The Bellows and The Boy

[ELEyogi]

The Bellows and The Boy(closed)

It was an inn like any other in the palace district in Brynsland, the largest city in Elysia Realm in the Kingdom of Boudineer. There was a parlor on the entry level, opulently decorated with a bar constructed of dark, heavy wood the same as the tables and chairs, which were upholstered in plush red velvet. An elaborate fireplace embellished with gold leaf and intricately carved patterns that depicted the varying landscape of the realm. There were plush sofas and high back chairs for weary travellers to rest their bones and attentive staff to care for any need that arose. The rooms on the upper floors were furnished with furniture as exquisite as below. While some were afforded a fireplace and seating area, four-poster beds with pristine linens and down stuffed duvans along with writing desks dominated each room. There was a stable where the finest farriers and groomers in the Kingdom were employed, along with a blacksmith who apprenticed under the the Royal weaponsmith. All entrances were guarded around the clock to insure the security of all patrons and all staff were housed on the premises in various outbuildings just beyond the courtyard.

There were a few peculiarities that made this inn different from all others in Boudineer. For starters, there was no signage to speak of and was nicknamed “The Nameless” by the citizenry. The windows were always shuttered and there never seemed to be any vacancies. It was also abnormally close the the castle wall, it’s outbuildings seemed to be built into the wall itself. There was also an unusual amount of stairs leading up to the front door that hinted there was more to the lower levels than just cellar.

The fact that there was more than one was unique enough but what these levels housed would have shocked the locals. The lowest level was far beneath the surface, built into the bedrock of Elysia and housed a dungeon from which none would ever return. There was also a network of tunnels that led directly to the castle’s inner keep in one direction and to a grove of trees outside the city proper in the other. The level above housed an armory and archive to rival any in the kingdom. Above that was another, more intimate parlor that lead to the Innkeeper’s private suite.

It was here that Elric Riley paced, having abandoned the parlor above to wallow in his own misfortunes. His once voluminous raven mane was receding at his temples and various shades of gray to match his eyes. There was a time in his life, that his presence would strike fear in the strongest man but now in his 60th year, Elric had been reduced to an administrator. It was a position that he once held the lowest regard, for those who were not built for the rigors of the sword. In all his years he never imagined he would be reduced to such a futile state, a relative secretary in The Unseen Order.

When he took the job of Innkeeper, nearly 15 years ago, Elric was led to believe he was in line for the Order’s most prestigious position. The Initiator. The Bellows, the one who controls The Wind. Those were the mythic names for the one who took his orders directly from the Crown and the cadre of men and women with various skills set that executed those orders. Elric had risen through the ranks beginning at the age of 8 when a mysterious man came to pick him up from the urchin home in lower Ausveld. By the time he was 20, Elric was head of the motley, The Order’s support staff, and charged with training the kingdom’s throwaways in the ways of The Wind. He was offered his first mission as a courier soon after and before he knew it, Elric was being fitted for his very own double breasted cloak. His name was recorded in the Innkeeper’s registry in the “Tenant” section.

For the first time in his life, Elric Riley felt his life meant something. His was no longer an orphan destined to live in squalor until he found his way into a pauper’s grave. He led troops to squelch rebellion, interrogated traitors, and brought down bandits who threatened the safety of the citizenry. And though he received no accolades, no invitations to The Grand Fete, Elric was content. Even after a musket blast stole the hearing in left ear and he was made the Innkeeper, he believed there would be glory. Elric assumed an audience with the Crown was in his future, he need only bide his time.

Years came and went without his setting foot in the castle proper. He barely left the inn but still he was resolute in his devotion to The Order. It was Elric who persuaded a renowned smithy into The Order’s employ. It was Elric who championed the establishment of another nameless inn in Ausveld, a decision that may have triggered his downfall.

For the better part of a year, Elric traversed the kingdom in a horse drawn carriage scouting locations for this new facility. With the Bellows’ blessing, he oversaw the renovations. He believed that his ambitions would be rewarded with a promotion when the time was right. Unbeknownst to him the mechanism of succession had already begun and his name was not on the list.

There was only one name and when Elric returned to find that it was not his own, he flew into a rage that nearly earned him a visit to the dungeon. A weekend spent in one of Brynsland’s Houses of Sydor quelled his passions and allowed him to return to his usual meticulous self. The change over would not be immediate and there would be some overlap while the successor learned of his new duties. That was plenty of time for Elric to hatch a plan to usurp power.
The first step had already been completed with the mysterious death of the acting Initiator. Elric spun a tail of a hidden ailment to conceal his own involvement in the slow poisoning of his superior and was finally awarded an invitation to the castle proper. There was no grand banquet of course, just a clandestine meeting with the Crown’s Interior Advisor in the bowels of the inner keep where Elric swore allegiance to the successor and assured his assistance in the transition. A small part of him held out hope that he might be named Initiator instead but of course, that was not the case, so he moved onto stage two. For that he needed a scapegoat someone outside of The Order who could be manipulated into doing his dirty work.

Kemp Jacoby, a recent recruit, had made it plain that his influence was being wasted eavesdropping on nobles. Initially, Elric found the young man’s ambition audacious and ill advised but he was the perfect patsy. He fed him a tale of possible intrigue within their covert ranks and enlisted his assistance in ferreting out the traitor. Elric worked the young man for weeks, sending him on dummy missions until the time was right.

“You’re to recruit a messenger,” he told Kemp just two nights ago. “Obedient, but expendable. The caravan leaves at midday in three days time, if your boy is not on it all will be lost.”

He almost felt bad for how the young man’s eyes lit up. The mischievous tilt to his smile, the swell of his chest, it was all too familiar to the bitter old man. Elric himself had stood in the same spot before Kemp Jacoby was off the wet nurse. His predecessor had poured him a drink from the same decantur to toast the same terrible decision nearly 25 years ago. It occurred to Elric then that perhaps his predecessors had done the same to him, fed him false promises to inspire loyalty. He took some solace in knowing that Kemp’s life would not be as long.

A knock at the door shook Elric out of his reminiscence and he turned to find his page announcing the arrival of one Kemp Jacoby and the brute he’d hired as muscle. Only Kemp entered the parlor, with the same mischievous grin, and took a seat before it had even been offered.

“You’ll be pleased by my selection, sir,” he said as Elric poured himself a drink. “I told him nothing of the business done here and Gerard has gone off to arrange his misfortune…”

“I’ll not be pleased until the mission is complete. You’re sure none will come looking for him,” Elric asked after a long draft from his wine glass. “He’s not a local is he?”

“I assure he’ll not be missed, sir,” Kemp said with a chuckle as he pressed himself up from his seat and moved toward the bar. “The bastard son of a long dead backwoods herbalist is just as expendable as any welp you might find in the urchin’s home. He’s never been to Brynsland, never left the quaint little village of his birth and yet none would consider him a friend. Those that know him might consider his disappearance a gift from Maker.”

“For your sake, I hope you are correct,” was Elric’s stern reply as he casually took the decanter and glass from Kemp’s hands before moving to his door. “Report tomorrow once he is off with the caravan. I’ll have your next mission details then,” he said with a raised eyebrow, making Kemp scramble a little before he shuffled towards the open door. “Stay indoors until then,” he ordered before slamming the door in Kemp’s face. “Presumptuous twit,” he muttered as he made his way back to his desk. Elric leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning the courtyard below, all the while thinking that soon it would all be his.

 

[tamgreen]

The young man looked back over his thin shoulder as the coach trundled further and further from the Jacoby estate. He could just barely discern the cold, unreadable face of his father's wife in one of the upstairs windows, watching them leave. He could never think of Mairin Jacoby as his "stepmother", perhaps because it was so difficult to think of the illustrious Chancellor Niall Jacoby as his father. He'd never had a father growing up - only a dedicated mother who was now twelve years in her grave, and a secret, which her death and subsequent execution of her will had thrust into the public eye. Although an innocent byproduct of the Chancellor's twenty-year-old indiscretion, the bastard knew most of the town found it easier to blame him for existing than to give up their reverence for their otherwise upstanding leader.

Fraser Pryce certainly did have Jacoby blood - anyone could see that unmistakable gap between his front teeth, so uncannily identical to the Chancellor's well-known physical quirk, and he could effortlessly pull off a noble bearing when he chose to, despite his common childhood. When the boy, then only eight years old yet with a quiet dignity that belied the true agony of the loss of his mother, had been dropped into the Jacoby home in accordance with the dead woman's wishes, the Chancellor hadn't denied his responsibility. Mairin had been inconsolable for some time over her husband's unfaithfulness, their five legitimate children and heirs confused and resentful at the intrusion of a surprise younger half-sibling. Fraser had simply rolled with the chaos, rolled with everything as he always had. It was a skill afforded by his common upbringing, although with plenty of credit to his shrewd and indomitable mother, the late Bronwen Pryce.

Even now, leaving his hometown for the first time and headed for an unknown destination dictated by the youngest and most volatile of his half-brothers, Fraser was calm and collected, keenly observing his surroundings. Even with a series of attempted and failed careers behind him and the bitter resentment of his half-family struggling to manage his continued existence and his many oddities and embarrassments, he was mostly unruffled.

He looked across at the man next to him - Kemp Jacoby, just a few years older at twenty-three - and Kemp looked back at him first with barely disguised antipathy, then with a hastily manufactured smile. Fraser idly wondered what the possibility was that Kemp was about to sell him into slavery or feed him poison, like warring brothers in some old religious myth or folktale.

"Are you going to tell me about my alleged new job?" Fraser finally asked. "You seemed to be reluctant to discuss the details around father. Now that it's just you and I, perhaps you can actually tell the truth."

Kemp chuckled insincerely. "Don't you worry. There is an occupation for you. It won't be as dignified as what you've attempted in the past, but you hardly seem to give a care for dignity, considering..."

Fraser sighed and shrugged. "So, will you have me shoveling horse shit, or what? I have actual skills - I'd like to use them."

"Ha. I can't rule out the possibility of horse shit, but don't you worry - you'll be very useful, provided you can behave yourself for once. You'll be employed at an inn, that's all. And not the kind shameless man-whores are likely to frequent, so there are unlikely to be additional opportunities for you to debase yourself and humiliate our entire family."

"Still you bring that up?" Fraser muttered, looking out over the side of the cart to analyze the scattered collections of weeds along the edge of the public road.

"You think anyone who knows about that will forget it?" Kemp snapped. "Disgusting."

"I was curious. Hasn't everyone been curious? I didn't hire Amadeo. It happened organically."

Kemp scoffed. "No, you just used your position as a physician's apprentice to commit lewd acts with patients, and were rightfully dismissed. Should've been locked up, too, like that perverted degenerate, but for some reason my father has a soft spot for his little bastard. Even in the face of your complete lack of shame."

Fraser shut his eyes for a few moments and sighed again. He was tired of this particular argument, and Amadeo's imprisonment was as unhappy a memory as the loss of his medical apprenticeship. "My point was that I certainly don't make a habit of 'soliciting', so you needn't worry about that. And to be clear, I didn't take advantage of anyone - Amadeo definitely wasn't there for medical assistance. Dr. Valentin used to give him money practically every week for a turn at his bottom. You obviously have no idea of how many other men in town-"

"Shut it, Fray!" Kemp barked, elbowing him sharply. "No one wants to hear it! This is the problem with you. You think you can do and say anything you please just because we happen to live in an imperfect world, but you know what the difference is between you and everyone you like to tattle on? No one respected you in the first place!"

This kept Fraser quiet for a while. He wasn't offended by Kemp's remark, but he found it thought-provoking. Perhaps Kemp was right after all - was that the way it was supposed to work? Was that how so many people got away with so much - they behaved themselves for a long time and earned everyone's respect before trying to do something socially unacceptable?

After a period of silence, Fraser suddenly sat up straight and cried out, "Thelesperma filifolium!", causing his brother to startle.

"What in the Maker's name are you on about?" Kemp exclaimed, glaring at the younger man.

"Thelesperma - over there, in that clearing!" Fraser babbled animatedly, pointing in the direction of a clump of greenery crowned with vivid yellow flowers. "Greenthread. It has excellent anti-inflammatory properties and purifies the blood. Also makes a very palatable-"

"Gods, Fray - nobody cares!" Kemp growled, elbowing him again, painfully. "Are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut, or do you want to prattle your way out of yet another employment opportunity you don't even deserve? You know father's health isn't good, don't you? You understand you're causing him a great deal of stress...?"

Fraser bowed his head at this. He knew he'd caused the whole family stress, which was never his intention. He especially didn't like upsetting his father more than necessary, seeing as the Chancellor had been one of precious few people to treat him with any respect since his mother's death.

"Yes, I...," he stammered. "Please, just... how should I conduct myself at this... this inn job? I'd truly like to make myself useful. I don't know what I'm meant to be doing or how to succeed at it."

"Look at me, Fraser. Look at my eyes."

Kemp waited until he made reluctant eye contact. He knew it was one of the few things that unsettled Fray. Eye contact, of all things. What a strange boy.

"Don't speak unless you're spoken to," Kemp continued, slowly, as if talking to a stupid child, "and do exactly as you're told. It's that simple. Can you handle it?"

Fraser wrenched his gaze away from his half-brother's. "I'll do my best."

He glanced back once, quickly, and was curious at the private little smile that flickered at Kemp's lips.

****************

Fraser had never been outside his hometown. Every inch of the road they traveled was new and fascinating. There were so many wonderful green things and colorful flowers and lichens and fungi, many of which he had only seen in books, and desperately wanted to collect. Or at least talk about. But as Kemp had made clear, no one cared.

The city was a sight to behold, a sprawling metropolis, chaotic, and diverse. Fraser would have liked to get lost here for a while, to follow each new sound and sight and smell, but Kemp had his destination in mind and did not turn from his intended path.

The inn itself was a half-timbered structure, charmingly aged yet sumptuous and obviously not for common rabble. Fraser spotted two notable oddities - there was no sign outside to identify the building's purpose, and there seemed to be a hulking guard of some type at the entrance. Just how exclusive was this inn?

The large man at the entrance seemed to recognize Kemp immediately and waved him through the door, narrowing his eyes at Fraser in the process. Fraser clutched his small travelling bag and looked mostly at the man's large boots as he passed, following after his half-brother until they arrived at a small dormitory-style room.

"Settle in," Kemp instructed. "This room is yours for now. You're to stay until someone comes looking for you. Remember what I said - just follow instructions. You're not to go wandering."

Fraser took a breath to ask perhaps a thousand questions, but before he could get out a syllable, Kemp had slammed the door shut and the rattle of the key in the lock indicated Fray wouldn't have much choice but to stay here and not go wandering.

He sat down on the bed, thinking, and waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

****************

Fraser decided he must be a prisoner here rather than a worker. He occupied the remains of the day alternately forming a number of theories as to why this might be, and leafing through the two books he'd been allowed to bring with him - he'd chosen The Forager's Guide to Elysian Herbs and Fasciculus Medicinae, Volume IV.

When daylight waned, a humble supper tray was brought in to him by a skinny lad with pimples on his cheeks and forehead, who stared at him wordlessly for the space of a single breath before leaving and locking the door again.

By morning he was, at last, put to work. It was an odd series of tasks that kept him confused, yet confusion itself was stimulating, and kept his mind busy forming new theories. First he was working with the pimple-faced boy and a few others carrying linens and moving furniture around. Then he was placed in a small office with pen and ink to make copies of what appeared to be vague financial records of some kind. After that, he spent a few hours in the kitchen polishing glasses. He could hear vague sounds of people eating and conversing nearby and was desperate to eavesdrop, but all day the strangers giving him orders had kept him out of the way of most of the activity around this mysterious establishment. He was increasingly convinced there was some sort of big surprise coming, whether good or bad. Nothing about today had made sense, and he was bracing for some great big unknown.

At the first light of dawn, a large man with an ostentatious mustache burst into his room and demanded that he pack his things at once.

"Am I sacked already?" Fraser wondered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"Hush," the man said, "and do what I told you. You've a very important job to do, certainly the most important of your life. We are all counting on you, Mr. Pryce."

Fray furrowed his brow in confusion but hurriedly dressed and packed his things. He followed the mustachioed man out a backdoor and down an alleyway, where Kemp joined them. Fraser looked to his half-brother with question and mild alarm, but Kemp just smiled blandly at him and urged him along, bringing up the rear so that Fraser was walking between the two men.

After a long, meandering walk, they reached the periphery of what appeared to be a marketplace. A bustling group of merchants was busily packing up wagons and wares in preparation for a journey. Kemp hurried forward to speak with one of the merchants while the man with the mustache turned to Fraser, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Listen closely. There isn't time for me to repeat myself too many times."

Fraser nodded rapidly.

"You're to deliver a message of vital importance to a colleague of ours. His name is Osbourne Clifton, and he's currently stationed in a village called Heatheren Heath."

"But I don't even know who you are or how to get anywhere, how can I…?" Fraser burst out.

"Shush - I'm getting to that!" the strange man insisted, squeezing his shoulder almost painfully. "The caravan will take you. They'll reach Heatheren Heath within a few days. The village is not large - you'll know Clifton when you see him. He is a very large man - you'll barely reach his shoulder. He wears a beard and has a long scar on his cheek. Will you remember this?"

Fraser gulped and nodded.

"Good. Now, as to the message - if you know what to say, he'll know who sent you. You're to say to him, 'Sir, I'm told the storehouse is aflame.' Repeat it back to me."

Fraser parroted the simple phrase, bewildered.

The man nodded his approval. "And if you have found the right fellow, he will answer back, 'Friend, one can only blame the wind.' Have you got that?"

"Sir, I'm told the storehouse is aflame; friend, one can only blame the wind," Fray babbled, nodding as the words attempted to settle into his scattered mind.

"Now, the message of critical importance: 'The unlucky sailor crosses the shadow of the albatross and must begin his reckoning before the winds change.' Say it!"

This one took Fraser a few tries, and then he was flustered, worrying he'd lost his hold on the first phrase while trying to commit the second to memory. Breathing heavily, he repeated the sentences in his head over and over, barely paying attention to where the man was dragging him. He was pushed aboard a covered wagon, where two dark-haired bearded men were sitting between piles of assorted decorative textiles. He turned back, slightly panicked, barely understanding anything that was happening. The man with the mustache handed him a small bag of coins.

"Tie that to your belt, lad," he instructed. "You'll need it to hire passage back. You don't want to get stranded in the middle of nowhere."

Fraser clutched the bag tightly and looked to his half-brother as the wagon began to move. Kemp offered him a half-smirk and waved silently.

He gulped as one of the dark-haired men pushed him into a seat. For the next several hours, he was uncharacteristically quiet. The merchants were speaking to each other in a language he didn't recognize. It was dim and stuffy beneath the wagon's heavy cover, and he couldn't even see where they were going. For once, Fraser Pryce was having a difficult time rolling with the chaos. Already he wasn't sure he could remember his messages, or the name of the man whom he was instructed to find.

 

[ELEyogi]

It was official, Osbourne Clifton, was in desperate need of a bath. Fresh clothes and a shave were all he could think of for the past few weeks trudging along from one side of the kingdom to the other. And to make matters worse, there was a prisoner to transport which meant the cobbled kingdom roads off limits. If given the choice, he would have preferred transporting a body but alas there wasn’t such a thing as “choice” as far as The Unseen Order was concerned.

For a little more than a decade, Ozzy had been carrying out the mysterious requests of one he only knew as Bellows. It was lonely at first, traversing the realm and beyond during his induction period, performing the grisly work of protecting the crown. It was the perfect escape for a young man who’d barely grieved the loss of his young wife and child, who couldn’t bare sleep in the house her parents gifted them. The post was as much a godsend as it was a curse in that regard, his former in-laws were livid that he would abandon the little villa on the edge of Fury’s Grove were their daughter and grandchild were buried. Ozzy offered to relinquish the deed but they wouldn’t hear of it. “Shameful that you would even suggest such a thing,” his father-in-law wrote, but Ozzy knew the decision was more about social standing than anything else.

A member of House Clifton, Osbourne was of noble lineage. His adopted father, Sir Renfrew Clifton, was a member of the Crown’s Privy and a direct descendant of Boudin the Unifier’s First Knight. The fact that Osbourne himself didn’t carry a drop of Clifton blood meant very little, he was a hero in his own right and his life before coming under Sir Renfrew’s tutelage was an extraordinary one.

Found wandering the Idyllwildes when he was just a toddler, Osbourne was raised among the warrior priestesses of Loam. As with any Loamio child, he was taught the ways of the sword and spear, climbed trees barefoot, and paid homage to the Great Mother. He was loved and cherished by his surrogate mother but his ruddy skin set him apart from the generally tawny skinned people of the High Temple of Loam. Then there was the ring emblazoned with the symbol of Palume, The First Son, that dangled from a length of hemp string around his neck. A ring that no child should possess, yet it was attached to him when he was found. What became of his parents, none at the temple could tell him so he set out to find them when he was barely a teenager. For months he scoured Elysia alone, avoiding bandits and nerdowells that stalked the Kingdom roads, only to be scooped up in his sleep by slave catchers who sold him into the service of a pirate who went by Carlo the Great. The ruckus Ozzy caused when he first came aboard earned the respect of the pirate captain and his first mate.

Bevin Maeve had no business being on a ship but none were stupid enough to say it to her face. The crew called her Quick, on account of her temper and her throwing blades but to Ozzy she was nothing but a friend. The bond they forge was swift and the two quickly became inseparable, much to her brother’s chagrin but Ozzy didn’t become a threat until he came of age. When Quick discovered the plot against him, she did what any good friend would do. Thrust a purse of coin and gems into his chest and forced him overboard as their ship skimmed the shallows near Hearth’s Cove. Unfortunately, the current was too strong for Ozzy to navigate and he ended up washed ashore on Skerry's Keep, where Sir Renfrew was stationed with The Maritime Guard on maneuvers. And though the man promised to assist in the search, Ozzy found very quickly that there is where he belonged.

Among the ranks of the Royal Guard, Osbourne Clifton found his place. It helped that he looked over the heads of most men with bulk to match, but neither hampered his agility. Having spent his youth climbing trees and scurrying along ship decks, learning to maneuver in close combat was almost second nature to him. With his sword and shield, Osbourne very quickly made a name for himself, catching the attention of the recruitment branch of The Unseen Order. Unbeknownst to him, the grooming and testing began shortly after his 21st birthday when he was stationed at the Northern Garrison in Ausveld.

It began as simple reconnaissance missions into The Barrens, securing trade routes along Fury’s Grove, and eventually led to him assembling his own squad of warriors to accompany him on his covert missions along the western front. But it wasn’t until the death of his wife and child that Ozzy was approached by a very peculiar man who claimed to have served with his father, his real father, before disappearing into the crowd at a royal gala. The next morning he received a letter from an unknown sender, requesting his presence at an inn just outside the castle walls. He’d heard of the place but was wary of who might be waiting for him so he consulted his father who offered the simplest advice. “Go, and listen with your whole self,” he said with an odd grin. Osbourne did just that, and his life was forever changed.

For better or worse, he wasn’t entirely sure, and it was this he contemplated in his makeshift camp off the eastern kingdom road between Brynsland and Hearth’s Cove. His scout had alerted him to an approaching caravan so the decision was made to hunker down until it passed. They were a company of four. Ka’Mau Dejen, the dusky skinned scout who hailed from the desert people beyond Fury’s Grove. They called him Fletch on account of his efficiency with a bow and his whisper light footfalls. Then there was the smarmy Gideon Vanderveen who Ozzy himself plucked out of the Kingdom dungeon for his uncanny ability to ingratiate himself in any company. Like Ozzy, no one knew the true origins of the garrulous former confidence man but Goldie had proved himself useful and loyal to his new comrades. Last but not at all least was Quick, Ozzy’s former first mate, who stumbled into his employ while the other three were on mission in a village on the Saphaerius coast. She’d left her brother’s ship not longer after tossing Ozzy overboard and made her living robbing men of means who frequented brothels across the southernmost realm. When Goldie stumbled into her scheme, Ozzy offered her a place with him and she happily accepted. She never offered up the coin she took but she’d saved all of their lives on enough occasions that Goldie rarely brought it up. With Ozzy’s support, all three had pledged their allegiance to The Unseen Order but their hearts belonged to the man who brought them into the fold.

It was just before sunrise when Quick made her way back to camp from her turn at patrol and scolded him with a glare when she found him awake. Ozzy did nothing but toss her his wineskin before pressing himself up and shaking out his wary bones. Without words he ordered her to feed their prisoner before he moved off into the brush in search of Fletch’s latest post.

 

[tamgreen]

Fraser was starting to feel nauseated from the bumping, swaying journey that seemed to stretch on into eternity. Stuffed in close quarters with several strange men and piles of new carpets, he was overheated, claustrophobic, and at times choked with the strong scents of unfamiliar perfumes and dyes. The ventilation and lighting were poor, and any small break was a tremendous relief. Whenever the caravan paused for a rest stop, Fray leaped out into the open, pulled in great gulps of air, and reveled in the sky above him and the grass below. Even if nothing else out here was unfamiliar, he still had the sky and the ground.

When trapped for hours at a stretch with nothing else to do, his mind went in circles, calling to mind the description of the man he was to find and the phrases he was to say. He had moments of breathless terror when he realized he could remember very little with perfect surety. An even worse panic hit when, after spending nearly an hour trying to remember whether the man's name was Osbourne or Osric or something else altogether, he found he couldn't recall the name of the village he was supposed to be travelling to. Something about Heather? Either way, he decided he had to trust that the men he was with had been told where to take him. It wasn't as if he could ask them.

Day two of the journey was a great deal worse. He'd slept poorly, eaten unfamiliar foods, and felt more than any other moment of his life that he must be a miserable failure. He'd been driven away from every attempt at a career thus far after alienating everyone possible, but somehow losing his opportunity to become a physician, which he'd dreamed of since childhood, hadn't affected him nearly as much as his current failure to keep a few short sentences and a couple of names fresh in his mind. He wasn't good with people; he was aware of this. Even so, Fraser could usually remain confident in his own intellect. Now he could be confident of very little. Memorization was the one thing he had always been able to do well. What in the gods' names had happened in his head?

Late in the afternoon of his second day of travel, nearly evening, the caravan paused for a rest stop at a small crossroads near a river. Fraser drank from the stream and splashed water over his face as the others filled their gourds and waterskins. He noticed the carpet men huddled together in animated discussion over what looked like a stack of parchments. Fraser had cursed himself many times over the past two days, and now he was cursing himself for not spending more time studying languages while he had access to a robust library at his noble father's home. Of course, he could admit there was only so much that could be learned from books alone.

He crept closer to the group and they stopped speaking, each one giving him a long look he couldn't interpret.

Fraser noticed the parchments they were poring over were maps, and he leaned forward with interest. After a little more hushed speaking he couldn't understand, they gestured him to join their circle. The map on the top of the stack was a portion of eastern Elysia and appeared to show the route they had been following. One of the men pointed to a spot on the map, alongside a serpentine line representing what was presumably the river they were standing next to. Fraser understood he was pointing out their current location. He pored over the map to see if he could recognize any place names. They were perhaps another day out from Hearth's Cove, which Fraser suspected was the caravan's ultimate destination, but somewhere along the way he was supposed to be dropped at the village whose name escaped him. Where was it?

The man gesturing to the map was about to answer his question. He poked Fraser in the middle of his thin chest and then swept his arm out to gesture toward a small bridge that spanned the river, and a path beyond that cut through the forest.

"Is that… where we're going?" he stammered. "The village… Heather…?"

The man once more jabbed his chest and then pointed to the path across the river. Then, abruptly, everyone was moving. The maps disappeared and the merchants packed up to leave. Fraser, confused, tried to board with them, but they pushed him back, yelling something at him and tossing out his meagre collection of possessions. Fraser understood then that they were dropping him off, not going to the village themselves. Was he actually expected to travel alone from here when he had no real idea where he was going?

He stood forlorn and feeling very small as the caravan began to move. He considered calling out to anyone who might speak his tongue for help before the last of the carts had passed, but what would he ask them? Please, could you tell me if this path leads to the place whose name I forgot?

Left alone and scattered, Fraser found himself missing his mother more than he had in years. Although a young man of twenty by now, this was one of those rare times he felt eight again, ripped away from his only home and family, cast out into an unfamiliar and unfriendly world.

How had he coped at eight? He'd kept his chin up and remembered all of the knowledge and wisdom his mother imparted to him. He turned to books and learning and the expansion of his mind. He fuelled himself with curiosity. He could do so now. No sense in standing still when he could move forward. Who knew what fascinating plants he could spot and perhaps collect during his journey, wherever it may take him?

After gathering his things and pausing to make sure he still had his little pouch of coins to hire passage for the return journey, Fraser set off across the bridge and down the path that led into the trees.

Nearly half an hour into his walk, he spotted a collection of tiny blue star-shaped flowers down what looked like a deer trail and couldn't resist veering off the wide path to have a look and see if those flowers were indeed Borago officinalis. He was busy collecting samples and placing them between the pages of his two precious books when the sound of a snapping twig behind him made him jump.

Whirling around, Fraser found a broadly-built man in filthy clothes standing over him, brandishing a long dagger and a predatory grin.

"Awful out-of-the-way place to be out picking wildflowers, eh, little lost lamb?" the man quipped.

Fraser stood up as straight and as tall as he could, though he was only five feet, eight inches tall and thinly built. His heart fluttered like a hummingbird in his chest. Fray knew he'd let his guard down, and most likely it was already too late for him if this man meant to do him harm.

"I study botany and medicine," he piped up, as if that would help anything.

The man laughed and looked over his shoulder as if to share a joke with someone behind him. Fraser soon learned that this was exactly what he was doing. A pair of strong arms grabbed him from behind, and before he could understand what was happening, his effects had been torn from him, and he was being dragged deeper into the woods.

"Flowers ain't gonna help you now, are they?" one of the men jeered.

Fraser managed one desperate yell that was caught by the wind before a large fist to his gut knocked the wind out of him.

 

[ELEyogi]

Unlike his comrades, Ka’Mau Dejen preferred to be alone. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have great affection for his brothers, and sister, in arms, just that he had grown used to solitude. The Barrens people were notoriously insular and could go years, decades, without interacting with outsiders. If not for his kidnapping, he would probably still be living on Dejen clan lands with very little prospects given that he was the youngest of his father’s 15 children. He doubted any even looked for him, one less mouth to feed during the dry season was probably a blessing for his clan. Missing children was a common occurrence in the Barrens, the consequences of an unholy bargain between their ancestors and the beings that dwelled below.

He never saw any such beings, men dragged him from his mother’s mudbrick roundhouse in the dead of night. He was subsequently held in a network of subterranean caves with other slave children where he was made to fight for meager scraps of food. It didn’t take him long to realize the harder he fought the better his food, his sleeping arrangements. He did what was necessary to ensure his survival and eventually he was conscripted into the raiding parties that razed the edges of Boudineer. It was on one of these raids that he was captured by a troop of garrison soldiers on patrol, and instead of locking him away in the dungeons they fed him. Heartily, and once he was full a young soldier came to his cell. He was amazed someone not much older than him would be giving orders to men with gray in their beards. Even more shocking, the man spoke his language and asked his name. The two talked for hours before Ka’Mau agreed to lead him back to the camp, he would have agreed immediately if the man had asked. The next night, he stuck close to the man and fought at his side to free the rest of the children, but he refused to join the caravan that would transport the children to the refugee camps in Fury’s Grove.

“Sir, I can not go back,” he remembered saying and the man smiled, gave his head a rough rub.

“So long as you call me Ozzy, I think there’s room for you at the garrison.”

Ozzy had no authority to make such a promise but none would question the son of the great Sir Renfrew Clifton, adopted or not. Like his father, he saw a capable boy in need and did what he could to provide for him. But much like Ozzy, Ka’Mau was eager to prove himself among the ranks of the Royal Guard. He could ride as well as any cavalryman and his time with the raiders only honed his martial abilities. By the time he came of age, Ka’Mau had proved himself to be a proficient tracker and expert archer, so much so he earned himself the nickname “Fletch” and was conscripted into the Royal Guard without sponsorship. Unfortunately, he was shipped off to the Southern Garrison but the two remained close and when Ozzy made his home in Saphaerius Fletch was a frequent visitor. He was there when Ozzy buried his family and accompanied him on his return to Brynsland for his mourning. When he received the cryptic invitation to join him permanently, Fletch jumped at the chance to be of service.

Now, half a decade later, Fletch used his skills to aid the cause of the Unseen Order, but his allegiance was with the man who saved him from subjugation. No matter this new life was exponentially more dangerous, it was a life he chose. A life he took great pride in leading. Even as he spent much of his night awake in a hunter’s blind, while the rest of them slept half a league away, Fletch could find no complaints. With his scope he could see the coast to the east, the hills surrounding Brynsland were to the west. The plains to the south were dotted with villages and to the north…

“Maker’s name,” he muttered as he adjusted his spyglass to find a boy wandering alone. A straggler from the caravan he guessed but still, the road was no place for a boy to be alone. Day or night. He seemed to be moving in the direction of their camp but Fletch was certain there was nothing intentional about his route. He seemed not to be in a rush, more concerned with the foliage at his feet than what direction he traveled. Fletch scooped up his crossbow, loaded it with one of the blunt tipped arrows he kept for signalling, and let it loose in the direction of the camp.

Ozzy heard the arrow cut through the trees above and picked up his pace, not before whistling out his response. To the untrained ear, it may have sounded like a red-shouldered hawk who’d spotted prey. To Fletch it would signal his approach and, depending on the circumstances, he might respond in kind. An owl meant something was amiss. A falcon meant come quickly. When the staccatoed whistle-chirp-whistle hit his ears, Ozzy loosed his shortsword and set off in a full sprint. He reached Fletch’s perch just as the man set feet to ground and he motioned for him to stop and held out his spyglass. With his own eyes, he saw the boy and the man closing in behind him. And another who seemed to be laying in wait. Shaking his head, he motioned Fletch to circle around as he headed straight for the ambush.

"I study botany and medicine," he vaguely heard the boy say as he crept closer. He couldn’t yet see them but Ozzy heard the derisive laughter that followed and again he quickened his pace. Unfortunately he wasn’t fast enough to stop the harm he knew would come to the boy, but he heard the blow. The yelp that followed was a desperate thing that broke his heart and against his better judgment, Ozzy charged through the brush.

One bandit took off running immediately with one of the boy’s bags in tow, while the other pulled a rusty dagger and lunged in Ozzy’s direction. “We got him first...get yer own prize,” he sneered as he set his feet. Slightly larger than Ozzy, the man probably thought his words might be enough but as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, his mistake was obvious. Ozzy watched as the man slowly took him in, saw recognition in his face as his cloudy eyes took in the exquisite leather boots on his feet. The long leather cloak with a cowl so deep Ozzy’s face was shrouded in darkness. The shortsword with elaborate etching along the blade and brass pommel. The long gloves with swirls embroidered on the cuffs. “The wind?” It came out in a whisper and Ozzy couldn’t help the chuckle that came, even as he leveled his sword.

“Shame you won’t live to tell it,” he said just before he ran him through. A quick jerk of his wrist freed his blade and sent the bleeding bandit crumbling to the ground. As Ozzy cleaned his blade, Fletch appeared with his crossbow slung over one shoulder and the boy’s bag in his other hand. “The other one?”

“Ran right into Quick,” was his reply as he came to stand over the boy.

“You see where he came from?”

“Came into my sight from the west...maybe the caravan left him behind,” was Fletch’s guess and Ozzy shook his head. “She ain’t gonna like this...not one bit.”

“Well we can’t leave him out here. Grab his bags, I’ll carry him back to camp.”

With that, Ozzy scooped the boy up and over his shoulder for the journey back to camp. And just as Fletch suggested, Bevin Maeve was in no mood to babysit. Even after they realized the boy wasn’t exactly a boy. There was the faintest impression of a mustache on his upper lip and his clothing was too well made to be a child’s. And one of his bags were full of books they’d all have trouble understanding.

“This young man has no business on the road,” Goldie said as Quick stomped around breaking camp. “He’s no caravan straggler either. His skin is too smooth, too pale for one who rides in wagons. If you’ll…”

“Keep your sticky fingers out of his stuff or you’ll lose ‘em,” Ozzy barked before Goldie could get his hands on either one of the burlap bags. “You three get going with the prisoner. I’ll make my way behind you when he wakes.”

 

[tamgreen]

Fraser couldn't tell when or how he lost consciousness, but upon waking, he was almost certain he'd received some kind of blow to the head. The back of his skull throbbed and ached, and there was pain radiating across his stomach. He let out a small grunt and furrowed his brow, resisting consciousness, fighting to go back to sleep where things were peaceful. Instead he just became more and more aware of the world and the state of his body.

He was lying down on something that wasn't exactly comfortable, but there was at least some sort of thin padding between him and the ground. He felt a light breeze on his smooth cheeks and knew he was outdoors. The scent of wood smoke and gentle crackling noises indicated a fire nearby. He was still reluctant to open his eyes at all, not wanting to face whoever had attacked him. Why was he even alive? If they didn't mean to kill him, why bother placing him carefully on a bedroll instead of dumping him in a ditch somewhere? Did they mean to sell him into slavery? He might have been sheltered but he wasn't entirely naive - he knew such things happened in the world.

Eventually there was nothing he could do but face up to his circumstances. Pretending to sleep and theorizing could only take him so far. He lifted first one eyelid, and then the other. There were trees above him. He turned his head and spotted a dark figure nearby, hooded and cloaked. His heart raced. The man looked enormous.

Fray tried to slowly push his way up into a sitting position. If more harm was to come to him, he certainly couldn't defend himself lying down, if he could defend himself at all. Fighting back against highwaymen certainly wasn't something he could have ever learned in a library.

Fraser's mother, the late Bronwen Pryce, had been an exceptionally tough woman, but by the time she passed away, he hadn't yet been old enough to learn how to be equally tough. After he'd been moved into the home of the Chancellor, the man who had illicitly fathered him, he'd been educated in a great many ways, but they were the ways of nobility, not of the streets. If anything, considering how much his blue blooded half-siblings hated and bullied him, he'd been taught to accept abuse, taught that he deserved it, because he was strange, unwelcome, and a walking avatar of terrible and shameful things.

But Fraser was never ashamed of himself. Well, almost never. Considering the myriad ways in which he'd bungled his current mission, he'd felt a great deal more shame in the past twenty-four hours than he'd ever felt in his life. Could he even remember a word now of the messages he was to deliver? Did it matter? He didn't know where he was or whether he'd be alive another hour. He could just imagine his half-brother Kemp's smug laughter upon learning of his disappearance.

Of course Fray couldn't manage one simple task without walking into calamity. So typical. At least he's not around to annoy us all anymore.

Fraser swallowed with an audible click. The large cloaked man didn't seem to be alarmed at his waking or about to attack him. Was there a chance he might be able to escape?

He made a snap decision and rolled over, kicking up with his feet like a jackrabbit to push himself into a quick sprint. At least, that was what he planned on - instead he was seized with dizziness and his clumsy feet tangled in the blanket that had been beneath him. He made it about half a pace and faceplanted hard into the dirt.

With his cheek smashed against a tree root and pine needles in his mouth, Fraser gave up and just went limp, panting and shivering. This was how his life would end, he supposed. On his face in the dirt in the woods in the middle of nowhere, having accomplished nothing significant.

He hadn't even written a book - he'd always planned to write a book.

 

[ELEyogi]

Ozzy was starting to think the young man might never wake, that maybe his first instinct was the wrong one. If this injured stranger was forever dead to the world, Quick would never let him live it down. He imagined she was giving the others a right earful about now, well Goldie at least who goaded her for his own entertainment. Fletch didn’t pay her much mind and could quiet her with a look if necessary. Ozzy just hoped that they stuck to the original plan and made it to the safehouse by nightfall. A carriage would be waiting for them and would smuggle the prisoner into Brynsland to deliver him to the dungeons beneath The Inn for interrogation. From there, they would make their way to their respective homes to await their next orders. Fletch took a room at the Clifton estate, posing as a guardsmen while Quick took a room by the docks and was employed by various brothels in the gate district protecting the girls from overzealous johns. None were sure where Goldie rest his head, all that mattered to Ozzy was that he be available for the next mission and he’d yet to fail him. Only Ozzy was afforded accommodations at The Inn and given his social standing, he wasn’t required to pretend to be anything other than a retired war hero.

It was a life he was loathe to return to, regardless of how much he missed clean clothes and fresh linens. The aristocratic life was not for him. There were only so many invitations to tea he could turn down before he was summoned to the Clifton estate to receive guilt trips from his mother. She insisted he remarry and couldn’t understand the delay. Knowing the truth, his father did his best to assure her that Ozzy was still struggling with the traumatic loss of his first real family and he would move on in his own time. He was starting to consider Quick’s offer to put on a courtship charade to quiet her concerns, but would only shift her focus to grandchildren and neither of them were willing to take it that far. The best he could do was bide his time until the next mission took him away.

What that might be, Ozzy could never be sure, but first he’d have to see this stranger to safety.

Ozzy watched as the young man’s breathing shifted towards wakefulness, his eyes seemed to flutter ever so slight as his extremities made subtle movements. He seemed to be coming around, slowly, but still Ozzy was relieved he wouldn’t have to carry him across the countryside. Ozzy kept his movements measured once he noticed the boy peeking at him, not wanting to scare him anymore. Sure, he could have removed his hood as he nibbled on a scrap of dried meat. Maybe spoke when the boy sat up? If he knew the boys plans of escape he may have done just that, instead he watched the boy’s feeble attempts to bolt with a smirk.

“Didn’t look like that in your head did it boy,” he said with a chuckle, and pressed himself up. He moved slowly, both hands raised as he inched closer to him face down in the dirt. Ozzy did draw back his hood then, before he reached down and lifted the boy to his feet by his cloak. “If you take a moment, you’ll find all your belongings intact. I am not responsible for the bump on your head but I took care of those who did. Tell me, young friend, how you came to be wandering alone in the brush? You don’t seem to be the usual caravan type so I imagine some manner of misfortune brought you within a few paces of my camp.”

 

[tamgreen]

A small whimper escaped Fraser's throat as he was hauled to his feet. His eyes instinctively avoided the man's face. He stumbled and squirmed away from the large hands that had been grasping his clothing, insisting on finding his balance all by himself. His head still seemed to be spinning but it wasn't quite so violent now. He placed his hand on the rough bark of a tree next to him and stared pointedly at the ground as he took stock of his current state.

I am alive. My feet are on the ground. I am touching a fir tree. It appears to be an Abies spectabilis. There is a very big man. He has not harmed me. I am breathing. Inhale... exhale. I am alive. My heart is beating. I still have my effects.

Finally registering what the man had said, Fraser sank down onto his knees, his hands scrambling to take inventory of his possessions. His two books were still present, still intact. He took them into his hands as if they had been his children and inhaled the familiar sweet, dusty library scent of the aged pages.

"Thank you," he finally managed, remembering his manners. He still couldn't trust that whomever he was with was entirely safe or even telling the slightest bit of truth, but if he was and Fraser refused to accept it, wouldn't he look silly!

"I suppose I shouldn't have wandered off the path. I was to be going to a, um... presumably nearby village," he attempted to explain. "I'm... a messenger, of sorts. At least, I am today. If I can manage the actual delivery of the message itself, that is, um... yes. Right. Oh...!"

He squeezed his eyes shut and placed a hand over the swollen bump at the back of his skull as a bolt of pain shot through his head. If he could find some silver lining to all this, it was that he now might have a reasonable excuse for his spectacular failure of memory.

When he opened his eyes again, Fraser managed to point them in the direction of the very large figure standing near him and examining him curiously. They travelled up from the fine leather boots to the broad chest to the now uncovered face and finally noticed the distinctive scar.

Had he truly lost his mind or was this the face he was supposed to be looking for? It fit perfectly. The man was enormous, and he had the scar. Quite flummoxed by this turn of events, Fraser continued to stare. He lost hold of his usual self-conscious concealment of the distinctive gap between his front teeth and gaped at the man openly.

"Please, sir, your name?" he exhaled. "Is it, by chance... oh, blast it...! Cliff... Clifford? Oz…?"

 

[ELEyogi]

“A messenger, you say,” came from Ozzy, his hand moving to the knife in his belt. It was mostly an instinctual thing but when the boy asked his name after a couple starts and stops, he began to think he might actually need it.

Only the Order knew his particular whereabouts and they wouldn’t have sent someone so ill-prepared. From the looks of him, he didn’t deserve a spot shovelling shit, let alone carrying messages to Tenants on mission. He seemed too well kempt and articulate to be an orphan like the usual messengers, not to mention his lack of body awareness and hand-eye coordination that would have surely disqualified him.

There was something amiss and Ozzy wouldn’t find what if he slit this young man’s throat.

“Sir Osbourne Clifton,” he offered with an extended hand. “What is this message you have for me?”

 

[tamgreen]

Fraser glanced quickly between the scar on the man's cheek, the knife on his belt, and the extended hand, his posture tense.

"Osbourne Clifton," he mouthed silently. That was the right name, for certain. Surely his luck couldn't change from accursed to serendipitous so quickly. He couldn't trust the man, especially considering the weapon he had close at hand. Fraser flipped through the pages of his mind to find the phrase he was supposed to use to verify the man's identity and prove his own.

He gave Osbourne's hand one quick shake without making eye contact or introducing himself.

"I... that is... before I get to the message, I'm to say... hrrrm."

Fray pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead, clenching his teeth in frustration. If only that knife weren't there, he might have a chance at thinking straight.

"A fire," he exhaled, shutting his eyes. "Something about a fire. In a warehouse...? A fire in the warehouse. Does this mean anything to you?"

 

[ELEyogi]

He learned a lot from that quick touch. One could easily feign nervousness with a put-on stammer and wild eyes but one could not fake clammy palms. Ozzy could feel it through through his gloves. Given the young man’s comportment, he allowed himself to relent a little, loosened the corners of his mouth and dropped his shoulders ever so slightly.

"A fire," he exhaled, shutting his eyes. "Something about a fire. In a warehouse...? A fire in the warehouse. Does this mean anything to you?"

“Friend, one can only blame the wind” he said taking a tentative step forward. Ozzy kept his movements measured, not wanting to further frighten the boy as he placed a hand on Fraser’s shoulder. “Now, do us both a favor and close your eyes. Take a few long slow breaths and settle yourself down. If I was of a mind to hurt you, it would be done already. You are safe here, in this moment, but I can’t promise you will remain so if you don’t choose your words wisely.”

Ozzy took another step, slipped his hand around the back of Fraser’s neck and squeezed ever so slightly before sweeping his fingers downward then back up again. It was a trick he learned from the Loamio mothers to quiet fussy babes but he’d never tried it on an adult.

“Now, what of this message?”

 

[tamgreen]

When Fraser heard the man quote the familiar phrase in response to his half-remembered one, he began to relax, knowing for certain he'd at least found the right man. Or, at least, the man had found him. But when Osbourne approached him and touched his shoulder, Fray grew anxious all over again. Touch was usually as difficult for him as eye contact. He'd been able to feel at peace with his mother's embraces when she'd been alive, and of course, there was that stolen time with that young man Amadeo that had gotten both of them into a great deal of trouble, but otherwise he didn't have to endure much more than the occasional handshake on a regular basis.

Fraser fought within himself to remain still and not squirm, knowing that his fate might depend on this man who seemed to be attempting to comfort and threaten him all at once. He shut his eyes and breathed slowly as instructed. He searched his mind for the images the message had invoked in order to work his way back to the original words.

Then that impossibly large hand seemed to be almost caressing him, and Fray shuddered slightly, breaking out in gooseflesh. He didn't understand what was happening or even what emotions he was feeling, but whatever they were, they weren't exactly helping him to think straight.

“Now, what of this message?”

What indeed?

Fraser released a shaky sigh and then took a deep breath, needing to get this over with one way or another.

"A sailor," he forced out. "Unlucky. An unlucky sailor. He... he is beneath... or across... an albatross' shadow. And... something! He needs to do something before the winds change."

His eyes fluttered open and found the scar on the man's face, using it as a focal point instead of struggling to make eye contact.

"Please forgive me, sir, for being so incoherent. I promise I'm not the simpleton I appear to be. I can only hope that made some degree of sense."

 

[ELEyogi]

‘The unlucky sailor crosses the shadow of the albatross and must begin his reckoning before the winds change.’

Those were the words he searched so desperately to relay, and for the life of him, Ozzy couldn’t figure why this boy would be trusted with such an important message. He knew full well what those words meant, every member of the Order would know, yet this boy seemed not to know the weight of the words he spoke.

Ozzy released him from his grip, with one last pat to his shoulder before he stepped away. He made a point to keep his hand visible so as not to spook him any further but he had to know more. Who gave him the message? Why was he dropped off outside of Heatheren Heath when word had already been sent that their query had been found? And why this boy? Frail, nervous, forgetful. These were not the traits of a messenger for the Unseen Order. Sure they were usually children but children who’d been saved from a life of destitute and given purpose are capable of great acts of bravery when the need arose. It was clear that the one who stood before him was not such a child. He wasn’t even a child.

How could the Innkeeper trust this ill equipped young man with a message of such importance...and why was it being delivered to me?

It was then Ozzy realized he was pacing and the implication hit him like a ton of bricks. He was next in line, why he couldn’t be sure. One thing was certain though, whoever gave Fraser this message didn’t want either of them to make it back to Brynsland. As far as Ozzy was concerned that knowledge alone put him ahead and this boy might be the key.

“Well, friend, looks like you and I are to be companions of the long journey home,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. The boy had enough excitement for the day and Ozzy planned to ease into the question he needed answering. “First we’ll need a couple horses. We don’t have the week it’ll take to get to Brynsland on foot...maybe two,” he said, the last after giving the an appraising look. “I’ve a friend who’d be willing to lend us a stead for our journey. If we hurry, we could make it there by night fall.”

With that, Ozzy began gathering what little belongings he took on the road. His bed roll and the leather satchel bestowed upon all members of the Unseen Order for mission purposes were thrown over his shoulder before he turned his attention to nervous boy a few paces away.

“If we are to be companions on this long journey, perhaps you might honor me with your name?”

 

[tamgreen]

Fray's eyes followed the large man's boots as he paced. He tried to make some interpretation of the man's reaction, his deep, thoughtful, slightly agitated breaths. Fraser simply didn't have enough information. That was the problem with this whole venture. He suspected Kemp had deliberately set out to humiliate him, making sure he'd make a fool of himself and prove that the young bastard was incapable. This seemed much more believable than Kemp helping him towards some sort of career success. He should never have expected otherwise. In truth, he hadn't had any expectations at all.

"My name is Fraser Pryce," he replied with as much dignity as he could muster as he turned his attention back to making sure he had his possessions and that they were carefully packed.

"My father is Chancellor Niall Jacoby. My half-brother Kemp arranged this position for me, such as it is. You may call me Fraser."

He picked up his small bag and seemed prepared to leave, until he suddenly remembered the pouch of coins he'd had on his belt. His hand went to the place the pouch had been and felt nothing.

"The money!" he blurted out. "The money's gone. They gave me money to hire passage back."

 

[ELEyogi]

Ozzy’s ears perked up at the mention of coin. Messengers weren’t to carry anything that would catch the attention of the bandits that plagued the open road. The fact that Fraser carried bags at all was a sign that his conscription was dubious at best, now he knew for sure this was a set up. Fraser was probably to be murdered before he reached the tiny village where Osbourne had been stationed. The coin he carried was payment to his captures, not his return passage, and Ozzy wondered what kind of brother would set such a trap for his own blood. Bastard or otherwise.

“Worry not, young Fraser, we’ll not need coin where we’re going,” he said, choosing not to disclose that the purse was probably ahead of them. He imagined the one who ran off took the coin with him and if that were the case, Goldie surely took it off his person.

“Jacoby, you say,” he asked in an attempt to turn the boy’s attention away from his imagined failure. “Big name in southern Elysia far as I know. Bet you caused quite a stir with the pious and prudent crowd,” he added with a chuckle offering Fraser another slap to the back. “You’ll find no judgement from me...on your parentage or otherwise. I judge the man Fraser Pryce. With honor in your actions and kindness in your heart, a man can not go wrong,” he said, repeating words he heard from his own father countless times. “And I have a feeling that neither kindness nor honor has brought us together, but worry not young friend, that is not our failure to hold. You have succeeded in your duty, despite being wholly unprepared to carry it out. Now it is my turn. I will get us home Fraser Pryce. You have my word,” he said and slipped his hand from his glove to offer a proper shake. “I can't promise it will be easy but I will not fail you as your brother and father have. Do you believe me,” he asked, a small smile on his face.

As he delivered his speech, a plan began to come together in Ozzy’s mind. As far as he could tell, they had both been set up to fail, or worse. The culprits would be easy to find now that he had a starting point with this Kemp Jacoby, perhaps even the good chancellor was involved. Either way, all involved would be truly shocked when Osbourne Clifton and Fraser Pryce returned to the Inn.

“Come now young Fraser. We need to see a blacksmith and a baker about a horse.”

 

[tamgreen]

Fraser mulled over the speech and the man himself. Osborne Clifton had a silver tongue, that much was certain, but a tongue was no reliable indicator of a man's true nature. If anything, from experience, Fraser found glibness to be reason enough to be cautious with his trust. He studied the smile Osbourne offered, trying to make some evaluation of it. It did not seem to sneer, gloat, or ingratiate.

At last, Fraser offered his hand in response. Any skin-on-skin contact was always nerve-wracking for him, and he was starting to feel particularly jumpy around this man for reasons he didn't think had anything to do with his intimidating size or the weapon he wore. Fray held his breath as he took the hand, feeling it enclose his momentarily before letting go. He took a large step back and looked up at the sky for no particular reason.

"I suppose we must go then," he concluded, shifting his gaze from the sky to the ground so that he could follow after Osbourne's footsteps.

"I will have to trust you by default. My fate seems to be tumbling with the wind as of late, and here I am... still alive. So, I shall continue to tumble, despite being... slightly battered. I fear I may slow you down. What else can we do but press on?"

Fraser clutched his bag and trudged along, ignoring as best he could the lingering pains from the attack and keeping Osbourne fixed in the corner of his vision. His mind was once more busy weaving assorted theories, but eventually rounded back to the last thing the man had said:

"A blacksmith and a baker, you say?"

 

[ELEyogi]

“Best blacksmith in a Elysia he is,” Ozzy offered as he led them towards a game trail tucked into the trees. “I served under his father at the Northern Garrison until he retired. Averey’s set up shop in the hills outside Bryncroft with his...uhhh...companion. They’re good men who’ve lent a hand every now and again.”

It was approaching midday and Ozzy did his best not to alarm boy with his sweeping gaze. Knowing their encounter had been arranged to bring about their ruin, he imagined there were more marauders laying in wait for their passing. Fraser had already proved himself to be unreliable in a scrum, Ozzy knew if there was another attack then it would be up to him to keep their backs from the dirt.

He kept their pace as quick as he thought Fraser’s short legs could manage and the bag he carried seemed cumbersome. Ozzy had never been one for literature, though he read well enough, he’d always been more comfortable with a sword in his hand. He remembered many a night, in the crow’s nest of the ship, where Quick read tales of dragons and witches, virgin maidens and white knights. To be honest, he wasn’t much fond of either. She liked them and that was all that mattered to him. But the books the boy carried weren’t stories and he couldn’t imagine his attachment to them. If they were to be allies, Ozzy thought it best not to speculate. And if he showed an interest, perhaps Fraser may release his vice like grip and allow him to carry the burden for a time.

“If we’re to travel together,” Ozzy began as he slowed his pace to one conducive to conversation. “It’s best that we be honest with each other...establish trust. So I must tell you that, in an effort to find your identity, we searched through your belongings. I saw those books you carry and overheard you tell your attackers that you studied medicine and botany. I’ve a wound on my back that should have seen a cutter long ago. Perhaps when we get to safety, you might take a look at it?”

 

[tamgreen]

Fraser's eyes flicked back and forth, up and down, examining the path ahead, the woods around them, the shadows, the foliage, the man. The breathtakingly enormous man. Eventually Fray had to stop looking in eight different directions and focus his eyes on the path ahead, as he was only worsening his lingering headache from the earlier attack.

"Your honesty is appreciated," he mumbled, holding his bag a little closer. "I suppose I don't mind people looking - it's the stealing that gets to me. But I can't imagine after all this that it would make much sense for you to be a thief. At the very least, now you know I haven't got anything left of much value."

He gave Osbourne a brief sidelong glance before returning his weary eyes to the ground ahead. A minute or two of silence settled as he mulled over the man's request.

"Honesty for honesty," he decided. "I have apprenticed with physician, but I was sacked. If you'd still want me to make an attempt at it, I'll willingly do so. Truly it wasn't the quality of my work that lost me the apprenticeship, so you can be reasonably confident I won't worsen your wound, at least. I'll look, and if I can find the right herbs, I should be able to apply something soothing and perhaps even quell the infection."

 

[ELEyogi]

He hadn't loosened his grip any but at least he was talking and that was enough for Ozzy. Given what little Fray had told of himself, he imagined that trust was hard to come by in his world. It would take more than words to prove his worthiness but, it was all he had at the moment.

"Sacked, eh?" Ozzy answered with a snort. "Can't say I know the feeling...though I was tossed over the side of a pirate vessel some years ago. Imagine the feeling is similar, though supposedly it was for my own good," he added with a shrug. "I'd gotten too familiar with the captain's kid sister...nothing unseemly mind you but he didn't like how she stuck up for me or the crew taking a shine to me. Thought maybe I'd inspire a mutiny so he started whispering in a few ears. One thing led to another and next thing I know I'm coughing up water on the rocky shores of Skerry's Keep. Quick saved my life, no doubt about that. Wasn't her fault a storm was whipping up, current dragged me under."

"She put a musket ball in the throat of one of the men who thought you prey. I ran the other through. Fletch made sure to collect all your wares before we bought you back to camp. We may be a scruffy but we ain't bandits..." Ozzy trailed off as it occurred to him that Fraser may not have known of the others, and again he laughed. Fought the urge to give the boy an apologetic slap to the back. "Worry not young Fraser, a friend of mine is a friend of theirs and they'll all be happy to see you upright. Well, maybe not Quick but she ain't much the happy kind.

"So what got you sacked, if it wasn't quality of work? As you said, honesty for honest," Ozzy added with a smirk, shift his eyes down at the boy until he looked up.

 

[tamgreen]

Pirates, mutiny, Skerry's Keep. Osbourne's tale sounded to Fraser like something out of an old adventure story. He much preferred books of science and other instructional texts to swashbuckling tales, but the man's story, combined with today's series of incidents, caused Fray to wonder if the tales of adventure he'd rejected as mere whimsy for childish minds weren't a bit more real than he'd come to believe based on his experiences in his little hometown. Regardless, he wasn't exactly keen for more real-life adventure.

The young man swallowed with an audible gulp when it settled in that Osbourne and his apparent compatriots had actually killed the highwaymen. Fraser couldn't imagine what alternative there would have been, but all of this was making him a great deal more nervous. Perhaps it was the way the large man spoke of dispatching the bandits, as if it were just another swashbuckling turn to his great adventure story, and ended with a laugh. Were men of the world always so lighthearted about such things?

When he looked up to meet Ozzy's eyes, he tried not to show how unsettled he was. He didn't want to seem lost, useless, and naive at every turn.

"Oh, it was only, what might be generally referred to as an 'indiscretion'," he said matter-of-factly in response to Osbourne's question. "The sort that venerable old men in high positions get away with on a daily basis, but apparently everyone else must be immediately punished for, on a sliding scale based on how much - or little - social standing they have. I myself am the product of another type of indiscretion, after all, and the town never crucified my father. He continues to be chancellor, I get shuffled about from place to place like a superfluous piece of furniture, and another man who wasn't lucky enough to have an important father languishes in prison. Isn't society funny?"

He sighed and brushed back his hair. "Your turn. What exactly are you and your friends, hanging about in the woods ready to slaughter bandits...?"

 

[ELEyogi]

'Well the boy's got some bite,' Ozzy thought as he bit back a laugh at Fraser's story and that could prove useful if he could get him to loosen up a bit. Talking seemed to be working. They'd made more eye contact in the last few moments than they had in their entire journey. With ever step, Fraser seemed a little more sure of himself and Ozzy hoped to keep the streak going.

"That's a dangerous question you ask," Ozzy said, stopping and moving his hand to the blade in his belt. "I might take a step into your guard...lean in real close. Drop my voice real low and give you a hard dead eyes stare. Usually I'd say something menacing like, 'if I tell you I'd have to kill you' or 'that'll be the last answer before you meet Maker." All the words served as narration, every action he mentioned Ozzy carried through and he was sure by the time he was done, Fraser wasn't sure whether to run or fight. Well, wondering were to run because fighting clearly wasn't his strong suit.

Ozzy held his gaze few a few beats before he winked and cracked a wide smile, returning to his more convivial self. "I'm kidding. If I wanted you dead I would have let the bandits do it. And you're supposed to know the answer to that, seeing as we work for the same people...you wouldn't have known where to find me if you didn't," Ozzy said before he began walking again.

Ozzy could have left it at that and allowed Fraser to come to his own conclusions but his ignorance was telling and it wasn't fair to leave him in the dark. It was clear that half-brother, and the Innkeeper, had set him up for failure and Ozzy refused to be in league with those who took the boy for granted.

He placed both hands on Fraser's shoulders and pulled him around so they stood face to face. After a quick glance up at the darkening sky, Ozzy sucked his teeth and shook his head. They weren't going to make it.

"You must treat what I'm going to tell you with the utmost discretion. You can share it with no one. It is a secret that you must take to your grave...a secret you should have been told before you were given the message you struggled to deliver. It is a secret, that if shared in the wrong company, would mean certain death. This burden is to be a choice, but you were robbed of it and for that I am sorry Fraser Pryce, but it is a burden that you have take now because your half-brother is more of an asshole than you believed."

With that Ozzy divulged to Fray, the secrets of the Unseen Order and his belief that he was now the leader. "It is my belief that those bandits were placed in your path and if I had left when I was supposed to, we would have found a corpse. Someone does not want us to succeed and I intend to prove them wrong. What say you," he asked, holding out his hand to the young man. The other remain on a slender shoulder.

 

[tamgreen]

Fraser's eyes went wide, and he stared steadily, although his dread of eye contact meant that he only really stared at Osbourne's forehead or the bridge of his nose. Regardless, he wasn't seeing what he was looking at. Many images, memories, and fears were flipping across his consciousness like the pages of some terrible book he didn't want to read.

The truth of the Order was unexpected, and even with the explanation, he still wasn't sure he quite understood it. Any ability he had to wrap his mind around something new and complex, however, was being hijacked by the knowledge that Kemp had sent him here to get rid of him, permanently. His half-brother had been awful to him from the first day he'd arrived in the chancellor's home, but even after many years of persistent, petty abuses, Fraser would not have surmised that anyone he was related to, however reluctantly, was capable of not only a genuine wish for his demise, but also the means with which to carry it out.

In the wake of all this, young Fray was left with a sudden and desperate desire to just be home. But what was home now? He'd lost his real one as a child, and the one he'd been dumped into had only been borrowed and was now a den of vipers as far as he was concerned. Now there would never, ever be a place he could go back to where he could feel he was finally home and safe, and that revelation was terrifying. The world seemed to be disappearing from beneath his feet, and he found himself reaching out to grasp the offered hand, not so much in the manner of a gentleman's agreement, but that of a drowning man taking hold of the only solid thing offered to him. In that moment he wasn't thinking about how uncomfortable it was to have to touch another person. On a deep soul level, he needed to feel that strong hand holding his right now. He stared at Ozzy's chest as he held on, his mouth pressed into a tight little line to keep from trembling.

Never had he missed his mother so keenly. But there may yet be room in his life for someone else to guide him and teach him how to be strong.

"I matter," he whispered huskily, but with determination, through clenched teeth. "I will not be thrown away."

 

[ELEyogi]

"That's the spirit," Ozzy said with a wink and yanked Fraser closer to throw an arm around his shoulder.

Ozzy had a knack for reading people, and all the while he spoke, he watched the mix of emotions on Fraser delicate face. There was desperation, anger, rage, despair, and exhaustion all at once but it was the final look that meant the most. It was something in those hazel eyes that said, this would be the last time anybody underestimated Fraser Pryce. This was the last time anybody would cast him aside.

"Come now young Fraser, it looks like we'll not make it to Bryncroft. We'll find a place to set up camp. There's plenty of caves and burrows in these woods if you know where to look. Stay close and step lightly, I'll have us settled down in no time...might even catch us a rabbit for dinner," Ozzy said, giving Fraser a quick squeeze and a pat on the back before he released him, not before wrestling one of his bags from his grip and slinging it over his shoulder.

True to his word, Ozzy found a shallow cave nor fat from the game trail. He told Fraser to rest while he set out for firewood and made quick work of fire big enough to cook whatever he killed. The boy needed more than the hard biscuits and watered wine he carried in his own bag. Once the fire was built, he assembled his bow and set out, promising to return with hearty meal.

Just before he went though, Ozzy worked his flask from his breast pocket and set it Fraser's feet. "I won't think less of you if it's empty when I return. Just remember, I've know you but a day and won't take kindly carrying again," he said with a smirk and roughed Fraser's floppy hair.

 

[tamgreen]

Fraser squirmed at the mussing of his hair, like a child embarrassed by the affections of his parents. It was an instinct borne of a longstanding touch phobia, but certain rare people had made their way into his inner circle enough to overcome his gut reactions - he had gladly accepted embraces from his mother while she'd been alive, and of course there was that charming young man with whom he'd had that dalliance that had gotten him sacked from his apprenticeship. Perhaps Osbourne Clifton was inner circle material, but his instinctive anxieties hadn't quite gotten the message yet.

His mind reeled as he watched the man leave. He cursed his own senseless neuroses. What if Osbourne had concluded by now that Fraser wanted him to keep his distance, when Fray was just starting to become at ease with the proximity? In a strange land, with the potential for unknown dangers lurking behind every tree, maybe, for once, Fraser Pryce wanted someone to stay close to him.

But this was just one anxiety to distract from several other, much larger ones. It was a lot easier to hyperfocus on a small issue than have to face up to his own mortality and all that he'd lost.

He picked up the flask Osbourne had left him with and pulled off the cap, sniffing the contents. He had an experimental sip and grimaced. It wasn't something he was especially interested in drinking, but he liked how it warmed his insides. He had a few more sips before replacing the cap and setting it aside, knowing they might need the alcohol later as an antiseptic.

With this thought, Fraser pushed himself to keep his focus on practical concerns in order to keep himself calm, rather than sitting alone in a cave listening to a thousand ambient forest noises that might be someone else lurking about waiting to kill him. Osbourne wanted his help to treat a wound, and there was plenty he could do now to prepare for that.

Without going too far from the cave, Fray began to explore, keeping his eye out for familiar leaves and flowers. Fortunately, the most useful plants tended to advertise, and his eye easily caught flashes of bright yellow and orange among the canopy of greens and browns. Before too long, he had a satisfying collection of herbs and roots. He hoped to find some wild honey, but he didn't dare venture further from the cave than he already had without Osbourne there to look out for him.

While he waited, he curled up into a tight little ball in the deepest part of the little cave and pulled out his Forager's Guide to make sure he wasn't overlooking anything, although he'd already read the book cover to cover several times. The familiarity of it was comforting.

 

[ELEyogi]

Ozzy didn't just catch one rabbit, he caught three. Two for him and Fraser to share, the other he buried in reverence to Loam, The Great Mother. He even said a prayer as he sprinkle dirt over the animal's speckled fur. Nothing elaborate, simply asked her guardianship through the night so that they may rest comfortably for their journey in the morning. He didn't consider himself a religious man but growing up on temple grounds had no doubt shaped the way he saw the world. Ozzy wondered if Fraser was the pious kind and thought that might be a good course of conversation while they waited for their meal to cook.

Though he still flinched away and struggled to make eye contact, Ozzy thought he might be making some headway in his effort to win over his travel companion. As he made his way back to camp, he spotted the young man venturing out of the cave and disappear into the darkness. Not the brightest idea when you'd just been accosted but Ozzy figured maybe Fraser thought himself safe in his company and he found himself smiling at the thought. Quietly he tracked his movements which wasn't all that difficult with Fraser lack of stealth. They'd have to talk about that, and venturing out alone without telling him where he was going. But not now, tonight they would share a meal under the stars. Perhaps share his flask, if it wasn't already empty, and get to know each other.

Their destines had been tied together, but there was nothing divine about any of it. There success, or failure, lay in the hands of the other and, whether Fraser knew it or not, Ozzy had no intention of severing that tie.

He waited until Fraser was safely in the cave before he backtracked and returned in the opposite direction. He let out a quiet whistle before he crept into the fire light and threw back his hood. "You'll need to learn the signals...and to move quietly in the brush," he added with a smirk as he lay his bounty beside the fire. "Listen for threes," he said before repeating that pattern. "That always signals friendly approach. Two then one then two is trouble approaching. One then two then one means make a break for it, but I doubt you'll ever need that one. There are others but I don't want to overwhelm you on your first night...and I've yet to check the contents of that flack," he added with a wink.

All the while he spoke, Ozzy stripped away his travel garb. First went his cloak which concealed a row of throwing blades behind the chest flap then his gloves, both he folded neatly and placed on top of his bag. Next came the lightweight mesh tunic worn by all Wind operatives on mission. Like chain mail, it was strong enough to block a blade puncture and blunt the impact of an arrow. Ozzy had no idea what it was made of but it had saved his life on enough occasions that he didn't question it. Then came the linen overshirt that he intended to burn at his earliest convenience. It was charred on one and stained with another man's blood but he had nothing to replace it so this too he folded and placed on the stack with the rest of his belongings.

In only his undershirt, Ozzy's arm were bare up to the shoulders and most of the scars of his life were on full display. The scorched flesh that traversed his upper right arm, ran over his shoulder and up his neck on that side. The raised welts left by a cattail whip so thick that they pressed through the thin fabric of his shirt in some places. And finally, is newest wound low on his from a glancing arrow that still bleed red and stained his shirt. It only hurt when he was idle and he did his best to keep from wincing as he dressed the rabbits and shoved them onto the makeshift spits he prepared before setting out.

"Did you find what you needed," he asked without looking up from his work. "You'll find fresh water in the skins...toss one over so I can clean my hands would you?"