[Mkguild] The Illusive Chain (1/?)

[azariahwolf at gmail.com]

Well, after literally years of writing and too many stops and starts to count, I have finally finished the first draft of this story.  I think it was three years ago that I started the story, and hoped to have it done before Anthrocon.  Three Anthrocons later, I can finally start posting it for real.

I did post the first few parts to the list when first I had been writing it, but it has been so long that I think it’s worth the time to repost those sections before getting to the new parts.  Also, a few things have changed since that original post, so it might also help prevent confusion.

-LurkingWolf


The Illusive Chain

Link 1: Coincidence

<I>March 5, 708CR</i>

The silver light of the full moon emerged from behind the clouds, lending an eerie glow to the white powder and leafless trees that made up the winter forest.  Across the quiet expanse of woodland that surrounded the Keep, a trio of men moved along with surprisingly little caution.  The snow muffled their footfalls, and the promise of the end of another stressful patrol had removed perhaps a little of their care.  One form moved ahead, showing both speed and stamina as it crested one rise after another, barely slowing even as the man’s companions fell further and further behind.

Balrog gasped out a gust of steam as he pulled up short after another rise, squinting at the form of their leader as he extended his easy lead.  He was joined a moment later by the last of his companions.  The young man was one of the lucky age-regressed Keepers who could assume a more mature age than most.  As he stood beside the disguised lutin, there was little difference in their heights.  There was a clear difference in their maturity levels at least; Balrog, even shrouded in an illusion, showed the effects of dozens of years of battle.  The spells he had designed to disguise his body exaggerated those old wounds to cover the maze of tattoos that helped him maintain his vital illusion.  The young man off his right shoulder, however, was a stringbean, permanently trapped as a boy who would never quite manage to mature into a man.  His skin was marred by a few pesky scars, but not a one of them had been caused by weapons.  It quietly gave testament to how close his apparent age was to his actual age, and made it clear that he had not been in the field for long.

That was not to say that he was a burden to his patrol.  The quiver of javelins that he carried on his back had been used to great effect not a month prior.  That day he had put a pair of the deadly instruments to their fullest use.  The thin-bladed scimitar on his right hip had been similarly bloodied in that battle, though only once.  That he had done most of the work in killing a band of five mercenaries that the group had encountered on patrol had certainly raised Balrog’s already high opinion of the boy.

The young human smiled and clapped a hand on Balrog’s shoulder.  “Getting tired, old man?”

The good will the boy had earned was, however, only barely enough to save him from more than a severe glare in response.  Balrog could barely manage to laugh convincingly.  “The commander is setting an uncomfortable pace this evening,” he grumbled.

“When does he not?” was the rueful response.

“Better catch up with him before he notices that he’s lost us,” Balrog said, getting his legs moving once again.

His fellow groaned before following, but move he did.  “I could go for a good drink after this patrol.”

The disguised lutin did manage to laugh at that.  “You know you’re not old enough to actually have what I could honestly call a good drink,” he pointed out.

The boy shook his head as he matched Balrog’s strides.  “And how is Donnie going to verify my age?  I tell you, if you are old enough to be Cursed, you should be old enough to drink the hardest liquor that the Keep can brew.  I’m fighting for the Keep’s defense; if I’m old enough to die on the battlefield I should be old enough to drink myself to death.”

Balrog shook his head with an amused smile.  “Vic, at your age I would not be so hasty to try to kill myself regardless of the method.  With people like Nathan setting a sprinter’s pace in a marathon, the world needs no help finding ways to kill you.”

Vic shook his head, but kept moving.  They had almost completely lost sight of the patrol commander, save for a few fleeting glimpses as the man darted expertly from shadow to shadow.  His black fur aided him greatly in his attempts at camouflage, although his almost rushed pace complicated that matter more than a little.

A few moments later, however, the man disappeared completely.  This sudden departure from the norm encouraged Balrog to increase his own speed.  The commander’s attitude always leaned closer to the dramatic than the stealthy, and the thought of this backfiring was hardly new to Balrog’s mind.  If Nathan had managed to run into the teeth of an enemy party without the aid of his companions he would no doubt be able to hold his own for some time, but the disadvantage of numbers would be concerning.

His worries were assuaged moments later as he saw the man again, silhouetted against the trunk of a large tree, looking at his surroundings in a way that almost seemed distracted.  His black fur, touched by the light of the full moon, looked closer to silver, and the strange design of his clothing, which mixed white, grey, and black in a chaotic patchwork, was easy to lose against the background of snow and trees.  Balrog kept his pace up, and soon had reached the quiet wolf.

“Commander?”  Balrog moved up next to the patrol commander, gasping for his breath.  “Is something wrong?”

The wolf turned to look at him, but he didn’t speak for a few moments.  By the time he did, Vic had come up alongside the two of them, looking confused but clearly more focused on catching his breath than on asking about the reason for the halt.

“Something’s wrong,” the wolf finally said.

“Do you know what it is?” Vic asked.

The wolf began to cast his gaze across the snow again as though considering his answer.  “I’m not certain, it’s just…  It’s only a feeling; I do not know what it could mean.”

Balrog rubbed the back of his head.  “Nothing specific enough to act on?” he asked, almost sounding hopeful.

The wolf dropped into a crouch and closed his eyes as though concentrating on something important.  He hesitated again before saying anything further.  “I don’t know what this is, but it’s too strong a feeling to ignore.”  He bounced on his paws for a few moments, pressing his palms together before him and rubbing them back and forth.  “I don’t think we should go to the Keep.”

Victor groaned and kicked sourly at a drift of snow.  “Any chance you might be wrong?” he said in almost a requesting tone.

The wolf shook his head slowly, but surely.  “Hareford,” he muttered.

Victor groaned outright and began to march around the area in frustration, grumbling about missed drinks and warm beds.  Balrog decided to continue the conversation.  “Why Hareford?” he asked.  “The Glen is closer by several hours; even Lake Barnhardt is a shorter journey.  Is something happening at the Outpost?”

The wolf remained silent for a few more moments.  “I don’t know,” he finally stated.  “That’s as much as I can divine from what I have been given.”

Balrog chuckled bitterly.  “What good is being psychic if you can hardly understand your own visions?” he remarked.

The wolf stood and favored him with a sympathetic smile.  “You know that as well as any of us Balrog.  It is confusing, yes, but when has this ability ever proven less than helpful?”  He turned and took a few steps towards Outpost, and away from the Keep.  “There must be something important at Hareford.  We’ll find out what when we get there.”

Vic still looked sour to the idea, but he knew better than to make it an issue.  He nodded to the commander and stood up straight.  “Commander, could we at least find time for some rest?  I do not know if I could remain alert for the entire journey.”

The wolf nodded.  “Of course.  We’ll find a more sheltered area and take a few hours to camp.  I’ll take first watch; perhaps having some time to consider will reveal why we are needed in Hareford.”

The trio turned back to the north, the black wolf taking the lead once again.  Victor looked at Balrog in exasperation, the older man giving him an understanding smile. The boy responded in kind, and the two of them once again moved to catch up with their commander.  It seemed that it would be a longer night than they had originally expected.


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