The One called Wayfarer is half an elf
And half a demon, and
half himself.
He wanders the spheres
in search of prey
And brings them to
justice for daily pay
Chapter One
At least three hundred histories
have been written about the expansion of sentient races through known
space. The dracon, the neogi, the
illithids, the giff; nearly every
species of spelljammers has its own version.
Generally, the elven Imperial Chronicles is considered to be the most
accurate.
Hands down, though, the 'history'
best known and most often quoted by spacefarers of every race was that which
was composed by the elven bard Lamruil Skyflower, better known as the
Storyteller.
It wasn't really a history, just an
epic ballad about the hunters, traders, pirates, outlaws, and adventurers he
encountered in his wanderings through the spheres. The Storyteller liked unique people. And the spheres had plenty to offer.
No-one knew why the Storyteller gave
Reanyn Al'nuoth the name Wayfarer.
There were certainly others to whom the name would have better
applied. Twilight Jack, for instance,
or Lonely Pyrador. But the Storyteller
was the one writing the ballad, and the moment he looked into Reanyn's cold
grey eyes he knew the name to use. So
Wayfarer went to Reanyn, and, like all the Storyteller's nicknames, it stuck.
The Storyteller devoted exactly one
stanza of his saga to the Wayfarer, which is really quite a bit considering the
ballad details the inhabitants of the entire known multiverse. Still, it was no surprise he did so. The Wayfarer was one of the most feared and
respected bounty hunters the spheres had ever known. Once he was put on a trail, his quarry's days were numbered.
He hadn't always been a bounty
hunter, though. Once he had been an
officer with a promising career in the Imperial Elven Navy who had
distinguished himself in both the Second Unhuman War and the Vodoni
Incursion. But his service was abruptly
cut short when it was discovered he had lied on his application. Reanyn was not, strictly speaking, a
pure-blooded elf, and only full-blooded elves were permitted to hold officer's
positions. A dishonorable discharge had
swiftly followed.
Afterwards, he disappeared for
several years, and it was widely assumed he was dead.
Then he turned up on one of the
moons of Armistice, and set up shop as a bounty hunter. Reanyn had changed; elven society had
branded him an outcast, and he wanted nothing more to do with it. He held his former ties with the elven
military in contempt. In fact, it was
an open secret that he often had dealings with the goblinkin of Armistice, an
action expressly forbidden by the Imperial Fleet.
Bounty hunting wasn't an easy
profession. The universe was a pretty
big place, and there were a lot of places to hide. With the staggering number of spacefaring and groundling
societies, a fugitive from one nation could easily escape justice simply by
fleeing into the boundaries of another nation.
Tracking a man across wildspace was a formidable task. It took a special breed of man to be good at
bounty hunting across the spheres.
But Reanyn wasn't just good. He was the best. He built his reputation by going after the fugitives no-one else
could touch. His first chase was after
One-Thumb Guthrie, who was wanted in nine spheres.
Guthrie had been on the run for
nearly seven years when Reanyn went after him.
He'd raped, maimed, and murdered citizens of twelve worlds and put
twenty-two lawmen in their graves. He'd
once bragged that there wasn't anything that walked or breathed that he
couldn't kill..
It took Reanyn Al'nuoth a little
less than three months to track him down and bring him back.
One-Thumb Guthrie wasn't the most
famous fugitive Reanyn hunted down, or even the most dangerous. He was just the first.
Like most bounty hunters, Reanyn was
pretty hard to find. Either he was out
on a chase or he was home, preparing for one.
And a person didn't go looking for him out on Armistice, not if he
wanted to keep breathing. Reanyn was
very territorial about his home.
Once every so often, though, Reanyn
would touch down on Minos V, a small moon which orbited Talfas, sixth planet of
the Skyspace system. There was a tavern
there called The Hanging Lantern that
he unofficially claimed as his own. It
was run by one of the fugitives Reanyn had hunted down early in his career, a
gnome named Lucian Tanaquil. Instead of
turning the gnome in for the bounty, Reanyn had set him up as a tavern master
and information gatherer. Some said
that Lucian was innocent of the crimes of which he'd been accused, and that
Reanyn had a soft spot for him. Others
maintained the gnome was just a good bargainer. Whatever the case, it was common knowledge that if a person
wanted to hire the Wayfarer, he went to The
Hanging Lantern and left his offer with Lucian. (Incidently, there was still a mark on Lucian's head. No one ever tried to cash it in,
however. The gnome was under Reanyn's
protection.)
Whenever Reanyn stopped in, he would
sort through the offers that the gnome had collected. Rarely, if the bounty was high enough, he would accept one. Most went into the fire. Reanyn was as selective about who he
accepted contracts from as he was about who he accepted them on.
So it was that he found himself
facing a large pile of papers scattered across a desk in The Hanging Lantern's back office.
"Anything interesting?" he
asked, plainly not eager to sort through the stack.
"Most of them are for third
rate criminals," replied Lucian dismissively, "although a few are
more in your line." The little
gnome sat atop an emptied crate nearby, idly fingering a miniature Rylithian
labyrinth. Lucian had a fascination for
exotic puzzles and was rarely found without one. "Of course, there were several for the Raver. There always are."
"You tossed them into the fire,
I assume."
"As always."
Reanyn heaved a sigh and began the
tedious task of searching through the papers.
"By the way," said Lucian
after a few moments, "there's someone here to see you."
Reanyn spared the gnome a
glance. "You know I don't negotiate
contracts face to face."
Lucian shrugged. "I told her that, but I don't think she
heard me. It is my experience that
women, especially elven women, tend to have selective hearing."
"Elven? What did she want?"
Lucian laughed. "She wouldn't say. And since she's still here, I suppose the
correct term would be what does she
want. She's been hanging around for
nearly four months now. It's been
unpleasant, to say the least."
"Unpleasant?"
Lucian nodded. "Unpleasant. She's elven. Didn't I
mention that before? And female. And, unless I miss my guess, she's
Fleet. Add all that together and you
get 'unpleasant'. With the knife-sharp
tongue she's got I'm surprised I haven't started to lose customers."
"Fleet?" Reanyn considered. "It would have to be something awfully important for the
Imperial Navy to approach me. You're
certain?"
The gnome shrugged. "Well, I suppose I could be wrong. And, of
course, neogi could make excellent
babysitters."
* * *
Even though it was nearly midday,
the main tavern room of The Hanging
Lantern was bustling. After all,
whether it was day or night didn't make much difference when off planet. There was the usual crowd of miners and
tradesmen, mostly human but with a few dwarves and more exotic races mixed in
as well.
Still, it wasn't difficult to pick
out the elf Lucius had described. She
sat in the corner, as far as possible from the other patrons, with an untouched
glass of spacesea wine sitting on the table in front of her. Her chair was strategically positioned so
that most of her face was in shadow.
She looked Reanyn up and down
critically as he approached. "I
expected someone taller."
"I'm sorry to have disappointed
you," he replied casually, taking a seat.
She was younger than he had expected,
probably not past her second century.
She had lustrous black hair, deep green eyes, and the delicate, pale
features typical of a high elf. A long
silvery-blue scar ran vertically down her face from the left side of her
forehead through her eye and coming to rest along her cheekbone. The eye was undamaged, and the scar was
obviously old, but Reanyn realized that it was the reason she took such pains
to remain in shadow. He realized, too,
why the Fleet had sent her. Elves
couldn't abide anything that marred the beauty of their race. They'd sent an outcast to meet with an
outcast.
"Let's come straight to the
point," he said. "Who are you
and what do you want with me?"
"Tianna Snowmantle, lieutenant
commander second-class." Her voice
was crisp and unforgiving. She may have
been an outcast, but he was a mutant, and infinitely more grotesque in her
eyes. "I've been waiting to see
you for nearly two months now. You're a
very difficult person to contact."
He shrugged. "I'm worth the effort."
"Your concern for my time is
touching. I was sent to find you
because you are supposed to be the best there is."
"Sent by the Fleet, I
assume?"
She gave him a nod. "We've kept records on you since your
discharge. The Fleet dislikes unstable
elements, and you caught the attention of a great many powerful officers when
you set up residence on Armistice."
She sniffed. "Not a nice
place, Armistice. Too many goblins for
any decent person's taste. You haven't
been consorting with the beasties, I hope.
I'd hate to think even an Impure would 'go native' with goblinkin."
"The Fleet has declared
Armistice to be off limits to spacefarers," he replied impassively. "I would have thought you knew
that."
She sniffed again. "As I said, you are considered an unstable
element."
He shrugged. "What is it the Fleet wants with
me?"
"We have a mission for
you."
He shook his head. "I don't take orders from the Imperial
Navy. I haven't for some time."
"You do take contracts, don't
you?"
"On occasion. It depends on the contract."
"The Fleet wants a man
found."
"Who?"
She leaned forward. "You have heard of the Raver?"
Reanyn chuckled. "Destroyer of Worlds, Reaper of
Spheres? He's a myth."
"Oh, he's real enough,"
she insisted. "We have an
extensive file on him."
"You have an extensive file on
nothing. He doesn't exist. It's a folktale, a legend." He made to rise. "I don't chase fairy tales.
I'm sorry you wasted your time."
"You haven't heard how much
we're offering yet."
He stood. "It doesn't matter.
I'm not interested."
"But it isn't the Raver we want
found."
He stopped. "Who then?"
"A man named Jarren
Windhook."
"Human?"
She nodded.
Slowly Reanyn eased back into his
chair. "Of what is he
accused?"
"Accused?" Tianna shook her head. "He's not a criminal. He's an astrobotanist from Goldenmount, in
Weyrspace."
"So why is he hiding from the
Fleet?"
"He's not hiding from the
Fleet. He's hiding from everyone."
"What do you mean,
'everyone'?"
"I mean everyone. The neogi, the arcane, the illithids, the
human nations; everyone."
"As well as the Fleet,
naturally." Reanyn nodded,
understanding. "So he knows
something about the Raver, or at least the Fleet thinks he does. It must be something important too, for them
to think he's genuine and not a common braggart."
"As I said before, the Fleet
has known for some time that the Raver is real. There is extensive documentation on the subject."
"How much?" asked Reanyn.
She was startled. "What?"
"How much are you offering for
this man?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Twenty thousand."
He shook his head. "Fifty thousand."
"I'm not authorized to go
beyond thirty."
"I don't bargain. Fifty thousand in Imperial gold for me to
bring this man in. And that's whether
he really knows anything about 'the Raver' or not."
She considered. "Done, with one provision. I come with you."
He shook his head. "My offer is non negotiable."
"I know what Windhook looks
like," she insisted. "I can
help you find him. You need me."
"I track fugitives for a living. I don't need your help. Do we have a deal or not?"
"Not if you won't take me with
you."
He rose. "Fine. If you'll
excuse me, I have other matters to attend to."
She was furious. "Wait a minute! You can't just walk out on this. I'm offering you fifty thousand gold
pieces!"
"And I'm refusing," he
said flatly.
She did her best to swallow her
outrage. She had been sent to do a job,
and she would do her best to carry her instructions out. "Very well, then. You go alone."
He turned back. "I told you I don't bargain. The price just jumped to fifty-five
thousand."
"For fifty-five thousand I
should be allowed to go with you!" she protested.
"Take it or leave it."
Her fists were clenched. "Very well then. I'll take it." She nearly spat the words at him. "You drive a very hard bargain,
Wayfarer."
He shrugged. "Tell me about Windhook. And don't call me that."
"You want to hear about
Windhook's connection with the Raver?"
He shook his head. "Save the fairy tales for
children. I want to know about Jarren
Windhook. He's the man I'm after."
She sat again, collecting her
thoughts. "As I said, he's an
astrobotanist from Goldenmount. He's
been working for the past twenty years or so on a Zoocraft orbiting Sivak, in
Gorthspace. He's old for a human, about
seventy or so, with bad eyes and thinning hair." She thought. "He
favors pipes."
"Where was he last seen?"
"The Wench's Kiss, A tavern on Gwydion's Rock. That was about six months ago. That's all I know."
He nodded. "Good enough. Where
should I bring him to collect the reward?"
"Karpri, fifth planet of the
Realmspace system. The old orbiting
military base there has been reactivated."
Reanyn was a little surprised. "The Karpri base? That thing was shut down before I was born. The Fleet must be taking this pretty
seriously."
"Seriously enough to pay
fifty-five thousand gold pieces for your services," she said cynically.
He stood. "You'll hear from me, within three months at the
outside."
"We want him alive,
Wayfarer," she cautioned.
"He's no good to us dead."
"That shouldn't be a
problem. And don't call me that."
It was just at that moment that the
doors burst open and the assassins entered.