many other gaits, and visible only in a secondary sense as they impacted upon a precipitous shift of air current, witnessed through the minor disturbance of dust particles following their silent wake.
With all eyes now coming to focus on the four-way argument near the center of camp, Goren had no trouble in remaining undetected while traversing the distance between himself and his charges, who by coincidence played heavy rolls in that diversion.
That voice, Crumly thought curiously as the figures near the center of camp continued to argue. Where have I heard that voice? he wondered, while absently wandering toward them.
&nbs
p; ***
"Your name…is Borin?" Jesse asked abruptly, suddenly discovering yet another link to his delirium while effectively interrupting Selina's inquiry of how her friends had managed to locate her.
"Is that not perhaps a question better posed to your husband?" inquired Marcus expectantly, and thus drawing her attention from Borin.
"All right, let's just get something straight, once and for all!" Sarah exclaimed, now neither directly addressing Borin nor Marcus, but rather the space between them and herself while placing both hands out before her in the universal crossing guard signal for halt.
"That's B-O-R-I-N, right?" Jesse went on without regarding or noticing Selina's efforts.
"Do you mind?" Sarah retorted.
"How could you!" Marcus abruptly cried to his wife, and then quickly turned away, wiping tears he could no longer hold back.
"Why do you act as if you don't recognize me?" Borin asked Jester irritably while glancing sidelong at the spectacle Marcus was currently making of himself.
"No, I know you…I think," he assured the stranger uncertainly, and then whispered confidentially, "That you, Bubba?"
"I'm not the person you think I am!" Sarah insisted.
"Will you stop looking at me like that!" Borin chided Jester as Jesse continued to search for any sign of recognition.
"Obviously not!" Marcus lamented in reference to his estranged spouse's revelation, and no longer attempting to conceal his weeping.
"Oh, brother," Sarah sighed, first proffering an expression of disgust at the dramatic display Marcus was creating, and then shifting to a more speculative look as she returned her attention to the sibling she had sought and now stood beside.
"What's his problem?" Jesse asked, no longer able to stave off the insistent voice of the now whining Paladin.
"Come back to me, my Love!" Marcus cried out as he dropped, falling to his knees to better beg Selina's forgiveness for whatever transgression he had perpetrated.
At this, all eyes turned toward the groveling image Marcus had come to represent. A long and uncomfortable silence followed while the four figures about him continued to stare.
Rendering Nirayel - Thief's Prophecy Page 12