Chapter 1 - An Orphan, a Duchess and a Dog
The truth, even while hidden, is more
powerful than a thousand Kings.
--Vardis DeMalleon, Kenjaen Monk
Blood spattered the front of Faerun's white silk shirt. Actually, it wasn't his shirt; he had pulled the blouse and a pair of velvet leggings from Baron Chule's laundry. Having worked there for a couple of weeks, the boy decided it was high time to take back to the streets and easier money. He was upset about the shirt though, he had hoped it would have lasted him longer than one fight.
An onlooker with sharp eyes would notice immediately that Faerun was anything but a lord; he had rough, calloused, workmans hands, tangled black hair that flowed free about his shoulders and tanned skin that told of long days in the sun rather than the protective interior of a manor. His only hope was that the stolen clothes alone were enough to distract the townspeople from their daily business. The mere possibility that royalty might be involved in a scuffle drew more onlookers and the greater the crowd the greater the coin. That's how the ruse worked.
It was a simple plan really; Dryn had thought it up one afternoon when the two of them were hiding in the Miller's storage after a failed attempt to relieve the baker of a fresh batch of fried pies. Faerun was to start a fight in the market and Dryn would work through the crowds pulling as many money clips as time allowed. Their first attempt failed when Faerun was knocked unconscious by the crippling blow of a stout young farmer. They had picked more reasonable targets after that and the money came easily. Modest refinements to the ruse, over time, yielded even larger crowds and today the numbers were proof that the clothes were working better than hoped.
Receiving several swift punches to the midsection, Faerun scanned the swelling crowd for Dryn. The boy was difficult to spot, not so much because of his diminutive stature as his ability to move like a serpentchickenchiken yard. Although Faerun could not see him, he hoped that the smaller boy was working fast as the pain was beginning to get to him. Dryn had chosen the culprit for today's show, a small tradesmen setting up an apple cart. The size of the middle-aged man convinced Faerun that he would be an easy mark but he was beginning to regret the choice now as it seemed the tradesman must have had a career as a brawler before taking to the market. The small man's quick, powerful jabs were contrary to his size and Faerun hdidn't he didn't end up in the dirt or, worse yet, working the fields for the Baron. He wanted to fight back, put a dent in the tradesman's melon shaped head, but he knew it was always best not to risk taking the mark down. Crowds tended to disperse quickly when the fight came to an end. Faerun would simply take a few more punches and run away hoping the apple salesman followed after. The chase was almost as effective as the fight so far as the crowds were concerned and a lot less painful.
"Go down boy!" the tradesman grunted, apparently more tired than Faerun had assumed.
"You will have to catch me first," Faerun said and soundly smacked the tradesman, open handed, on his right cheek while turning to run through the market.
"You'll regret that boy," called out the older man as he took chase. But Faerun did not hear the man, he was pushing through the crowds heading for the nearest alley when he ran, full speed, into the side of the largest horse he had ever seen. The impact would have sent him back into the arms of the tradesman if the rider hadn't grabbed the silk shirt and heaved the boy up to eye level with one massive arm.
"And where do you think you are going my lord?" asked the mounted man, his voice was gravel and the tone was mocking. The rider had a face like stone and dark inquisitive eyes that seemed to gaze through Faerun as if he were looking at something far beyond the boy. White blond hair suspended from a silver helm that started at the top of his spine and wrapped around to cover his nose and outline his cheekbones. He was wearing padded leather armor with a few strategically placed iron bindings that must have protected target areas, at least that is what Faerun assumed. It could simply have been decorative for all he knew about such things. Red coloring traced the edges of the iron as well as the intricate details of a shield large enough for Faerun to stand behind and not be seen at full height. He wasn't sure, at this point, if the red was intentional coloring or the blood of dead foes. Centered on the helm and four inches above the nose guard was a red talon shaped pattern. The sign of the Bloodguard! Surely not, what would the Bloodguard be doing in Charin? Fear swelled up inside Faerun and he began to unfasten his shirt.
"Not so fast boy," the gravel voice spoke with authority, "just tell me what happened here."
"The boy will lie, your liege," the tradesman Faerun had fought spoke from a kneeling position, "a caught thief loses his hand here in Charin. I know the boy's scam and should like to be free to tell you of it, if you will allow." Faerun's fear turned to panic as the Bloodguard drew his sword.
"Speak then," the guard gestured toward the tradesman as he spoke, "and be quick."
"Yes lord. This young man has been starting fights in the market place. My fellow tradesman and I have been observing him and his accomplice of late. Do not let the fine clothes fool you"
Just then the Bloodguard's mount reared up causing the guard to focus his attention on the great white horse. Faerun pulled on the shirt popping the last of the fastenings and slipped easily out of the garment. The tradesman leapt up and grabbed the boy by the arm. Dryn stepped from under the mount, clearly the cause of the horse's agitation, and slammed his heel down onto the top of the tradesman's sandal-clad foot. The man cried out in pain and loosened his grip on Faerun just enough for the boy to shake free and join Dryn in flight toward the alley. Within moments the boys were well into the maze of back alleys in the largest city in all the King's Rule. Neither noticed the cloaked figure following in pursuit.
*** The next part of this story will be posted when 25 different people comment. Thanks for your support!***
The truth, even while hidden, is more
powerful than a thousand Kings.
--Vardis DeMalleon, Kenjaen Monk
Blood spattered the front of Faerun's white silk shirt. Actually, it wasn't his shirt; he had pulled the blouse and a pair of velvet leggings from Baron Chule's laundry. Having worked there for a couple of weeks, the boy decided it was high time to take back to the streets and easier money. He was upset about the shirt though, he had hoped it would have lasted him longer than one fight.
An onlooker with sharp eyes would notice immediately that Faerun was anything but a lord; he had rough, calloused, workmans hands, tangled black hair that flowed free about his shoulders and tanned skin that told of long days in the sun rather than the protective interior of a manor. His only hope was that the stolen clothes alone were enough to distract the townspeople from their daily business. The mere possibility that royalty might be involved in a scuffle drew more onlookers and the greater the crowd the greater the coin. That's how the ruse worked.
It was a simple plan really; Dryn had thought it up one afternoon when the two of them were hiding in the Miller's storage after a failed attempt to relieve the baker of a fresh batch of fried pies. Faerun was to start a fight in the market and Dryn would work through the crowds pulling as many money clips as time allowed. Their first attempt failed when Faerun was knocked unconscious by the crippling blow of a stout young farmer. They had picked more reasonable targets after that and the money came easily. Modest refinements to the ruse, over time, yielded even larger crowds and today the numbers were proof that the clothes were working better than hoped.
Receiving several swift punches to the midsection, Faerun scanned the swelling crowd for Dryn. The boy was difficult to spot, not so much because of his diminutive stature as his ability to move like a serpentchickenchiken yard. Although Faerun could not see him, he hoped that the smaller boy was working fast as the pain was beginning to get to him. Dryn had chosen the culprit for today's show, a small tradesmen setting up an apple cart. The size of the middle-aged man convinced Faerun that he would be an easy mark but he was beginning to regret the choice now as it seemed the tradesman must have had a career as a brawler before taking to the market. The small man's quick, powerful jabs were contrary to his size and Faerun hdidn't he didn't end up in the dirt or, worse yet, working the fields for the Baron. He wanted to fight back, put a dent in the tradesman's melon shaped head, but he knew it was always best not to risk taking the mark down. Crowds tended to disperse quickly when the fight came to an end. Faerun would simply take a few more punches and run away hoping the apple salesman followed after. The chase was almost as effective as the fight so far as the crowds were concerned and a lot less painful.
"Go down boy!" the tradesman grunted, apparently more tired than Faerun had assumed.
"You will have to catch me first," Faerun said and soundly smacked the tradesman, open handed, on his right cheek while turning to run through the market.
"You'll regret that boy," called out the older man as he took chase. But Faerun did not hear the man, he was pushing through the crowds heading for the nearest alley when he ran, full speed, into the side of the largest horse he had ever seen. The impact would have sent him back into the arms of the tradesman if the rider hadn't grabbed the silk shirt and heaved the boy up to eye level with one massive arm.
"And where do you think you are going my lord?" asked the mounted man, his voice was gravel and the tone was mocking. The rider had a face like stone and dark inquisitive eyes that seemed to gaze through Faerun as if he were looking at something far beyond the boy. White blond hair suspended from a silver helm that started at the top of his spine and wrapped around to cover his nose and outline his cheekbones. He was wearing padded leather armor with a few strategically placed iron bindings that must have protected target areas, at least that is what Faerun assumed. It could simply have been decorative for all he knew about such things. Red coloring traced the edges of the iron as well as the intricate details of a shield large enough for Faerun to stand behind and not be seen at full height. He wasn't sure, at this point, if the red was intentional coloring or the blood of dead foes. Centered on the helm and four inches above the nose guard was a red talon shaped pattern. The sign of the Bloodguard! Surely not, what would the Bloodguard be doing in Charin? Fear swelled up inside Faerun and he began to unfasten his shirt.
"Not so fast boy," the gravel voice spoke with authority, "just tell me what happened here."
"The boy will lie, your liege," the tradesman Faerun had fought spoke from a kneeling position, "a caught thief loses his hand here in Charin. I know the boy's scam and should like to be free to tell you of it, if you will allow." Faerun's fear turned to panic as the Bloodguard drew his sword.
"Speak then," the guard gestured toward the tradesman as he spoke, "and be quick."
"Yes lord. This young man has been starting fights in the market place. My fellow tradesman and I have been observing him and his accomplice of late. Do not let the fine clothes fool you"
Just then the Bloodguard's mount reared up causing the guard to focus his attention on the great white horse. Faerun pulled on the shirt popping the last of the fastenings and slipped easily out of the garment. The tradesman leapt up and grabbed the boy by the arm. Dryn stepped from under the mount, clearly the cause of the horse's agitation, and slammed his heel down onto the top of the tradesman's sandal-clad foot. The man cried out in pain and loosened his grip on Faerun just enough for the boy to shake free and join Dryn in flight toward the alley. Within moments the boys were well into the maze of back alleys in the largest city in all the King's Rule. Neither noticed the cloaked figure following in pursuit.
*** The next part of this story will be posted when 25 different people comment. Thanks for your support!***
posted by Christopher Swain at 9:12 AM
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