Rendering Nirayel-Wayward Fates

by Nathan P. Cardwell

  Chapter Five-Elementary, My Boy

  There she stood, just as the scroll had indicated. "Hail," Reginald called.

  "Ahh, good to see you again, Captain," Amara returned with a wave.

  As they reached the trading post, he held one hand up, palm forward, thus prompting the entire Regiment to come to a resounding halt as the soldiers' right feet stomped the ground in unison.

  "A pity it has to be under such unsavory circumstances," he returned seriously.

  "You made excellent time, boy," she commended. "I wasn't really expecting you until after dusk. You may add stout legs to go with that keen eye and steady hand," she offered with an oddly amused expression.

  Merfee flushed as he was reminded of his minor delay. To his chagrin, the revisions to the story Nefari would hear later were becoming somewhat numerous.

  "Have you determined if they are still about, mistress?" the Captain inquired.

  "Yes, though you're bound to be none too happy about it."

  Reginald raised a wary brow. Ironwood's reputation for accurate field accounts was not one to be taken lightly. If her estimation included an opinion in which one was unlikely to find something to one's liking, then one should more than likely remain prepared for that likelihood.

  "I followed their sign as best I could," she began. "Mind you, Wognix leave precious little for a tracker to follow. After a bit, I lost their scent altogether. As a matter of fact, I was about to give it up when Natura favored me with a-special gift," she intoned, her hand hastening to intervene between her mouth and the Captain's line of sight while dropping her gaze to the ground, apparently in collection of her thoughts. At least this was how Reginald interpreted her manner.

  Merfee's observations were somewhat different.

  After a moment, when she had managed to either compose her thoughts, or perhaps herself, she continued. Now however, she appeared intent upon Merfee alone. This subtle change in demeanor was lost on the Captain, whose only real concern was the information he sought.

  "It would appear that our blue friends had yet another target in mind. Of course, the details are a bit sketchy, but as well as I can figure it out, they were close to the main road-quite near here, in fact. That is where I found signs of…" she paused, smiling briefly at Merfee, "what seemed to be a place where someone met with something of a minor mishap."

  Merfee's eyes widened.

  "I believe this person was most likely in some sort of rush," she continued. "And as often as not, when folks are in too great a hurry, they suffer mishaps."

  Merfee glanced nervously at the Captain, who seemed oblivious to the Elder's dual assessment.

  "I found a small jutting rock, bearing several leather fibers, followed shortly by muddled signs of someone's evident tumbling, and further followed by the clear imprint of what I believe to be that very same someone lying flat upon his back," she concluded.

  "Mistress, I…" Merfee began.

  "Be still, boy," commanded the Captain, not realizing that what was being conveyed was as much for the young Ranger's benefit as for his own.

  "Now, who ever it was," Amara continued, "he was most fortunate indeed, for upon closer inspection, I found something of particular interest buried in the bark of a tree, quite near the tumbler's imprint, and approximately the height of a young adult Wood-elf."

  Amara held a small parchment envelope and took out a pair of fish-bone tweezers. She carefully extended the tweezers into the envelope, and then withdrew what appeared to be a very tiny dart.

  "I believe," she said, holding the item up for display while looking Merfee squarely in the eyes, "that this little item is definitely a mosquito beak. Further more, I feel quite confident it contains a sufficient amount of distilled drachnid spider venom to kill a Hill giant."

  Merfee's heart skipped a beat, and then made up for the loss with a vengeance. He had been most embarrassed when confronted with such a clumsy mishap while on such a matter of grave importance, but to learn that he had come so close to his own grave was yet another sensation altogether. He suddenly wished nothing more than to sit down while rapidity of said beats had an opportunity to ease a bit, and preferably somewhere other than in the presence of this particular Ranger.

  "Sounds as if their intended target escaped by a hairsbreadth," commented the Captain soberly.

  "No doubt," Amara concurred, still smiling at Merfee like a Cheshire tigress.

  Merfee recalled what he had been thinking at the time. Perhaps the Fates are not so mixed after all.

  "There was more good fortune than simply having their targets escape," she added, returning her full attention to the Captain. "The circumstance afforded me the opportunity to regain the Wognix trail. From there we followed them to where the trail ends."

  "Most fortunate," Reginald agreed.

  "Truth is that the only reason we were able to keep on the scent was a mistake made by whatever Wognix led their little excursion. It would seem that right after the dart missed the target, one of their own group had to be dragged. It's only a guess of course, but I would be willing to bet it was the same individual whose dart missed the intended target. Wognix are an unforgiving lot when it comes to failure in the ranks. In any event, dragging a body through the underbrush was as good as putting up road signs all the way there.

  "And where exactly are the culprits, mistress?" asked Reginald patiently.

  "Howling Cavern."

  Chapter Six, Part One-Tarots, Tramps And Thieves

  Shadows stretched eastward, creeping and merging as the light of day declined. Traffic through the Megalith's Hub first slowed, and then came to an all but a complete halt until the night passed. In the early morning hours, the greater flow of transportation would continue. Few pilgrims intentionally traveled the territories by night unless they planned to stop at one of the nearby guard stations, or perhaps one of the fortified farming communities.

  Of course, there were those few whose station in life prompted a need to bear on. There were always a certain number of Diplomats, Couriers, Politicians, or Law enforcement Officials with the financial means to expedite their expedition. Often, their travels took them far beyond the course of transport, or nocturnal cessation. In such cases, continued Dryadic escort was the standard insurance of both speed, and safety. As such, each waited patiently while their hired Priests of Nature meditated after the exertion of transport.

  ***

  As the portal faded, the world swam back into focus again. Borin wasn't quite as adverse to teleportation as he was to ocean travel, but it was a close second. Teleportation's only real saving grace was its blessedly brief duration. The dwarves had allowed him but one light meal of sour bread with a cup of muddled water per day. This turned out to be a blessing in itself, as his stomach took only a few more moments than his eyes to recover.

  This had been Borin's first real Quest, and his knowledge of the Wiccaris territories was sketchy at best. In fact, his initial trip to obtain the Talisman had bypassed Wiccaris entirely when he had come across another of Jester's ilk who had been willing to teleport him directly to the Dwergus Hub. In truth, he really did need a guide, at least as far as West Wiccaris. Still, he could not actually bring himself to consider this troublemaker in such a capacity.

  After recovering his possessions, or at least most of them, he discovered that the Druid had encountered several operating costs. First of all, he had already paid some Rogue to forge the papers of extradition, along with the false rank on his armor, or so he had said. As far as Borin knew, his money might yet reside within the Druid's own pouch. Forgery might well be just another talent for which the Druid had an affinity. It would go well with his skill in framing innocent victims.

  Then the tree-hugger had dragged him back to the very Dwarf who had hit him with a rolling pin, and anonymously paid the baker for the cost of what he had taken. This was accomplished via invisibility. When Borin had started to question this last action, Jester had replied, "Considering the fact I just
got you out of jail, I simply assumed that you wouldn't mind if I took care of that. After all, it was only a couple of platinum." At the time, Borin was too overwhelmed by the Druid's unfathomable cheek to form a coherent reply.

  Then he had insisted upon returning to, of all places, the very spot where all the trouble had begun. Once there, he proceeded actually to converse with the oak tree, thanking it for its hospitality, and then healing a large hole in its upper trunk before finally bidding it farewell. Gads! No, all things considered, it would be far better to simply rid himself of this particular individual.

  He turned to Jester. "I thank you for your assistance concerning my imprisonment," he began in a dry, formal tone. "I also thank you for passage to Wiccaris. Furthermore, in review of events concerning the Dark-elves, I can see where your initial intentions were probably well placed."

  "Probably…?"

  "However, considering the incident with the apple, and my resulting incarceration, I believe it best if we take separate paths home," he concluded flatly.

  "As I've already explained," began Jester. "I have been dispatched by the Grove Elders to escort you back to Arbitos. I am not to return to Spurious until we reach the Arbitos lowlands."

  "I care neither for your instructions, nor the council who gave them to you," Borin replied, straining to maintain control.

  "Please…listen…to…me," spoke Jester in slow emphasis. "I have no alternative in the matter. I understand the authorities binding me are of no consequence to you, but surely you can still see my position. What would have been the outcome between you and the authorities who sponsored your Quest, had you failed?"

  Borin thought carefully for a moment. "I would have returned in disgrace," he answered without inflection. He knew where this line of discussion was going and he didn't like it.

  "Well then, you must see my position," Jester returned triumphantly.

  "Indeed I do," Borin conceded. "I also see that had you thought before framing me for a theft of your own contrivance, then not only would you have avoided all of the time and trouble you have caused us both, but we would have completed our respective Quests. I would not bear you the resentment I currently do, and we would both be back in our respective homes, enjoying a good meal, the company of family, and I for one would be indulging in a nice hot bath. Of course, I cannot speak for you in this matter, but if the fleas now residing within my armor be any indication at all, then I seriously doubt that your itinerary includes such activities as hygiene."

  "What…"

  "Now, I feel I have been most patient with you, but my patience is just about exhausted, so if you will excuse me, I will take my leave of you!" he concluded while hoisting his duffel bag over one shoulder.

  He turned back to face Jester once again, as if to survey him. He offered a small, but pronounced expression of exasperation, mixed perhaps with just a touch of nausea. The nausea was in fact the fading residual of teleportation, although he felt justified in applying its effects to augment the impact of his departure. Then he simply turned away and marched off.

  He had marched about twenty meters when Jester finally spoke up. "A most impressive speech! Too bad the Warrior's flight precludes rebuttal!" he shouted loudly enough for everyone about the circle of stones to hear.

  This was confirmed by a murmuring among the small assembly. It is not often that one witnesses a Druid's challenging a Warrior's courage, even by implication. Borin, however, was seemingly unaffected. He simply continued his march homeward.

  "If only I could impart but a few irrefutable facts, I could then resign myself to the Council's discipline!"

  The Warrior showed no sign of even slowing.

  "I do not believe this is too much to ask! Oh, I suppose one might reason that it's a waste of time! After all, had I not intervened, you could still be learning about all those wonderfully different types of ale!"

  Borin stopped, but did not turn. "Make it fast!"

  "First of all, I do most humbly offer my sincerest apologies for my previous behavior! My action in reference to the apple is simply inexcusable! I have no defense, other than to say I felt somewhat slighted after having thwarted an attempt upon your life!"

  "Second! My name is not Druid! It's Squire Jesterwolf Thistle! My friends call me Jester. You may address me as Squire Jesterwolf Thistle!"

  "Third! I do not have fleas! My hygiene is the same as that of all Druids, which is to say, beyond reproach! This is far more than I can testify for the majority of the ever-sweating Warrior Class! Further more, if you seek the source of your infestation, I suggest you consider your recent residential accommodations!"

  "Fourth! It is far too late in the day to reach Arbitos before dark! Even with Spells of Canis or Felidae, one would not make it even as far as the nearest of the western Arbitos sentry towers!"

  "Then of course, there are such hazards as Wolves, Grizzly bears, Rocs and the like. Such as these would be of no threat to someone traveling with a person to who said creatures are considered kindred spirits. And I suppose the other undesirables, such as Vampires, Ancient Hags and other undead could be simply vanquished by such a powerful combatant as yourself, if they were backed by a healer of some sort. Or, I imagine, such things can simply be outrun, unless of course the traveler in question might not have had the foresight to request Canis before bounding away from the only place of Dryadic gathering between here and Spurious Grove!"

  "And Fifth! Arbitos is west of here! You're facing east!" he concluded, and then turned away from Borin, toward the west. He sat down, crossing each leg over the other, so as to commence a meditation that would assist in the recovery of mana expended on teleportation. It also served to hide his expression.

  It had been a truly monumental effort on his part, but he had managed to say everything required without the slightest snicker. Humor would not serve his purposes at this point. Still, it had almost been too much, especially when he had seen the look on the oaf's face as he turned about, realizing in his exuberance that after delivering such a grand performance of righteous indignation, he had failed to consult his sense of direction.

  Borin stared at the Druid for several moments. It would be so truly effortless just to lop off the bounder's head, but for the life of him, he could find no better justification than the seemingly continuous string of indignities he had been unduly assigned to suffer.

  As if to punctuate the point, he now noticed that Jester's shouting had gained more than simply his own attention. The travelers who had been resting and/or meditating had formed a small audience. Although Jester himself had refrained from laughing, the now assembled group showed no such restraint. Hearing a noise from behind, Borin turned to observe a young Treant standing right next too him. The great tree-like creature was swaying significantly in what was no more than a light breeze. It took him only a moment longer to realize even the foliage was making merry at his expense.

  ***

  "Ouch!" cried Tuda as the small clump of dried manure struck her squarely between the shoulder blades. "Nanna, Nanna! Dobin's throwin Roc pies again!"

  Dobin quickly pulled a small primer from his jerkin pocket and plopped down by the campfire, turning to about the middle of the book, and feigning serious study.

  "All right, me little grub!" Magnatha shouted. "I told ya the next time ya hit yer sister, I was gonna wallop ya but good!"

  Magnatha Thistle sat in her tent, near enough to the fire to ward off the majority of cold aches in her bones. She rose from her rocker stool using two very old and very crooked Cyprus canes. With one cane in each hand, she stood as straight as she was able, her old joints creaking as she forced herself into a forward lurching motion.

  "Yer sister's got welts the size of bear paws from head ta foot. I think it's about time ya had a few welts of yer own!"

  "I aint done nuffin, Nanna," Dobin replied in a perfectly calm, perfectly naive tone.

  "Don't ya be pullin that innocent routine on me, boyo," she commanded while adopting a fac
ial posture somewhere between a sneer and a grin. "I was pulling such as that, near ta five hundred summers before yer Pappy was birthed. Now come here and get yer licks!"

  "Let me help you back to your tent, Nanna," Cleetis offered in a soothing tone while gently sidling next to her, and then cordially taking her arm while casually turning her so as to place himself between Dobin and his would be disciplinarian. "You're just going to upset yourself again."

  From behind Cleetis, Dobin stuck his tongue out at the old Round-ear in his own tauntingly emphasized victory.

  "Surely," she crooned sweetly. "Right after I knock some sense into yon wee Demon's noggin!" Then she braced herself on one cane while raising the other over her head.

  Cleetis quickly intercepted the cane before it came down on Dobin.

  Dobin offered several mid-air smooches while crossing his eyes in Nanna's direction.

  "Now, Nanna, we've been through this before. You know good and well that Reanna and I have never hit the children. What makes you think I would allow such a thing?"

  "Well, I suppose I just keep hopin you'll wise up!" she spat, and then spat for real. "I was raised up just fine by folks what walloped me when I needed it. I reckon I've seen more younguns brought up in my day than yer likely ta ever count. Each and every one of em got walloped when warranted and as far as I can tell, they all did just fine. They learned respect, and did what they were told, when they were told."

  "Maybe so, but I doubt you were ever walloped over the head with a big wooden stick," Cleetis returned flatly.

  "Are ya addled, sonny? That boy's a Halfling! Ain't nothing short of a Smithy's own hammer could get through yon noggin!" she concluded with a loud air of superiority, and then hobbled about face, lurching back toward her tent.

  Dobin's grin broadened at the prospect of having bested Nanna.

  As she reached her rocker, Magnatha abruptly turned to address him. "Psssst, yer book be upside down, boyo."